Breakfast In The Palazzo Novels & Stories

She was enchanted, and wanted to stay longer, but it had started to get crowdy and she did not want to be there for too long. Eden walked out, not knowing what to do next. She decided to get breakfast, since she left Leo who was going to take her to breakfast. One of the things that made Eden excited about the visit was Italian food. She did not want to grab a coffee and a sandwich for breakfast, or a sub for a meal. She wanted to sit down and a fine restaurant and experience the Italian food everytime. She looked up the best breakfast places in Florence and booked an Uber to the location, while she waited outside the baptistery on a bench. She found a restaurant names L’Osteria del’Peccator

Raffaele’s POV The hallway of the Ricchezza manor was bathed in morning light, the light wooden floor catching the sun’s rays from the arched windows. The scent of jasmine from the garden drifted in, mingling with the aroma of Giuliana’s breakfast—kahi with date syrup, ful medames, tashreeb, croissants, cornetti, biscotti, and brewing espresso. But the warmth couldn’t touch the storm in my chest. Valentina was pregnant.

I carefully placed the picture on the bedside table, hoping to return it to her. After freshening up, I made my way downstairs to the breakfast table. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. On the table were fluffy buttermilk pancakes topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup. The cook bustled around the kitchen while a few maids tended to the morning chores. My distaste for too many people around crept in as I surveyed the scene. “Good morning, Mr. Rinaldi,” Ruggero Rossi said, walking in as I was rounding up breakfast. I nodded in response. I set my cutlery down and pushed my chair back.

My thumb hovers over the screen. I used to have friends but now their faces blur into memories. Charles fills the space they left and still, I feel empty. My hand shakes as I set the phone down. A few minutes later, the door opens and Eli enters with a tray. Fresh bread. Ricotta. Honey. Espresso. Berries and a soft-boiled egg. My Italian breakfast. He sets it on the table next to my bed. “Grazie,” I say quietly. His brow lifts. “Prego,” he responds.

Salma muttered. “No,” Poppy said quickly. “I’m a Captain Princess.” I closed my eyes again. “Yeah. That’s much more comforting.” +++ Breakfast was served in a smaller dining room, warmer than the formal one from last night. Tall windows opened toward the garden, and morning light came through the cypress leaves, falling across a round table with a white cloth, delicate porcelain, fresh fruit, eggs, warm bread, honey, and—of course—croissants. Poppy stopped in the doorway. “Castle breakfast,” she whispered, deeply satisfied.

So this was what waking up meant now, being announced, without permission, without warning. A knock came softly bringing me back to reality. Then it came again. I didn’t answer fast enough and the door opened anyway. A maid stepped in. “Breakfast is ready, miss.” I almost laughed at that. Breakfast. Like anything inside me could sit still enough to eat. “I’m not hungry......” Hold on she didn't come bearing breakfast, but was inviting to eat at the dining. A pause. “The boss is already downstairs.” I blinked a couple of times, trying to wrap my head around it, I'm to dine with Lorenzo.

She chided, already moving towards the food. Ava was confused because she was certain she'd not made food in a long time, there was no way Elaina was seeing breakfast. she hurried to the kitchen too and sure enough, laid out on the dinner table were toast and eggs, juice and what looked like ice cream all covered with food covers, she knew she did not have those.

I figured I’d spend the morning at the spa, pampering my body, sore all over. So I did, and by the time I came out of the room, a maid was setting a fresh breakfast on the little table. “Good morning, Mrs. Greco. The Alpha ordered breakfast for you,” she said attentively, even showing me the roses Lorenzo had specially requested. “You can tell he adores you...” “I’m not having breakfast right now. Leave everything there. Thanks,” I cut her off, walking straight for the door. Right now, the last thing I wanted was to fake sighs and heart-fluttering love.

Just a moka pot of espresso, a few cornetti, sliced bread, jam, butter, a small bowl of fruit, yogurt. “Normal” Italian breakfast. I pulled out a chair and sat, my back automatically straight. The chair at the end of the table, Rafael’s favorite, was empty. His napkin was folded neatly on his plate, untouched. In front of me, right above my plate, lay a thin black folder. My name was printed in the center: Arabella Paloma Garcia-Ricciardi. I stared at the letters for a long time. My fingers brushed over the surface, feeling the faint roughness of the cardstock. The whole world seemed to shrink down to that flat, quiet object.

“Signora is fine, Maria. Or Elena. You know that.” She nodded, still smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course, Signora. Old habits die hard.” She wiped her hands on a clean towel and gestured toward the spread on the counter, there were warm croissants, sliced melon glistening with dew, yogurt swirled with honey, and fluffy scrambled eggs flecked with fresh herbs. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are.” “Where’s Enzo?” Her smile dimmed just a fraction. “The boss left very early this morning.”