To Seduce An Assassin (The Omaja Series Book 2)(38)

“I can’t wait to taste it.”

“Yes, let’s pour some now.” He popped the cork and filled two goblets, then handed her one of them. He raised his, meeting her gaze. “To my gracious houseguest. Thank you for preparing my mother’s special dish.”

Graciella raised her glass, feeling self-conscious. “I hope I did it justice.”

He touched his goblet to hers. “From the aroma of it, I’m sure you did.”

She sipped the wine. Its flavor was similar to that of delicious tart cherries, dried strawberries, and pomegranates. “Oh, it’s really good.”

“Yes,” he agreed, licking his lips. “Shall we eat now? I’m looking forward to trying your Talún.”

“Yes, by all means.”

He set his wine down and seated her in her chair, then directed an order in Nandalan at Tinni, who stood by the kitchen door waiting.

Kitran emerged from the kitchen with a platter of the lentil loaf, a large dish of roasted garlic and rosemary potatoes, and a bowl of mushy peas. She and Graciella exchanged a brief glare as Kitran set down the peas, but at least she didn’t dump them on her, so Graciella considered it to be an improvement in relations. Graciella had given her the evening off from helping to prepare dinner since Wilten was becoming so efficient and useful, and to give herself and Kitran a break from being stuck together in such close quarters.

Yavi cut a slice of the Talún and placed it on her plate. “This looks exactly like my mother’s Talún.”

Graciella was relieved. “Oh, good,” she smiled.

§

No, not good. Yavi didn’t want to fall in love tonight. He didn’t want to lose his head and heart to the exquisite creature sitting at his right, with her charming innocence, her youthful optimism, and her undeniable talent in the kitchen.

He cut himself a slice then took the bowl of potatoes she passed to him, realizing what a perfect pairing roasted potatoes was going to be with Talún. He wasn’t sure what the green purée was in the next bowl that came around, but it smelled like sweet peas.

“What is this?” He served himself a hefty pile of it.

“Mushy peas. It’s a popular dish in my homeland.”

He ate a forkful of it. Garlicky-green sweetness filled his palate. “Delicious.”

“I hope it goes well with the lentil loaf.”

He swallowed the peas, took a deep breath, then ate a bite of Talún. The flavor was so familiar and perfect, tears stung his eyes as memories of his mother flooded him. He looked away and swallowed, taking a sip of wine to try to clear away the lump in his throat.

Graciella finished chewing her first bite of it as well. “How close is this to your mother’s?”

The lump wouldn’t clear. He forcibly blinked back the tears, and when he spoke, his voice came out raspy. “Very.”

“Oh, good.” She beamed, a dimple appearing in her right cheek. “I’m so glad.”

Yavi couldn’t look at her, and he couldn’t continue eating either, until he had a grip on himself. He took a long drink of his wine, then poured himself another goblet full and drank more.

“Speaking of Thakur’s meal in his tent,” she said, “sometime I would love you to tell me the full story of your battle with him. How on earth you and Yajna faced down two armies with only a few men. I only know a few details from what Jiandra’s told me.”

Yes. Good. Focus on telling a story, Yavi, not on the way her delectable breasts are bulging over the top of her bodice. He ate a bite of potato, perfectly roasted with crispy brown edges and fragrant with rosemary, then slipped in another bite of Talún before he could overthink it and get emotional again. “We did it with the help of your sister. Without her healing powers, both Yajna and I would be dead on that battleground. We owe her our lives.”

“I owe Jiandra my life as well, although not for her healing powers. If she and Elio hadn’t taken over the responsibility of running the farm and raising me and Rafe when our parents were killed, we probably would have ended up in an orphanage.”

The image of her being raised in an orphanage disturbed him. He took another long drink of wine and met her gaze, even though staring at her beautiful eyes was a dangerous proposition. “How old were you when your parents were killed?”

“I was seven.”

Sorrow pierced him. “So young,” he murmured. “Do you remember them very well?”

“Only a little. I remember my mother’s cooking, my father’s swordplay lessons. And I remember how in love they were with one another.”

He returned his attention to his meal in an effort to break her spell over him. He was able to enjoy the Talún without choking up now, so he counted that as a victory. He finished the last few bites of what he had on his plate and cut himself another slice.

“How old were you when you lost your mother, Yavi?”

The way she said his name with her smoothly slurring Villeleian accent always sent a bit of a shiver up his spine. “Fifteen. I was lucky to have her twice as many years as you had your mother.”

“What was she like?”

“Quiet, gentle, delicate. My father adored her. He was never the same after she was gone.”

“So your parents were deeply in love too?”