Served with a Side of Trouble

Served with a Side of Trouble- Part Five

Julian was still irritated by how thoroughly Luca Reyes had infiltrated his domain.

It was time to establish who truly ruled this household.

Julian entered the kitchen at precisely 2:17 PM, a time carefully calculated to disrupt the usual mid-afternoon preparation schedule. Luca stood at the center island, meticulously filleting what appeared to be sea bass for the evening meal, his movements economical and precise. The afternoon light caught in his dark hair, emphasizing the sharp concentration in his profile as he worked. Julian found his eyes drawn to Luca's hands—strong and sure, with the calluses and small burn scars that marked years of professional kitchen work.

"I've decided I want osso buco for dinner," Julian announced without preamble, satisfaction curling through him as Luca's knife paused momentarily. "With saffron risotto. Not this... fish."

Luca looked up, his expression neutral save for a slight tightening around his eyes—dark eyes, Julian noted with unnecessary attention, that revealed more calculation than his composed expression suggested. "That's a significant change from the menu we discussed yesterday."

"I changed my mind," Julian said with deliberate casualness, moving to examine the fish as if assessing its quality. "That's allowed, isn't it? Or are my dining preferences now subject to committee approval?"

"No committee," Luca replied evenly, resuming his work with the fish. A thin line appeared between his brows as he concentrated, his forearms flexing slightly with each precise cut. "Just practical considerations. Osso buco requires specific ingredients and approximately four hours of cooking time. It's now 2:18 PM, and dinner is scheduled for 7:00 PM."

Julian feigned surprise. "You're saying you can't accommodate a simple menu change? Chef Bernard never had such... limitations."

A flicker of something—perhaps irritation, perhaps amusement—crossed Luca's face, his mouth quirking briefly to reveal a glimpse of the crooked eyetooth that gave his smile an unexpectedly distinctive character. "Chef Bernard also never served properly cooked veal, if the staff accounts are accurate."

The calm assessment, delivered without defensiveness, deprived Julian of the reaction he'd sought. He shifted strategies, trying not to notice how the kitchen's bright lighting emphasized the clean lines of Luca's profile, the confident set of his shoulders beneath the simple white chef's jacket.

"Fine. The fish will suffice, I suppose. But I need the kitchen for the next hour." Julian picked up a cutting board, deliberately placing it directly in Luca's workspace. "Personal project."

Luca glanced at the cutting board, then at Julian, one eyebrow slightly raised. His eyes—a deeper brown than Julian had initially registered—assessed the situation with calm intelligence. "A personal cooking project?"

"Problem?" Julian challenged, crossing his arms.

"Not at all." Luca smoothly adjusted his workspace, accommodating the intrusion without comment. Julian found himself noticing the confident economy of his movements, the way he commanded his physical space without seeming to assert dominance. "The kitchen is estate property. I'm merely a staff member utilizing it."

The reasonable response was somehow more irritating than protest would have been. Julian watched as Luca continued working, reorganizing his preparation area with efficient movements that minimized the disruption Julian had attempted to create. His white chef's jacket was impeccable despite hours of kitchen work, a stark contrast to Bernard's perpetually stained attire.

"I'll need these cleared," Julian said, gesturing to the neat mise en place Luca had arranged—small bowls of precisely measured ingredients, herbs separated by type, specialized tools laid out in sequence of use.