BACK TO ME

                                    

                                          
CHAPTER-31
BACK TO ME
                          
My main issue was, I didn’t know how to cook.
                          
My second issue was, I actually hoped that if I'd try, I would actually succeed. I mean how hard could it be?
                          
But my third and most pressing issue was the one I concentrated on right now—I was pretty sure I was setting my husband’s gifted apartment's kitchen on fire.
                          
I had never cooked in my life. I always had takeouts. But I decided against it tonight. I wanted to try something new. I wanted to prove myself that I could do anything. If I could be in a marriage with the Lucifer himself, then how hard cooking could be? I had told myself. But obviously, it was difficult. 
                          
“Holy fu…what’s that smell?” David jogged into the kitchen, grabbing a towel from the counter and flapping it around to clear out the smoke in his path.
                          
David and André had been on good terms with me since past days. So, sometimes we hung out together. 
                          
Despite the fact I prided myself in not having a temper, I had to keep my irritation in check.
                          
“I’m trying to make lemon chicken and risotto.” I staggered away from the hissing pot in front of me. “I guess trying is the operative word here.”
                          
André rushed to my side, turning the stove off. He withdrew the sizzling pan from the stovetop, dumping it into the sink and turning on the faucet. Black smoke rose to the ceiling, setting off the fire alarm around the ginormous kitchen.
                          
The shrieking sound pierced my eardrums, shaking the entire apartment. André proceeded to turn off the oven, and David opened all the windows and the door leading to the balcony. I apologized profusely while he got the small fire under control.
                          
“Remind me why you insisted on making dinner?” André waved a kitchen towel in the air, trying to get rid of some of the smoke.
                          
Explaining that ridiculous things found their way leaving my mouth every time I was next to his boss wasn’t an acceptable answer. So I went a different route. “I wanted to have a special evening.”
                          
“It’s special, all right.” David snorted as he produced his phone from his back pocket.
                          
“I’ll call the maintenance guy. See if he can start working on the kitchen tonight before the building guys report against you.” David scrolled through his phone.
                          
“Although I gotta say, Angelo is not gonna be happy.” André took in the view.
                          
“Why am I not going to be happy?” A chilling voice rang behind my back. I turned around, sucking in a breath. My husband stood at the doorway, not even a foot away from me.
                          
Two weeks.
                          
Seventeen days to be precise since I last saw him, but it felt like forever. That strong jaw, the straight nose, and the jet black hair seemed like a far, distant memory.
                          
Only...they weren't. 
                          
Those blue turbulent eyes, spiked tousled hair. That navy suit clung to his lean body like eager fangirls. The twinkling golden band on his finger, which I noticed he hadn’t removed since our wedding, caught the light in the room, reminding me that at the very least, he was legally mine.