Breakfast In The Palazzo Novels & Stories

Emily Larson's shrill voice echoed through the banquet hall. "This meatball dish is something I paid a fortune to learn from a master chef at a five-star hotel. It's a perfect harmony between meat and vegetables. The broth is rich and fragrant, and its plating exquisite. How could the clients possibly be unhappy?" Hearing that familiar voice of my nemesis, I snapped fully awake and realized that I had been reborn. Her voice drew the other colleagues, who quickly gathered around.

I quickly put on one of the riding uniforms and headed to the dining room as I was extremely hungry. I descended the stairs and one of the maids led me to the room. The room was wonderful. It had white walls while the curtains were beige. In the middle of the room there was a large rectangular table with beautiful carved wooden chairs. On the walls were various paintings by famous painters. On the table was a white tablecloth and in the middle of it a vase of colorful flowers. There were also all kind of breakfast on it, such as croissants, coffee, juices, toasted breads, cakes, eggs with bacon, omelets, various jams and etc. I wondered who would eat all these. Stavros was sitting at the hea

~ Camilla I wasn’t prepared for breakfast. Not physically, not mentally, not spiritually, nothing in me was built for the shock of waking up to the smell of eggs and butter and actual coffee drifting through the penthouse like we lived in some domestic alternate universe where Stephano Maddens cooked. The Stephano I knew ordered breakfast like royalty: one text, no thanks, no acknowledgement, no eating alongside me. The idea of him cracking eggs with his own hands didn’t even exist in the same galaxy as reality.

Like he had all the time in the world. I felt my thoughts scatter. My hands found the front of his shirt. By the time he finally let me breathe, my heart was racing. "I have work tomorrow," I said. Then I walked back to the bedroom at a pace I absolutely refused to describe as fleeing. (Author's POV) The next morning, Alfred had breakfast prepared before anyone came downstairs. Eggs and toast for Celeste. Black coffee and a bowl of fruit for Vincenzo. And a full plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and orange juice for Luca, whose appetite Alfred had apparently assessed correctly within twelve hours of his arrival.

I reached out and turned the tag on the nearest dress. My eyes went very wide. I set it down carefully, like it might break. "Is there a gala this morning?" I asked. "Some kind of formal event?" Brielle smiled. "No, my lady. Just breakfast." "Just breakfast," I repeated. "Breakfast and dinner here at the palace are communal affairs. Everyone gathers. Lunch is informal, but morning and evening meals are observed as a custom." She said it with the easy familiarity of someone for whom this was simply how the world worked.

He was a man full of energy from early morning. Don Luciano did not appear at breakfast this morning either. It was in stark contrast to just a few days ago when he would make at least one appearance daily to show he was still well. Breakfast on the first-floor terrace overlooking the garden was an intimate affair with just Eugene and Valentine. While Eugene had a light meal of a croissant and a strong cup of coffee, Valentine devoured a large breakfast. A gallon of milk disappeared into his stomach in no time, followed by orange juice, croissants, lasagna, and sandwiches. It was fascinating to watch the food disappear so neatly without him eating particularly ravenously or hurriedly. Eugene

During my speech, I looked at the audience full of Russian oligarchs, Italian politicians, American arms dealers, and family members in black suits. “Three years ago, I ran away from this castle for love.” I said, “But now I return, not for revenge, but to prove… “That the principessa of the Lucas family will lead the family to an even brighter future! I need no one to save me. I can stand on my own and become my own queen.” Applause thundered. Silas kissed me, whispering in my ear, “And my queen too.” After the banquet, I walked alone to the terrace, gazing at the Sicilian night.

she mumbled, before hastily retreating into her own room. In no time, the family came down for breakfast, and the aroma of freshly baked Italian focaccia filled the air. They gathered around the table, enjoying a delicious spread of breakfast treats, including creamy cannoli, sweet pastries, and rich espresso. The Italian feast was a delightful start to their day, and everyone chatted and laughed as they savored the flavors. After breakfast, they prepared for a day of fun and adventure. The kids were excited to hit the slopes for a day of snowboarding, while the adults looked forward to exploring the nearby museum and enjoying the scenic views of the mountains.

Paintings covered the walls, while a huge crystal chandelier hung above the long, polished table. Jesse sat at the far end of the table, as usual. The maids moved quietly around the room in cream dresses and black aprons, placing breakfast on the table and lifting the silver covers from each dish. There were golden cornetti filled with pistachio cream, sweet maritozzi topped with whipped cream, sliced blood oranges, and a silver pot of steaming espresso. At the head of the table, Donato ignored the food. His breakfast remained untouched as he focused on a stack of documents.

Just as I put on a light palazzo trouser, a knock came on my door. "Who?" "My lady, it's Alara." "And who is....?" I cut myself off, almost immediately. "Your personal maid." "Oh, the maid." We both said at the same time. "Yes, my lady." She replied. "Alright. Come right in." I invited and the door creaked open the next second. "What has you in my space, so early in the morning?" "I brought your breakfast." She bowed. "Breakfast?" I was truly suprised. It was still so early. "Breakfast is eaten so early here in the palace?"