THE KITCHEN HEAT
532 Words
[ÇHAPTER THIRTEEN---- KITCHEN HEAT ]
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The sun filtered softly through the large windows of the villa kitchen, casting a golden glow over the marble countertops. Ruby stood barefoot, hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing a soft pink oversized T-shirt that dipped off one shoulder and shorts barely visible beneath it. Royal… noticed.
He wasn’t supposed to notice.
He grabbed a pan from the cabinet a little too roughly and cleared his throat. “So… what do we cook?”
Ruby raised an eyebrow, tapping her red manicured nails against the counter. “Can you cook anything that doesn’t involve a microwave?”
Royal smirked. “I own three restaurants.”
“Yeah, but do you *cook* in any of them?”
He looked at her. “Touché.”
She flipped open the fridge. “Alright. Let’s go simple—pasta, salad, and maybe… brownies?”
Royal narrowed his eyes. “You bake?”
“I design dresses, not desserts. But hey—how hard can it be?”
They started with the pasta. Ruby turned on the stove, filling a pot with water, while Royal chopped onions—though aggressively.
“Careful,” she said, laughing. “We need those fingers, Mr. Cold CEO.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not cold.”
She grinned. “You’re emotionally refrigerated.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m passionate,” she corrected, tossing him a wooden spoon. “Stir.”
They moved around the kitchen like mismatched magnets—bumping into each other, arguing about spice levels, joking about measurements, and trying (failing) not to look too long when the other laughed.
Then came the brownie disaster.
“I said half a *cup* of cocoa,” Ruby gasped, staring at the explosion of powder on the counter.
Royal shrugged, face dusted with chocolate. “I thought you said *half the container*.”
Ruby burst into laughter. “You’re hopeless.”
“You’re bossy.”
“And you love it.”
He looked at her, eyes dark. “Do I?”
She paused. That silence stretched a second too long before she turned away to wipe the counter. “Let’s just get through this.”
When they finally plated the meal and sat at the small dining table, the silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was thick with something unspoken.
Royal cut into the pasta. “It’s edible.”
“Barely,” she replied, sipping wine.
He looked at her again—really looked.
“You're not what I expected, Ruby.”
“Same,” she whispered, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
Their knees touched under the table. Neither moved away.
And just as Royal leaned in slightly, his phone buzzed on the counter. He stood to grab it.
Ruby’s heart sank.
But he stared at the screen—and turned it off.
He came back to the table, leaned forward.
“You’re right. No distractions.”
She smiled, soft and surprised. “That’s... new.”
Then, without warning, the power flickered.
Darkness.
They both laughed nervously.
“This fake marriage is getting too real,” Ruby said.
Royal leaned back in his chair. “It’s only just begun".
- Writer
