Secrets I've Held in My Heart

Chapter 16 : Ava

The room fell into an uneasy silence, its heavy stillness broken only by the rhythmic tap of Patrick's foot against the marble floor. Our eyes, a collection of puzzled expressions, all converged on him, silently imploring an explanation for his restless fidgeting.

As the seconds stretched on, his sheepish smile tinged with an awkward charm finally yielded to the collective anticipation. "Oh, don't mind me," he began, his voice a hesitant melody in the room's quietude. "This... this foot-tapping habit of mine, you see, it happens to me whenever I'm curious." His eyes darted around, seeking understanding.

Then, with deliberate intent, Patrick shifted his gaze to Christian, who sat across the table, his face an unreadable canvas. "Yeah," Patrick prodded gently, breaking the silence once more. "Tell us, brother-in-law. Why can't we have that delicious-looking pasta?" The question hung in the air, a lingering note that promised revelations to come.

Christian clenched his teeth, his forced smile failing to appear genuine as he muttered, "Because… I… I want to be greedy. This is so tasty that I want to eat it all by myself." With determination, he rose from his seat, snatched the hot case from my grasp, and cast an imploring glance at our head chef, Mr. Tilton, as he declared, "Mr. Tilton, can you please whip up something quickly for others? Because as for this pasta, I'm going to savour every bite."

"What nonsense," I retorted firmly. "No matter how delicious it is, eating it all by yourself is not healthy. Consuming too much flour can indeed affect your digestion." I reached out my hand towards the hot case and insisted, "Give it to me. You're not having it all."

As I made a move to take the hot case from him, he defensively pulled it closer, skillfully evading my grasp. "No, I'll take some Digyton later after dinner, but this is mine, and I'm going to finish it all. I can't share. I don't want to, and that's final."

"Oh, come on. How tasty can a food be for you to get this crazy about it?" Rosa exclaimed, stretching from her seat. With a mischievous grin, she snatched Christian's plate and defiantly pulled it closer.

"Rosa, no—" Christian attempted to intervene, but he was too slow. She took a bite.

The expression on her face underwent a rapid transformation. Her complexion turned slightly pink, and her eyes widened in astonishment. "This..." She glanced at Christian before continuing, "is absolutely marvellous."

"Really?" I asked, seeking confirmation, my curiosity thoroughly piqued. "You want more?"

Just as I reached out toward the hot case, ready to liberate it from Christian's grip, Rosa abruptly intervened with a tone of urgency, saying, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Her sheepish smile only served to heighten my suspicion as she continued, "I mean, it's really good..." Her gaze darted toward Christian, her eyes betraying a hint of fear, "but... I'm genuinely afraid that Christian might react strongly if I take it from him."

Returning her attention to me, she managed to force a friendly smile despite her evident unease. "So... I suppose," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "Ummm... Mr. Tilton," she suddenly redirected her gaze toward our head chef and made a direct request, "I think we might need some quick alternatives. I'm absolutely certain that my brother won't be willing to part with his wife's DELICIOUS pasta."

Then, addressing me once more, she wore a slightly uneasy expression as she suggested, "Ava, next time, let's plan to cook something together when Christian isn't around. He is kind of too possessive for you." She concluded her statement with an awkward smile.

"Ohh..." I struggled to find the right response. On one hand, I was delighted that they both enjoyed my pasta so much, but on the other hand, I felt a twinge of disappointment because I had prepared it for everyone, not just for Christian. "Sounds nice," I finally managed to say, those two words encapsulating my mixed emotions in that moment.

"What rubbish," Martha interjected firmly. "It's a tradition. Everyone should partake in the meal she's prepared. Christian," she turned her gaze to him, unwavering, "Ava is your wife, and she's not going anywhere. You can ask her to cook it again anytime you please. For now, let's share it with everyone. We're all eager to taste it, especially after witnessing your and Rosa's reactions."

Alfred chimed in, nodding in agreement. "I'm with her. We'd all appreciate the opportunity to savour Ava's cooking."

"Exactly, and we've brought gifts for her as well," Patrick chimed in, emphasizing the importance of sharing the meal. "If you won't allow us to enjoy the food she's prepared, then she won't be receiving any of the gifts we've brought." He shrugged casually and added, "It's her loss."

Christian, however, responded with a touch of rudeness creeping into his voice, dismissing the idea. "She's Ava Rinehart Forbes. Her net worth is millions of times more than your gifts. If she wants something, she can acquire it herself. She doesn't need to cook for anyone to receive anything in return."

"Christian!" I interjected, my grip firm on his shoulder, attempting to convey my disapproval of his rudeness.

He visibly struggled, clenching his teeth and taking a quick breath before issuing a sincere apology. "I'm terribly sorry for my impulsive behaviour, Patrick," he said, addressing Patrick directly. He then turned his gaze to Rosa and extended an apology to her as well. "I apologize for being rude to your husband, sis."

Rosa responded in a casual tone, brushing off the tension with a hint of humour. "It's okay, bro. I'm immune to his insults."

"Enough of trouble," Martha declared as she reached for Rosa's plate, taking the portion of pasta that Rosa had snatched from Christian earlier. "You know what, Christian? You can have all that. We'll just share from this small portion. After all, we need to complete the ritual."

"NO—" Christian attempted to protest once more, his objections on the tip of his tongue, but Martha swiftly scooped up a forkful of pasta and popped it into her mouth before he could intervene.

My confidence soared after receiving Christian and Rosa's effusive praise for my pasta. As I eagerly awaited Martha's judgment, I couldn't contain my anticipation and asked, "How is it?" Martha's opinion held a special place of importance because, while everyone else was being supportive, it was Martha who had given me the challenge and had an aura of discerning taste about her. Hearing words of approval from Martha felt like more than just a compliment; it was akin to winning a culinary challenge and achieving a sense of validation in my cooking skills.

As she shoved the pasta into her mouth and began to chew, not even a second passed before her face reddened, her expression twisted into one of extreme displeasure, and a moment later, she spat the pasta back onto the very same plate from which she had taken the scoop. Her voice surged with anger as she exclaimed, "What kind of joke is this? You call this pasta?"

Martha's sudden outburst caught me entirely off guard, prompting an involuntary flinch. I clutched Christian's shoulder tightly, my heart racing with anxiety in response to her unexpected and vehement reaction.

To be continued…