Chapter 20 Chapter 20.

Chapter 20 Chapter 20.
As Aria made her way to her bedroom, a tantalizing aroma wafted through the air, quickly followed by the unmistakable scent of something burning. Furrowing her brow, she followed the trail to the kitchen, where a pan was sputtering ominously. “Oh my God,” she gasped, rushing to the stove. With a swift motion, she turned off the heat and peered into the pot. 

“This is ruined,” she sighed, disappointment flooding her as she assessed the charred remnants.

Just then, a middle-aged woman burst into the kitchen, her eyes wide with panic. “Oh no!” she cried, rushing toward the stove.

“Are you the cook?” Aria asked, concern mixing with urgency.

“Yes,” the woman replied, her voice trembling as she surveyed the scene. “But not for long, if Mr. Moretti finds out about this.”

“Why? It was an accident. He can’t possibly blame you for burnt food,” Aria attempted to reassure her, stepping closer.

The woman shook her head, a veil of fear obscuring her features. “Mr. Moretti hates mistakes. If he finds out I left the food unattended, I’m finished.”

“He’ll do nothing to you. The food burning isn’t your fault!” Aria insisted, trying to pacify her.

“It is my fault! If I had been here, it wouldn’t have happened,” the woman retorted, desperation creeping into her voice.

“Then where were you?” Aria pressed, sensing the woman’s anxiety.

“I had a stomachache. I needed to... you know, use the restroom urgently,” the woman explained, her cheeks flushing.

As she spoke, her stomach growled audibly, and she doubled over, clutching her midsection.

“You need to take care of yourself,” Aria urged gently.

“I can’t think about myself until I sort this mess out,” the woman replied, grimacing as she struggled to lift the pot off the burner.

Aria watched the woman try to get things done while trying to bear with her stomach discomfort. “Leave it,” she finally stepped closer, instinctively taking the knife from the woman’s hand.

“No! I’ll do it myself!” the woman protested, re-claiming the knife with a shaky grip.

“Which do you think would get Mr. Moretti more mad: getting his food burned or messing his kitchen with poop?” Aria challenged, her tone teasing yet serious.

The woman swallowed hard as the reality of the situation hit her. Her grip on the knife loosened, and her strength seemed to drain away.

Aria gently took the knife from her. “Go take care of yourself. I’ll handle this.”

Hesitantly, the woman nodded in agreement, her relief palpable.

“What were you making?” Aria asked, taking over.

“Lasagna,” the woman replied, the word heavy with a mix of pride and despair.

“La what?” Aria raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused.

“Lasagna. It’s an Italian dish,” the woman explained, cringing slightly as she beat herself up over the ruined meal. “It’s one of Mr. Moretti’s favorites. But I'm afraid it's ruined now.”

Aria nodded sympathetically. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. What’s the recipe?”

The woman hesitated, then rushed through the ingredients and instructions, her words tumbling out in a jumble. Aria listened attentively, trying to absorb everything, but as soon as the woman hurried off to take care of herself, her brain failed her. She didn't get a hang of anything the woman said.

She sighed deeply, her brow furrowing. “What do I do? I know nothing about this dish. If breakfast isn’t ready on time… the cook is finished.”

Leaning against the countertop while biting her finger in thought, she racked her brain. “If I try to prepare it anyhow and it comes out bad, it could be the end for her.” Another sigh escaped her lips as she tapped her fingers on the counter, her mind racing against the clock. “What to do? What to do? There isn’t much time left before breakfast. What should I make?”

A spark suddenly ignited in her head. “The most important thing is making sure there’s food available to eat when it’s time for breakfast. Everything else, we’ll handle later,” she concluded resolutely.

Aria’s eyes lit up with determination as she rummaged through the kitchen, searching for ingredients. She opted for something simple yet satisfying—scrambled eggs with toast. 

She cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them vigorously with a pinch of salt and pepper. As she heated a pan on the stovetop, she sliced some bread and toasted it to a golden brown.

Once the eggs were cooked to perfection, Aria served them on plates alongside the toasted bread. She garnished the dishes with some fresh herbs she found in the kitchen and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"Good job, Aria. We're just in time," she commended herself.

With the help of a trolley she moved the dishes to the dinning room and set them out on the table.

"Tea," she gasped as she remembered the last item to be served on the table. 

Aria quickly rushed into the kitchen, her hands moving swiftly as she made tea. Coming back to the dinning room she the tea poured tea into the cups, her hands moving swiftly as she tried to finish the task. She added a slice of lemon to each cup, hoping that would be enough.

As she finished setting the table, Francesca walked into the dining room, her eyes scanning the table before landing on the scrambled eggs. "What's this?" she asked, her voice incredulous. 

“Breakfast,” Aria replied, settling down at the table.

“Breakfast?” Francesca scoffed, her disbelief palpable as she scanned the table. “Where’s the lasagna?”

“The cook had an emergency,” Aria answered defensively.

“What kind of emergency could be more pressing than her job?” Francesca lashed out, her eyes flashing with contempt.

Aria chose to ignore the venom in Francesca’s voice. Instead, she picked up her fork and knife, focusing on cutting her scrambled eggs as if they held the answer to her problems.

Francesca’s expression turned cold, and before Aria could process the escalation, she snatched the cup of tea and poured its entire contents over the plate of scrambled eggs and crisp toast. 

Aria’s eyes widened in horror as she shot up to her feet. “That was for Lucien!” she yelled, her voice a mixture of frustration and disbelief.

“I know,” Francesca replied, her tone delightfully sinister, a gleam of satisfaction in her eye.

Walking over to her own side of the table, she mimicked her earlier actions, pouring tea over her eggs. “I don’t eat trash,” she smirked, relishing the moment. “And I’ll make sure no one else does either.”

Aria could feel the heat rising in her chest at Francesca’s blatant disregard. In a fit of anger, she grabbed her plate and, with a swift motion, hurled it at Francesca, the contents splatting across her face in a messy explosion of scrambled eggs and toast. 

Francesca wiped the food from her face, and instead of anger, a sly smile crept onto her lips. “Thank you…” she said mockingly. “Thank you for ruining the last dish. Now no one will be able to have a taste of it.”