Ritual Pasta Novels & Stories

“Some of the rituals require your wolf form. If you can’t shift, you don’t deserve to be Luna. That is why I brought her. Serena will take over.” Darius’s jaw tightened. “You can’t make that decision for me, Mother. I chose Lyra. You don’t get to replace her.” He paused, then a slow, dangerous smirk curved his mouth. “You’ll keep your deal—with both of them. Whoever fucks you better and makes you come harder gets to stay and finish the rituals.” His mother’s face darkened with rage. “You can’t be serious, Darius.” “You can’t back out of a deal, Mother. You made it yourself yesterday.”

Probably because they're shaped like cylinders instead of rectangles. Pasta. Three kinds. The children get butter pasta. Simple. Perfect. Risotto. Creamy. Rich. Chicken. Fish. Vegetables that don't look like vegetables. Look like art. Sophie orders more prosecco. "We haven't finished these bottles," Morton observes. "We will. The night is young." "It's two-thirty in the afternoon." "Exactly. Young." Scarlett reaches for her glass. Drinks. It's her third glass. Or fourth. I've lost count.

React. But she suddenly moves, her hands pressing against her stomach. She bends forward slightly. I could see discomfort etched across her expression. She's hungry. Before I can stop myself, I grab the intercom on my desk. “Send food to my chamber,” I bark. “Pizzoccheri with sage, light on the butter. Polenta, creamy. Torta di nocciole. Zabaglione, not cream. Chamomile tea with honey.” The response is instant: “Yes, sir.”

But now, as the buzz settled and the store began to find its rhythm, Marcus and Brenda finally had time to just… be. Brenda sat on Marcus’s couch, legs folded beneath her, a mug of tea warming her hands. She wore one of his oversized hoodies, the sleeves drooping past her wrists, and a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Marcus was in the kitchen, preparing what he proudly called “Bachelor Chef Pasta”—a blend of garlic, cream, leftover rotisserie chicken, and a reckless amount of parmesan. “Smells good,” Brenda called. “Don’t sound so surprised,” Marcus teased, his voice half-drowned by the sizzle of garlic in the pan.

Each plate looked like a work of art, arranged with precision, every color intentionally placed to delight both the eye and the palate. Finally, I revealed the most personal creation: Princess Diane Pasta, a colorful mix of pastas—string, bow tie, and shell—tossed with light sauce, vegetables, and apple cider. I explained softly, “This dish was inspired by my daughter. I think we all remembered when Diane got kidnapped. After we got her back, we decided we were going to cook together, so she cooked with me—then she was about to add apple cider, her favorite juice box, instead of the garlic paste, so I stopped her.

[1] [AGATHA NGUYEN] "Okay, according to the welcome basket note from the villa owner, this is local handmade trofie pasta, fresh basil from the garden, and authentic Genovese pesto," I announced, sorting through the fresh ingredients laid out on the marble counter. I had changed into a pair of comfortable linen trousers and an oversized shirt, feeling more grounded than I had in a year. [1] Lexie walked up behind me, completely barefoot, sliding her arms under mine to grab a fresh cherry tomato from the bowl. "And what exactly is the chef's plan for all of this?"

So he explained to me concisely what the Culurgiones were about. “It is a form of pasta, similar to ravioli, which is prepared by hand and filled with potato cream, covered with mint and sheep cheese. They are usually seasoned with fresh tomato and basil or with butter and sage. I've eaten it on several occasions, I'm surprised that you haven't” "Well, there's always a first time, Ismail." I rolled my eyes, not really bothered, just making the moment more relaxed than I was. And apparently you are present in many of my first times.

"I'm telling you, even though this drama only has a rating of 2.5 stars, it's incredibly melodramatic. The main characters constantly show affection. It's so damn good!" Larissa listened in silence, thinking that Dylan was genuinely passionate about the drama. Rio looked at the pasta on his plate, then at Larissa's and Rachel's, and cried out loudly, "Caspian, you're too biased! Why is my pasta so plain? Their pasta is covered in truffles and caviar." Indeed, Rio's pasta had a meager topping of tomato sauce, looking rather unimpressive. On the contrary, Larissa's and Rachel's pasta boasted a lavish layer of truffles and caviar.

But instead of simple dishes , the maids returned with an Italian pasta dish , called Carbonara and Grilled Caesar salad . Lana 's expression turned cold even Eva threw a contemptuous glare at Ella . Mia and Grandpa Cable smile stiffened and they looked at Ella with questioning eyes . "I , I asked the kitchen to prepare something that Xander liked , after all Xander had studied in Italy for so long and he loves eating pasta for breakfast. I just wanted , Miss Lana to know of Xander's preferences " When Ella saw that everyone except the King brothers were looking at her , she hurried to explain herself .

I‌ asked,‍ a weird gr‌i⁠n spr‌eading across my fa⁠ce‌. "I am," he said firmly. "A simple pasta. Aglio e olio. It’s ef‌fi‍cient." "‌No," I said, hopping off th‍e counter‌ and wa‍lking over to him. I plucked the box of pasta fro⁠m his hand. "Efficiency is for boardrooms.‍ Tonight, we’re going to be me⁠ssy. We’re going to be ineff⁠icient. W‍e’re going to have... fun."