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chapter 69
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2025-04-25 05:08:32
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The chef and The charmer chapter 132
Evelyn’s POVThe sea was warm, a slow, honeyed lull beneath the fading afternoon sun. Its gentle swells cradled me, rocking me in a way I’d never known before: as if the water itself welcomed me into its fold, whispered secrets only I could hear. My arms floated wide, fingertips trailing ripples that fanned out in perfect concentric circles. Above me, the sky glowed pale gold, the last vestiges of daylight stretching like silk across the horizon.I closed my eyes, letting the sun’s warmth soften the lines of tension around my shoulders. I thought of every sharp moment I’d weathered in recent months—the whispered betrayals, the nights I lay awake wondering whether I’d ever feel at peace again. But here, weightless and humming with salt and possibility, none of it mattered. It all dissolved into the vast blue, and I surrendered to the bliss of being exactly where I was.From the edge of the deck—our private sanctuary, perched on stilts above the water—Damian watched me. He leaned casual
The chef and The charmer chapter 131
Evelyn’s POVThe lanterns above swayed gently in the breeze, their golden light flickering like fireflies trying to hold on to the magic of the night. Music drifted from the far edge of the vineyard where the quartet still played, though most of the guests had already said their goodbyes. The scent of jasmine and champagne lingered in the air, sweet and intoxicating. Everything had been perfect.But perfection was paper-thin.Damian and I escaped long after the final toast had been made, long after the band played its last romantic swell. Our hands remained laced together like children afraid the spell would break if we let go. We moved slowly, not just from exhaustion, but from the weight of something unspoken trailing behind us like a veil.My cheeks ached from too many smiles. My feet were sore from dancing in heels I’d long since abandoned. But my heart ached most of all—tight with anticipation, swollen with dread.I still hadn’t opened the envelope.It had been sitting in the brid
The chef and The charmer chapter 130
Evelyn’s POVI woke up before the sun.The vineyard was still sleeping, wrapped in dew and birdsong. For a moment, I sat in bed, staring at the folds of the silk canopy above me and listening to the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. Outside, the sky held its breath, painted in the soft grays and lavenders of an awakening world. The faint scent of wildflowers and distant soil wafted through the open window.This was it.Today, I would become Evelyn Blackstone.Not just the private chef who once served panna cotta to New York’s most elusive billionaire.Not just the woman who agreed to a fake engagement for a man who wanted to fool his family.But now am the real fiancée. The real bride.And—maybe, impossibly—the real love of his life.I slid my feet onto the cool wooden floor and stood, spine tall, heart steady. There was a sense of gravity in the room, like the walls themselves knew something monumental was about to unfold. I padded across the room to the dressing chamber, wher
The chef and The charmer chapter 129
Evelyn’s POVNight had crept in like fog—quiet but present.I couldn’t sleep. Damian hadn’t returned to our room.I padded through the hallway in slippers and silk, following the faint murmur of voices. The study door was cracked open, golden light leaking out like spilled secrets.I heard Morgan first.“…even in death, that man manages to haunt this family.”Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. Not cold, not cruel—just tired.A pause.Damian said, “You pushed me away when I needed you most. Don’t make that mistake with Celeste.”“She’s not you,” Morgan snapped.“She’s someone’s daughter,” he replied. “Maybe his. Maybe not. But she doesn’t need to become another casualty of Blackstone pride.”The silence that followed stung. Like two people realizing they’d both failed each other in different ways.Morgan stood at the decanter, swirling whiskey but not sipping it.“She’s lying,” she muttered. “Lawrence was careful, yes, but never paternal. Never the type to raise anything but
The chef and The charmer chapter 128
Evelyn’s POVThe name came through late that morning.Celeste Wren.I stared at the email like it had been typed in acid.We’d never heard of her.“She’s not in any Blackstone records,” our lawyer said, his voice clipped, professional, and suspiciously too calm. “But she claims to be Lawrence’s daughter.”The words echoed off the walls of Damian’s study. The air seemed to still. I blinked, slowly, as if the syllables would rearrange themselves into something less absurd.“A daughter?” I repeated, half-choking on my coffee.“Allegedly,” the lawyer confirmed. “She’s petitioning the court for access to a share of his estate—and any trusts connected to Blackstone holdings.”The timing. The confidence. The audacity.It reeked of manipulation.Damian’s jaw flexed in quiet fury. He stood by the window, watching the vineyards shimmer under the late morning sun. From the outside, he looked tranquil—linen shirt loose, coffee cup untouched—but I knew the storm behind his eyes. A storm named lega
The chef and The charmer chapter 127
Evelyn’s POVThe vineyard was exactly as Morgan had promised—secluded, sun-kissed, and stunning. Rows of lavender stretched beside the vines, their fragrance mingling with the sweetness of ripening grapes. Butterflies floated like quiet confetti over wildflowers that bordered every path. It felt… sacred. Sacred in the way ancient churches feel when you’re the only one inside them. Sacred in the way childhood dreams resurface in your sleep.I walked the grounds with a notebook and a head full of color palettes, seating charts, and tentative guest lists. Damian followed behind me, hands tucked in his pockets, watching me with a half-smile that made the weight of decisions feel lighter.“It’s a wedding, Evelyn,” he teased when I squinted too hard at a flowerbed. “Not a Michelin plate.”“Wrong,” I said without missing a beat. “It’s both.”We stayed in the old stone cottage near the edge of the estate. Its shutters were the color of aged copper, and ivy clung to the walls like it had been
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