Chapter 67 Little Lamb's Feast
“Missus, what are you making?” Clara asked as she stepped into the large kitchen. She found Leitana with her back to the door, an apron tied snugly around her waist, her long wavy hair pulled into a messy ponytail that let loose strands frame her face.
Leitana turned from the pot, a big, happy smile lighting her features. A few rebellious curls tumbled forward as she moved.
The other maids paused their tasks, watching with quiet amusement.
“Mi making a meal for Ravial—to tank him proper,” she explained, eyes sparkling, before turning back to stir the pot.
Clara’s eyes widened. The missus cooking? That was unheard of. What if she got hurt? A spill, a cut—Clara’s heart raced at the thought. She glanced at Rosa, who sat calmly on a stool, watching Leitana with a soft smile.
“Ma’am Rosa,” Clara whispered urgently, “are we really going to let this happen? The master won’t be happy if she gets hurt.”
She looked to the others for support, but no one backed her up.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Maya said gently. “She’s preparing a meal for her husband.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I know that. But what if….”
She turned to Leitana, ready to protest, when Leitana spun around with a mischievous grin and pressed a spoonful of food right into Clara’s mouth.
Clara’s words muffled into a surprised “Mmph!” as Leitana gently closed her mouth with a finger under her chin, forcing her to swallow.
Clara’s eyes went comically wide.
She swallowed again, slower, savoring the taste.
Her shock melted into confusion… then quiet wonder.
“It’s… good,” she admitted, blinking. “Really good. I’ve never tasted anything like it. What is this dish?”
Leitana smiled, pleased, and lowered the heat under the pot. “Dis one called laplap,” she said proudly. “Poor people food from back home. We grate cassava or taro—sometimes yam—mix wit’ thick coconut milk, little onion, salt. Wrap everything in banana leaf, cook slow till soft an’ rich.”
She stirred gently, the warm, earthy scent filling the kitchen.
“In di orphanage, laplap was special,” she added softly. “We make it when church send donation. Or Christmas. Everybody happy dat day.”
Maya leaned closer, inhaling deeply. “It smells incredible.”
Leitana nodded. “Simple food, but it fill di belly an’ warm di heart. Feel like home.”
Rosa smiled from her stool. “The master had me stock the kitchen with everything from Vanuatu months ago,” she said calmly. “Fresh manioc leaves, taro, yam—even kava roots once. Suppliers flew them in. I thought he was mad… until now.”
Clara’s eyes widened again, then she nodded slowly. “Yes… I remember that order.”
Leitana turned back to the pot, stirring happily. “Mi see all di tings today an’ mi heart jump! Everything for tuluk too—pork, cabbage, ginger. So mi make dat as well. An’ simboro—grated banana wit’ coconut milk, wrap in leaf. Soft an’ sweet.”
She pointed to the second pot, bubbling gently.
“We eat anything grow from ground back home. Papa God provide.”
Clara watched Leitana move around the kitchen—careful, natural, completely at ease—then glanced at the spoon still in her hand.
“Well,” she muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips, “if this is poor people food, the master’s about to be very spoiled.”
The other maids laughed warmly.
Leitana laughed too, bright and unguarded. “Mi jus’ want say thank you,” she said simply, eyes soft. “He do plenty for mi… even when mi no always understand why.”
Rosa’s gaze lingered on her a moment, thoughtful, as the pots simmered and the kitchen filled with a warmth that felt strangely like peace.
“Wow, just look at the table,” Phoebe said, eyes wide as she took in the spread. “I’m already salivating. It all looks so good.”
“Yes,” Sarah added eagerly. “It tastes just as delicious as it looks. The missus is really talented. The master is lucky.”
Leitana hurried back in, hands fluttering as she straightened already-perfect plates, nudged a bowl an inch, wiped an invisible speck from the wood.
The rumble of cars sounded outside.
She froze.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“That’s the master,” Rosa said calmly, wiping her hands.
The maids exchanged quick, knowing smiles.
“We’ll have our share after the boss,” Maya whispered with a grin, already backing away.
Leitana smoothed her apron, nerves fluttering anew.
She hurried toward the entrance hall.
The front door opened.
Ravial stepped in—tall, blindfolded, suit impeccable.
He stopped when he saw her rushing toward him.
His deep voice softened—just for her.
“Little lamb.”
She reached him in seconds, pressing close.
His hand came up immediately, cradling the back of her head.
He bent, nose brushing her neck, inhaling slow.
“You smell like home,” he murmured.
She giggled, shy and happy. “Mi cook for yu.”
He hummed, lips grazing her skin.
“Lead the way.”
“Quick, quick,” Phoebe muttered, gathering the others with hurried gestures. “Let’s go before we get caught staring.”
They slipped out one by one, soft laughter trailing behind them as they whispered about tasting the leftovers once the master had his fill.
Leitana barely heard them.
She smoothed her apron again, nerves fluttering like butterflies in her stomach.
The front door opened.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall—calm, unhurried, each one carrying unmistakable power.
She rushed out instinctively, skirts gathered in her hands.
Ravial stood just inside the doorway, tall and imposing in his dark suit that seemed to absorb the light. The black blindfold rested over his eyes as always, his men fanning out behind him like silent shadows.
He stopped the moment he sensed her.
His deep voice softened—just for her.
“Little lamb.”
Leitana didn’t hesitate.
She hurried into his arms, her small body pressing against his solid chest. His arm came around her instantly, firm and sure, one large hand cradling the back of her head as he bent down. His nose brushed the curve of her neck, lingering there, inhaling slowly.
“You smell… different,” he murmured, voice low and thoughtful.
She giggled, warmth flooding her cheeks. “Mi cook for yu,” she said proudly. “Special food from home.”
His head tilted slightly, as if reassessing her entirely.
“For me,” he repeated, not a question.
She nodded eagerly, though he couldn’t see it. “Yes. To tank yu.”
Something unreadable flickered across his face—brief, but there.
Then, quietly: “Lead the way.”
Her smile widened, bright as sunlight.
She took his hand—her small fingers slipping into his gloved palm—and guided him toward the dining room. He followed without resistance, grip steady, trusting her direction completely.
As they walked, his thumb brushed once over her knuckles.
Just once.
But it sent a shiver of delight through her.
Leitana’s heart fluttered.
She led him to the table, pulling out his chair with a little help from a nearby attendant. Ravial sat, composed as ever, but his attention never left her presence.
“This is… different,” he said after a moment, voice calm, taking in the scents.
Leitana clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels. “Mi hope yu like am.”
He reached out, finding her hand unerringly, pulling her gently closer until she stood between his knees.
“I already do,” he replied, low and certain.
Her cheeks warmed again.
She squeezed his fingers.
And for the first time that day,
everything felt perfectly right.