arched his eyebrows. “Now, what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It's just that I've never seen you do something so trivial as buying groceries,” I explained.
“Just because you've never seen me do it, doesn't mean it never happened,” Alessandro defended. “This might come as a surprise to you, cara, but I’m a lot less of a snob than you think.”
“So you could live without the servants?” I blurted out, folding my arms over my chest.
He shrugged and didn't hesitate with his answer. “If need be. I think you have the wrong image about me, Olivia. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” His eyes bored into mine. “I could live without the servants, the mansions, the expensive cars and the money in my bank account. Those things are not important.”
His words held a deep meaning that made me think of my little sister. I would trade all the luxury in a heartbeat just to be back in that ruined house, comforting May throughout our parents' torturous fights.
The last traces of amusement evaporated from my expression and I flashed Alessandro a sad smile. “I feel the same way. Material possessions mean nothing in the light of the well-being of the people we love.”
“I'm glad we can agree on something, cara,” Alessandro said in a mysterious voice. “It's a good start.”
I remained silent and gazed into his deep, dark brown eyes. His lips twisted into a shadow of a smile and he returned to handling the groceries. It took him a while, but eventually he found two plates and glasses in the kitchen cupboards. Then, he retrieved fresh bagels from the paper bag and headed to the sink to open a package of mozzarella. He cut the white balls of cheese into thin slices before dipping them into some olive oil. Completely dumbfounded, I gaped as he cut the bagels and opened a package of sliced ham.
“What are you making?” I inquired, peering over his shoulder.
Alessandro glanced my way. “Mozzarella prosciutto sandwiches. Trust me, you'll love them.”
I gasped an incredulous smile and continued observing this man who seemed so far removed from my husband, he might as well have been a total stranger. In a couple of minutes, we sat across from each other with two mozzarella prosciutto sandwiches on our plates.
“Go ahead, cara. Try it,” Alessandro encouraged with a brisk nod. “I’m curious to hear what you think.”
I sank my teeth into the sandwich. The perfect amount of saltiness of the cold meat and the light texture of the cheese overwhelmed my taste buds. It was one of the simplest, yet most delicious things I had ever tasted. The combination was perfect. I took another bite and moaned in delight.
Alessandro grinned. “And? What is the verdict?”
“It's delicious,” I complimented him. “Who taught you how to make them?”
His eyes went distant for a moment and then he smiled again. “I'm Italian, remember? A sense for good food runs in my veins. It's all in the fresh ingredients.”
“So, what else can you make?” I was beyond curious.
Alessandro smirked and an unusual shade of red stained his cheeks. “Not much,” he confessed. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn't mind taking over the kitchen since you used to work in a restaurant. If you cook, I promise I'll do the dishes.”
I shook my head and fought the need to laugh. The thought of Alessandro doing the dishes was ridiculous, but very tempting nonetheless. “You want me to cook on our honeymoon?” I taunted playfully before taking another bite of my sandwich.
“Only if you want to,” he retorted softly. “If you don't feel like it, I will invite the chef to come back. I didn’t consider the issues that might arise when I got rid of all the staff.”
He was lying through his teeth. Alessandro considered every possible consequence his actions might have, but I couldn't call him out on his bluff. He would simply deny it. Besides, if I declined I would be shooting myself in the foot and appear to be the very thing he claimed he was not—a snob “No. I don't mind doing the cooking part for as long as you take care of the dishes...and the groceries,” I demanded, fully expecting him to protest.
“That won't be a problem, tesoro,” he asserted with his usual self-confidence. “I can't wait to taste your specialties.”
“I do feel obliged to warn you I haven't cooked anything in a while, so I can't guarantee it will be edible.”