All Chapters of Flavours of love: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Camiella's POVI sat silently at the dinner table with Stefano to my right, Elena right across from him, and Stefano's father sitting at the head of the table. Right before ringing the doorbell, we both slipped our rings off, deciding at the last minute after I convinced Stefano that announcing the engagement without knowing enough about each other was a huge risk. He agreed only because I threatened to leave if he didn't. Elena greeted us with an extra warm and welcoming hug at the front door, but all that warmth and her grins subsided once we entered the dining room and settled down, still waiting for dinner to be served. My eyes scanned Stefano, then Elena, and even his father just hoping someone would strike up a conversation but nobody did. I cleared my throat, drawing attention to myself and instantly regretting it. To make up for that, I struck up a conversation. "I'm sorry if I'm... intruding on dinner," I chuckled softly, "I know it was just supposed to be Stefano here ton

"Sometimes, it does, Camiella." She nodded again, holding my gaze. Taking in a breath, her eyes dropped to my plate. "Let me know what you think of the food, hmm?" I nodded softly before I began eating. "I've heard you prefer to run your own business, Camiella," Richard commented. "I do," I answered. "How does that pan out?" "Great." "How often do our friends show up there? It must be popular for Derek and some of his friends to arrange meetings." "She runs her gallery for the public, not to cover up for corruption meetings," Stefano said without even sparing his father a glance. "It's bound to happen; her father and brother are a part of it," Richard shrugged. "The business is hers. Not theirs," Stefano said, glancing at his father before looking at me. "He's right," I added. "The business is mine. And it has nothing to do with what my father, Derek, or you do, Richard." His eye twitched as I called him by his name. "Can I call you that?" I asked with a sickly sweet smile

I faced her as we entered the club. "How often exactly do you come to The Dove?" I questioned. She looked at me once. "Often enough, Mr. Castro. It's Shirley's favorite spot for ladies' night," she replied, inching closer to me as I led her through the crowd and straight to the bar, taking a seat beside hers, and glancing at the bar. "She's not here," Camiella mumbled, scanning the crowd. "She might have decided to skip it." "Or she might just be late," I deadpanned. Groaning softly, Camiella rubbed the back of her neck and massaged her shoulder. "I need a drink." She waved a bartender over and, with a polite smile, asked for a glass of whiskey, two fingers' worth. "Still a whiskey girl, Ms. Rodriguez?" I questioned. "Absolutely," she replied, spinning her stool to face mine. "What about you? Still a whiskey man, Mr. Castro?" "Absolutely," I said mockingly, watching her take a sip of her drink. "Still don't dance either?" she questioned, a tiny smile tugging at her lips before

He managed to push her off of him and catch a quick breath. "You're not helping," he ground out, glowering at me. She shuffled quickly on her feet, coming near me but Stefano caught her free hand and yanked her back. "I don't think so," he said to her, his eyes narrowed. Twisting her arm behind her back, he held her in place and she let out a small scream, struggling to get out of his grip but dropping her knife in the process. I moved forward swiftly and picked it up, checking its grip. "Would you like to try asking nicely now?" Stefano asked me, lifting a brow sharply. I didn't reply and looked over at her. "Who gave this to you?" I questioned, nodding toward the knife. "It's mine," she said through clenched teeth. "No shit," I scoffed, "I asked who gave it to you." She looked from me to Stefano and then back to me. "I was going to tell him not to kill you, but you're really not helping your case, Cathy," I sighed, tracing the blade and gently poking my finger with the tip. I

She set the kit on the counter, watching as the blood dripped down my palm and into the sink, tainting the water red before swirling down the drain. She washed her own hands quickly and then grabbed a cotton pad and some antiseptic alcohol before holding out a hand. I pulled my palm back before she could take it. "Let me do it myself." Camiella held my gaze. "Does it make you squeamish?" "No." "Nervous?" "No." "Dizzy?" I bit back a frustrated breath and shifted my weight from one foot to another. "I have no problem dealing with my own wounds. What I have a problem with is other people poking at them." "I'm not poking at it," she huffed, "I'm helping it heal, hmm?" She lifted a brow at me sharply and grabbed my sleeve, tugging my hand forward and grabbing it in hers, only for me to pull away as she brought the cotton down to my hand. An impatient and exasperated sigh left her. "You're a child." Moving to where the first aid kit sat on the kitchen island, she hopped up and sat o