Chapter 239
James held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm and steady. “Rafael, if you’re happy being married to Eliana—and I know you are, deep down the most happiest man on earth because of her—then you need to go right away and apologize for making her angry. She’s so upset she skipped dinner entirely, and that’s not good for the growing child in her womb. It also looked like she was trying to hide her tears from me. She’s delicate right now, Rafael, with the pregnancy and all the stress from today. She should be handled with love, not commands p>
Rafael’s pacing halted abruptly, his steel eyes widening in shock. The words hit him like a physical blow, cracking through his emotional armor. He raked a hand through his hair again, his commanding presence faltering. “She’s… skipping dinner? Crying p>
James nodded solemnly, stepping closer. “Yes. I heard her retreating to her room, and the door locked behind her. Tears were in her eyes—she’s holding them back, but not for long. If you lose her again, Rafael… so help me God, I won’t help you get her back this time. You’ve got to fix this before it’s too late p>
The truth of James’s words sank in like lead, shocking Rafael to his core. He knew James was right—the butler had been his confidant through the darkest times, from faking his disabilities to expose his family’s greed to regaining his sight in secret. Rafael sighed heavily, his broad shoulders sagging as the anger drained away, replaced by a wave of regret. He never meant for her to lose her appetite, let alone cry. The image of Eliana, alone and hurt because of him, twisted his gut. He felt like such a jerk—a ruthless billionaire reduced to a fool by his own fears.
“You’re right,” Rafael admitted, his voice softer, laced with vulnerability he rarely showed. “I didn’t mean… damn it. I have to make this right p>
Without another word, Rafael strode out of the study, his long legs carrying him toward the kitchen. James followed, eyebrows raised in curiosity, wondering what his employer was up to now. The kitchen was a gleaming expanse of stainless steel and granite, stocked with every gadget imaginable—a far cry from his kitchen back home. But still, it reminded him of the days when Rafael had cooked for himself out of necessity, distrusting everyone after his stepmother Mirabel’s attempts to poison him through bribed staff. He’d learned to wield pots and knives like weapons, surviving on self-made meals until Clara, had earned his trust by breaking free from Mirabel’s control.
Rafael immediately started pulling out pots and cooking utensils from the cabinets, the clatter echoing in the spacious room. He moved with purpose, his designer shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms. Then he yanked open the massive fridge, its light spilling out like a beacon, and froze, staring at the array of ingredients—fresh vegetables, meats, cheeses, exotic fruits—as if they were an unsolvable puzzle.
James leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “Rafael? What exactly are you doing p>
Rafael glanced over his shoulder, determination etched on his handsome face. “I’m going to cook for Eliana. She skipped dinner because of me—I can’t let her go hungry, especially with the baby. She needs something nourishing, something that’ll show her I care p>
James’s eyes widened in surprise, then softened with amusement. He knew Rafael could cook; the man had honed the skill in self-defense against his family’s treachery. But this? This was new territory. “Cook for her? That’s… thoughtful. But do you know what pregnant women eat? Cravings can be tricky, and nutrition is key p>
Rafael paused, hand still on the fridge door, his piercing eyes narrowing in realization. “I… no. I have no idea. I’ve managed boardrooms and mergers, but this?” He shut the fridge with a thud and pulled out his phone from his pocket, fingers flying across the screen. “We’ll figure it out. Internet—it’s got everything p>
James chuckled, stepping into the kitchen and grabbing a tablet from the counter. “Allow me to assist, sir. Two heads are better than one, especially when one’s a billionaire recluse who’s never dealt with pregnancy cravings p>
What followed was a scene straight out of a comedy of errors, the cold, calculating CEO and his unflappable secretary huddled over devices like eager students cramming for an exam. Rafael perched on a barstool at the island, phone in hand, scrolling furiously through search results. “Okay, ’what to cook for pregnant wife Ginger for nausea? But is she nauseous? Wait, avocados for folate—good for the baby. But how do I make that appealing p>
James, tablet propped up, peered over his glasses. “Rafael, look here—’nutrient-packed meals for expectant mothers.’ Salmon for omega-3s, quinoa for protein. But avoid raw fish. Oh, and cravings: pickles and ice cream? That can’t be right p>
Rafael snorted, a rare laugh bubbling up despite his earlier storm. “Pickles and ice cream? Sounds like a prank. Eliana’s more… elegant. Maybe something comforting, like soup? But pregnant women need iron—spinach? Wait, no, she hates overcooked greens. She always picked at them when we ate together back home p>
James tapped away, pulling up recipes. “Here’s one: vegetable stir-fry with tofu for protein. Easy, healthy. Or—ooh, banana oatmeal pancakes. Says it’s great for morning sickness, but it’s evening. Rafael you’re overthinking. Start simple p>
Rafael leaned in, their heads nearly touching as they compared screens. “Simple? James, nothing’s simple with her. She deserves perfection. Look at this—’superfood smoothie bowl.’ Berries, yogurt, nuts. But is yogurt safe? Pasteurization—yes. Okay, let’s try that. No, wait—pasta primavera? Carbs for energy p>
James burst into laughter, the sound warm and infectious, easing the tension. “Rafael, at this rate, we’ll be here all night! You’re acting like it’s a hostile takeover. Pick one: how about a grilled cheese with tomato soup? Comfort food, plus tomatoes for vitamins. Add some avocado on the side p>
Rafael grinned sheepishly, his chiseled features softening in the kitchen’s warm light. “Grilled cheese? I can do that. But make it fancy—sourdough, gruyere, maybe some herbs. And for the baby… add spinach? No, she’ll spot that a mile away p>
They dove back in, screens glowing as they debated recipes like old friends. “Rafael, this site says chocolate is okay in moderation—dark for antioxidants. But don’t overdo caffeine p>
“Chocolate? Perfect apology material. Melt some into a fondue? Too much. Brownies? But baking takes time p>
James shook his head, chuckling. “You’re hopeless, Rafael. Let’s combine: hearty vegetable soup with whole-grain bread. Quick, nutritious, and she can’t refuse soup when upset p>
Rafael nodded, finally decisive. “Soup it is. With ginger for her stomach, carrots for beta-carotene, and… love? God, I sound ridiculous p>
James patted his shoulder, eyes twinkling. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s get chopping before she starves p>
As they began gathering ingredients—Rafael wielding a knife with unsurprising expertise, James handing him vegetables—the kitchen filled with light banter, a rare bubble of camaraderie in the midst of drama.