Marry Me Chicken Once Upon A Chef Novels & Stories

"The fine man deserves compensation." They kept on going on and on as if I wasn't there, but I made a mental resolve to ignore them also. "What is the chef passing me the menu for, but I wasn't hungry. In the distance, a pianist played a soft classical tune." When they brought up the marriage, I spoke up. "I will never marry you," I yelled at him, with my feet sinking into the Persian rock and picking a golden cutlery just in case

Amanda's POV The evening air in the mansion was still and electric. It was unsettling, considering that only a few hours ago, I had stood at the altar, a blushing bride in an emerald green gown. Well, not exactly blushing. I hadn’t exactly had the heart of a starry-eyed bride who had just married the love of her life. No, I was married to Quinn McCullough. The arrogant and impossible Quinn. A man who made my blood boil with irritation... and… It didn’t matter what else was there. He was just arrogant and hard-headed.

After a long time, I felt the glee of double happiness, the sacred spirit of Christmas had blessed our hearts with love. Howard asked the chef to prepare my favorite meal, as I had skipped dinner at the party. And OMG, this was the best plate of chicken piccata I had in ages. Our Palace’s chefs were good, and I could cook as well, but a cooked meal with perfection was heaven for my palate. Nothing could match the mastery of a Michelin-star chef. I sent my compliments to him and was ordering the second plate when Howard’s cell phone rang. He took it out and said,

I asked. "I decided to make Chicken Marbella. I'm just throwing the chicken and marinade together now and I'm going to bake it once it gets closer to time. You're actually supposed to marinate it overnight but oh well." "Oh well? What happened to the usual overachiever Paige I know and love?" I tilted my head at her.

"I'll take that as a no." "Hey! I never say that!" I hissed at him and he raised his eyebrows at me. "Then what?" "Marry you? For real? Like real real marriage?" I asked and he nodded. "Why do you want to marry me?" I asked. "This is good." He pointed at the chicken and I looked at him disbelief. "You wanted to marry me just because the chicken is good?" I asked and glared at him. "Imagine I will be eating your cook everyday for the rest of my life.. I'll be happy."

The kind of food that made me willing to postpone my internal war until at least the third bite. “Mami?” Gabby called. “Hmm.” “If royal chicken marries a prince, does she become queen?” I chewed solemnly. “If she can still get married after being roasted, she deserves to become whatever she wants.” Kendra choked quietly. Al stared suspiciously at the chicken on his plate. “He can’t marry. He has no head.” “Exactly,” I said. “First red flag.” Gabby turned to Kendra. “What is red flag?”

Opening the oven door, Cadence peered inside, trying to decide whether or not the chicken was done. She’d cooked it for as long as the recipe said to, but it wasn’t “golden brown” on top. Or was it? She sighed and closed the oven again, resetting the timer for five more minutes. There was a reason she didn’t cook much. Not only did her husband never eat, she was terrible at anything that involved a stove. Still, part of her wanted to improve her domestic skills now that she was married, so she’d decided to try something different and actually cook a meal—chicken and two sides. So far, she was thinking she would’ve been better off ordering take out or heating up one of the entrees from the fr

I just wanted the marriage to work out. I guess Percival and I aren't like that because we're not real husbands and wives. However, I wanted this more. I can finally see the light of the old me. The one I dimmed when I married Cadmus. "You're really good at this. Even with just a little practice," Percival said with his lips pouted. "Not true. The taste is pretty plain to me," I replied as I tasted the chicken we cooked. "It's because you're used to chefs' cooking. I made food for myself in the past, and they don't stand a chance against this."

“Where are you hiding the golden horseshoe? Men often are the ones handcuffed and taken to jail. “She won’t admit it, but she still loves me. Anyway, then I took her to a friend’s restaurant. Ironically, he just bought a restaurant that’s gluten-free and specialized in making food for people with allergies and such. We had dinner. I kissed her in the car, before I drove to my place.” “I don’t want the blow-by-blow, Everett. Did you do the deed or not? Was she a willing participant? “She was a willing participant.” “At any time, did she say no?”

Linden and Estelle shared a look. “You actually cooked chicken, but I didn’t get to taste it.” “Yeah, right. The Marry-me chicken.” “I can see why Lake is head over heels with you now.” I lost words on how to respond to that. Maverick just blushed. “Because I can cook? He should have put chef as a qualification for his wife.” “Because you cooked for your husband, you’re funny and appreciate a simple meal like this,” said Estelle, saving me.