Our love story

9

NADIA FRANCIZEK POV

I slammed his door shut with a resounding force, feeling an intense surge of anger coursing through my veins as I tugged harshly on my hair while huffing and puffing in exasperation. Things had been progressing smoothly between us, so why did he have to treat me with such disrespect? But why was I allowing myself to become so invested in his behavior? I needed to maintain a level of professionalism, Nadia. He wasn't worth my emotional distress.

Just then, Francesca greeted me warmly as I stepped into the restaurant. "MA, you're here."

I forced a tight, polite smile and replied curtly, "Yes."

As I made my way to the kitchen, the influx of orders distracted me from my earlier annoyance, and I channeled my energy into preparing meals with precision and focus. Hours flew by in a flash, and before I knew it, the time read 5:27. I really had to get going. I grabbed my purse and was about to exit the kitchen when Lucas rushed over to me, his eyes pleading for my attention.

"Nadia, I know Skylar lives with you," he said, his voice laced with desperation and a hint of longing.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his audacity. "So?" I asked, my tone measured.

"You have to let me see her," he implored. "I can't continue living without her. She means the world to me, and what I did to her was unforgivable and unreasonable. But I really did not mean to," he added, his voice cracking with emotion.

"You claim it was not intentional, so what drove you to behave that way, then?" I asked, my skepticism evident.

"I was drunk," he admitted, shamefaced. "Tommasso and I went to a bar to celebrate his success in closing a deal with a prominent company. I drank to oblivion, and being a good drinker, Skylar couldn't detect that I was inebriated." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Please, Nadia, you're the only one who can save our marriage. I don't want to lose her; I love her," he said, his voice breaking at the end.

I sighed, feeling a mix of emotions. "I will talk to her about it, but if she refuses to speak with you, then there's nothing more I can do."

He smiled, relief washing over his face. "Thank you so much, Nadia."

I quickly dashed out of the restaurant, not before reminding Francesca to close up shop. As I checked my phone, my eyes widened in shock.

"Shit! 5:39!" I exclaimed, feeling a surge of panic.

I hailed a cab and rushed to his house, arriving 40 minutes later. I paid the driver and hurried inside, using the passcode to open the door.

"Ms. Francizek, you're 23 minutes late," a stern voice greeted me, laced with disapproval.

I gulped, feeling a surge of anxiety. "I am sorry, sir. Traffic was chaotic," I explained, trying to sound contrite.

"I don't condone lateness, Ms. Francizek. This is your final warning," he said, his eyes stern. "Or I'll have to punish you, and I mean it," he added, his voice firm.

I stepped back, horror creeping up my spine. "It won't happen again, sir," I promised, trying to sound convincing.

He turned and walked away, leaving me breathless and feeling a mix of emotions. I dropped my purse on the couch and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner – brown rice pasta alongside roast chicken thighs with salsa verde. As I set the table, I decided red wine would pair well with the meal.

The wine cellar was impressive, with an extensive collection of expensive wines. I sighed deeply, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer variety, and grabbed a bottle of red wine before making my way back to the kitchen.