Conflict of Heart

Chapter 20

Jenny Walker appeared to be glowing one warm afternoon as the couple arrived home. Her creamy skin tone had deepened an extra two shades upon sunbathing along the exclusive beach resort in Mauritius for the past two weeks, and her dark chocolate hair caught the rays of the bright sun as she stepped out of the car.

The family greeted each other with a plethora of kisses and well wishes, and everything seemed to be just as it has always been. Rosa had even livened up a little upon seeing her parents, the small smile on her face the first that Isabella had seen in weeks.

"Where's Alfredo?" Jenny asked once everyone had calmed down, finally having the chance to look around and notice the absence of the beloved chef.

"In the kitchen. He . . . hasn't been doing too well since Mademoiselle Fettucine left," Isabella supplied, remembering the several burnt or undercooked meals she had forced down in the past week. It got so bad that Lesley eventually chased him out of the kitchen and prepared them something herself.

She was a decent cook at best.

Jenny's dark gaze softened in dismay, and she glanced towards her husband. "I'll just go and have a word with him."

He looked down at her and kissed her temple before loosening his hold on her waist. She instantly missed the warmth of his embrace but forced herself to walk up the steps to their home.

The cool interior was like a breath of fresh air from the humidity of the summer day, and her heeled sandals clicked against the flooring as she made her way to the kitchen. Before she had even entered the room, she knew that something was wrong – the lack of tantalizing aromas being her first clue. When she walked past the threshold, her dark gaze drifted over the area before landing upon a slumped figure disinterestedly chopping an onion.

"Alfredo?" she called and watched the figure jump in fright before quickly turning to face her, his face blotchy and eyes red.

He sniffed and blinked harshly several times before attempting to smile at her, but the action didn't reach his eyes nor did it make his cheeks bunch like a chipmunk's as it usually did.

"Madame, welcome back," he greeted and walked towards her to place his two customary kisses to her cheeks with her aide of having to bend down a little so he could reach. "I hope the holiday went well."

His sullen almost formal greeting made her frown as she looked down at him. "It went wonderfully, Alfredo. But . . . I hear you haven't been doing too well. And, by the looks of it, I feel that's true."

The large chef instantly waved away her comment, but he didn't look her in the eye as he muttered in a low voice, "I was just cutting onions. It's not like I was crying because the love of my life rejected me or anything."

"Alfredo . . ."

"Honestly, Madame. I am perfectly fine. There's no need to worry about me," Alfredo attempted to appease her by straightening his shoulders and moving back to the chopping board, but the actions lacked their usual robust manner.

Jenny sighed and walked to stand on the other side of the counter. She watched the mechanical way he chopped the onions to the way his mouth constantly seemed to be pinched. Her heart ached at the sight of the once fuller-than-life man now appearing to be a shell of his former self.

That was something that she had learnt over the years. Love striped you bare of everything you once knew. It was both terrifying and thrilling, and especially painful when ripped away from you.

"Do you know why I hired Danielle, Alfredo?" she began, noticing how the chef paused for a brief second before continuing to dice the onions.

"You needed help to prepare for your anniversary celebration," he replied, his voice monotone and almost robotic.