The Chef's Secret by Crystal King

Author:Crystal King
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

CHAPTER 17

Scappi

Roma, September 1549

Bartolomeo hissed in pain. He dropped the hot chestnut back into the pan and stuck his index and middle fingers into his mouth.

“You poor man,” Stella said, pulling his hand from his lips and bringing it to her own. She took his fingers and slid them into her mouth and across her tongue. Despite the sting of the burn, Bartolomeo felt the familiar tug in his groin.

“You are a vixen,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss her. He never tired of her delicate lips, the way she tasted like roses. He loved the moment when he first felt the soft pressure of her tongue against his.

A chestnut popped loudly and they pulled apart with a jolt, which sent them into peals of laughter.

“Your brother will be here soon, stellina mia. It will do you no good to lure me back into bed.”

“It would do me every bit of good, orso mio.” She laughed and the sound filled Bartolomeo with longing. Before he could succumb once more, he took a spoon and scooped the remaining chestnuts from the pan into a bowl to cool.

Bartolomeo loved the stolen afternoons when he did not have to work and Stella came to visit. Her brother still escorted her to and from Bartolomeo’s house, taking great care to make sure they went unnoticed.

“I have some good news,” he said, picking up a chestnut and peeling it apart.

She leaned over the table seductively, her breasts threatening to spill from the bodice of her corset. “What good news?” She plucked her own morsel from the bowl.

“Pope Paolo was so impressed by the feast I prepared for the Barberini wedding that he asked Cardinale Bembo if he could hire me and make me cuoco segreto.” He puffed up his chest, full of pride. To be made the private chef to a pope was the highest honor any cook in the world could hope to receive.

Stella threw her arms around his neck and smothered him with kisses. “How wonderful, Barto!”

“That’s not all. He also wants me to be his mace bearer.”

Stella gasped in wonder. “The mace bearer is an important post, is it not?”

“An extra two hundred scudi a year, and I’m granted a room at the Vaticano.”

She ran her hand down his cheek, then pulled away, crossed the room, took a burlap sack from a pigeonhole on the shelf, and began to fill it with the warm chestnuts. She paused as his words sank in, then eyed him, concern wrinkling her brow.

“A room at the Vaticano! Oh, Barto, we court scandal if we were to try anything under the pope’s nose. Please tell me you aren’t giving up your house!”

“No, no, stellina mia. Do not fear. But it will be nice to sleep close to the kitchen on big feast days.”

She visibly relaxed and returned to the task of filling her sack full of chestnuts. “Don’t you have to walk in front of the pope with the big jeweled mace? He always has mace bearers when there are papal processions.

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