Loving Gigi by Ruth Cardello Page A

in his language, the Frenchman seemed to calm. He rolled his eyes skyward then clapped his hands. A hush fell over the kitchen. “If you work here normally, raise your hand. Everyone else, step to the left of that table.” With the regular house chef at his side, they organized the staff and soon the kitchen was running smoothly, and the Frenchman seemed satisfied. He waved for the man at the door to return and held up a batch of shrimp spring rolls. “This is what a fresh spring roll looks like.” He tossed it to the man. “Taste it. Good food, like a good woman, is always worth the wait. Now, organize your people to serve this as it comes out. No one needs to know about this, but have some pride in what you serve. Especially if you represent your brother.”
    The Frenchman rolled his sleeves back down and picked up his jacket. He caught Gigi watching him, and his face transformed as he smiled. “Gigi, do you cook?”
    Gigi glanced around awkwardly at the staff, who were curiously watching her. Perhaps she would have learned had she stayed with her mother in Venice. She could easily imagine her mother being just as opinionated about every item that came out of her kitchen. “No, not like this.”
    “You forgot me already?” He walked toward her, not at all the intimidating man he’d been a few moments before. “I’m Richard, Maddy’s husband. Don’t worry; I know you met half of New York today. It’s a bit overwhelming at first, non?”
    “Yes,” Gigi said with a relieved sigh. “I remember Maddy said you were a chef.”
    “Yes. Yes, I am. Don’t tell Maddy what you saw in here. She told me not to come into the kitchen, but I couldn’t help myself. Why should what we put in our mouths be less perfect than what we hang on our walls? Because it is more fleeting? Life is fleeting, but—” He stopped at the look on Gigi’s face. “Sorry. I am passionate about food.”
    Gigi let out a breathy laugh. “Apparently.”
    He studied her face again. “Are you hungry or hiding?”
    “Regrouping,” Gigi said with a self-deprecating smile.
    Richard pulled a stool away from a counter and motioned for her to sit on it. He took the one across from her. “A family the size of yours is not easy to get to know, but they are good people.”
    “They seem to be.”
    “This was the first time you met your brothers, yes?”
    “Yes. And they seem wonderful, too. Their wives are also nice.”
    Richard poured each of them a glass of wine. “Yet you look sad.”
    Gigi accepted the drink. She suddenly wished she’d brought her mother with her. How strange that it took going so far away from her to want to be with her. “I was afraid it would be awful here, but I also hoped it would be different . . .”
    “Have you had a chance to talk to your brothers yet?”
    Gigi found it surprisingly easy to open up to Richard. She had a feeling he didn’t do or say much if he didn’t want to. If he was asking her questions, he was interested in the answers, simple as that. “Only briefly, except Gio. I’m staying here with Julia and him.”
    Richard nodded. “After tonight, you’ll have time with your brothers. Think of this as an initiation by fire.”
    Gigi chuckled. “Or death by excessive hugging.”
    Richard laughed along with her. “Yes, but there are worse ways to die.” He stood up. “Come, you can’t spend the evening in here. Nor can I, even if I would like to. If I must suffer the groping, then so must you.”
    They walked into the hallway together, still smiling. Gigi came to an abrupt halt, however, when she spotted someone she’d been trying not to think about since he’d left her the day before. There he was, just as gorgeous as she remembered. He looked perfectly at home at the party as well as in his expensive suit. A tall blonde woman, who Gigi cattily thought resembled a plastic Barbie, hung on his arm like a decoration. Each time he spoke, she laughed and rubbed herself against him. Gigi tried,