A/N damn, I'm finding typing really hard. I'm working with this ancient laptop and I can't see a thing on the screen...I hope y'all understand this chapter. Sorry for the typographical errors...if there may be any...enjoy!
My Porcelain Doll
Chapter Thirteen
"This is great! I'd never thought I'd actually win this year's preliminaries!" Oliver said excitedly after dropping Johnny of at the hotel he was staying in; he and Enrique were left alone in the car (except for the driver).
"Want to stay at my house tonight?" the frenchie suggested. "I'm awfully alone. The mansion is so big, that's why I spend most of my spare time in my restaurant."
Enrique looked at him. "Oh sure...and then I was thinking for going back to Italy tomorrow."
Oliver looked surprised. "You've got plans? Hey, if your girlfriends miss you, don't let me get in your way..."
"No! No..." Enrique laughed. "I meant that since you're inviting me to see your place I might as well show you mine...I rarely ever get visitors...so I'm out most of the time. It'd be better to share some company."
The grass-haired chef nodded. "Same here..." he broke into a smile. "Thanks Enri, of course I'll come. Besides...I haven't been to Italy for a while."
--
"Bonsoir Monsieur Les Desmond..." greeted about forty frenchmaids lined in two neat rows. (reminds me of persocoms...)
"Bonsoir..." he returned most politely. "Mon amis, son apelle Enrique Giancarlo." he introduced, indicating Enrique and rolling the r most deliciously.
"Bonsoi Monsieur Giancarlo..." the maids chimed and they dispersed, fussing over the guests.
Enrique let out a low whistle. "Woah...your house is like a museum..."
Oliver smiled as he shrugged off his coat. "C'mon! I'll show you my studio..." he grabbed Enrique's hand and led him up their Grand Staircase.
"Studio?" the blonde asked, allowing to be led into a large room on the second floor. Oliver switched on the light and his friend couldn't help but gasp.
"You paint?" he asked him in awe. The chef nodded.
"It's not remarkable..." he replied, watching Enrique walk around the room in wonder examining various sculptures, paintings depicting families going on picnics and breathtaking landscapes.
"These...these are beautiful..." the blonde replied, being careful not to touch anything. "What's that?" he added when he spotted a large blank wall of cloth.
At that, the French boy smiled. "Oh, you'll love this..." he tugged sharply at the edge of the cloth and released it, unfurling a huge glass window made up of only one pane.
"Wow...The Eiffel Tower..." Enrique mumbled.
"I paint during...er...the sparest of my spare time..." Oliver said brightly. He glanced at the Italian who was silhouetted against the bright sunlight pouring from the window. "Do you have something like this?" he asked.
Enrique wheeled around, blinked and blushed. "Hah...It's nothing compared to yours..."
"Don't compare it to mine!" the grass-haired boy seemed scandalized. "My hobby may be different from your hobby. There aren't any grounds for comparison...and stop degrading yourself..." he added sternly.
Enrique hesitated, then smiled as he looked out the window. "I...uh...do gardening..."
"COOL!" the other exploded suddenly and made the blonde jump. "When we go to Rome tomorrow, show me you garden!"
"All right..." he nodded, amused at the Frenchman's reactions.
"I want to show you my kitchen..." Oliver said and once more grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the room, pressing button by the door in the process, shutting down the studio. The door locked itself behind them.
--
"This is every chef's dream..." Enrique remarked.
"It's just a few of my favorite places..." Oliver said casually.
The room was made entirely of steel...well, almost. There were ten rows of glass cabinets with various ingredients from all over the world contained in them. Next to it was a counter holding a ton of cutlery, knives of every use and size and a large variety of cooking pots and pans and the like. Then next to it was a counter reserved for various cooking tools: spatulas, peelers, whisks etc. Then there were world class stoves, grills, ovens, blast chillers, ice cream makers (the big ones)...a bar...all lined up neatly and given their own generous space. There was an immense glass cabinet devoted to wineglasses for every drink that needed special care. Rock glasses lined the bottom row and champagne glasses dominated the top and so on. Then lastly there was a door.
"What's this?" Enrique asked after oggling at the rest of the kitchen with his mouth open.
Oliver smiled. "You drink?"
"Hell yeah..."
He pushed it open and the pair was greeted by the sweet smell of wine. The chef descended the short stairs and Enrique followed.
The Italian took a deep breath. "It's like being back in my cousin's palazzi...she owns a wine company..."
Oliver thought for a moment. "Hn...your cousin? Ah! Giancarlo-Giovanni, right?"
Enrique nodded. "She's the one..."
"I think I have a bottle..." he said and hurried away between the honeycomb cases holding various alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks.
"Damn...you even have vodka..." the blonde said, idly examining a bottle. (Enri: If I knew Tala and the boys back then I'd say "You could even invite the Blitzkrieg over and have a drinking spree!")
"I like thier red wine..." Oliver said when he came back with a dust bottle in his arms. "You in the mood for pasta?" he asked brightly.
"Sure..." Enrique replied and thy ascended the stairs, going back into the kitchen.
--
(Yakitate!Japan cameos up ahead...)
"You don't have a cook?" the blonde Italian asked the green-haired French boy as he made a special herb-laden pasta dough.
"I prefer to do it myself..." came the reply.
Enrique sighed and gazed at the wide range of ingredients.
"I'm a help around the kitchen..." he mentioned thoughtfully. "What can I do?"
Oliver stared at him. "You cook?"
"You aren't the only who cooks in the whole wide world Oli..."
The frenchie laughed. "I know...could you bake a loaf of garlic bread please? It'd go well with the sauce..." he requested with expert air of giving orders.
Enrique nodded and stared bringing down ingredients.
"When did you learn to bake bread?" Oliver asked the blonde as he was kneading the dough.
"My butler had the good grace to introduce me to my relatives I was oblivious to." He stopped a moment to look around for a stone oven among the steel. When his searched proved fruitless he turned back to kneading. "Hey d'you have infared light?"
Oliver smiled. "You're resourceful..." he commented and pointed to a special heated counter with a blue bulb illuminating it. "Continue..."
Enrique smothered the counter with flour and continued his task. "I was about nine...and entering the regionals. When I was going about Italy I was surprised all my relatives stared popping out of everywhere like daises. Papa's sister, Tita Maria, owned this bakeshop. She taught me how to bake all sorts of bread." he smiled reminiscently.
Oliver 'oh'-ed and checked on his spaghetti which had been boiling for sometime before turning back to his sauce which he let simmer for a moment.
"Ei...this is about done..." he said. "Want me to melt butter for that bread?"
"Uh..." Enrique considered his half-kneaded dough. "Sure..."
--
(okay...this is for real...Yakitate!Japan cameos up ahead)
"Have you got Goddess Fingers to go with you Solar Hands?" Oliver asked Enrique a while later, intruding his personal space as the blonde placed his bread in the oven.
"Oliver!" Enrique whined. "Go away!" he whacked him with a hand covered in flour.
The chef looked mocked-hurt, then avenged himself by dumping a cup o the same substance over the Italian's head.
What came next was a mini-flour fight, before Enrique got a bottle of soysauce and held it threateningly over the Oliver's cooling pasta sauce.
"You wouldn't dare..." lavender eyes narrowed menacingly.
"Try me..." summer blue eyes flashed.
--
"Salopard! You're eating that!" was heard by the maids of the household followed by boisterous shouts and screams from the kitchen.
Oliver and Enrique came out of the kitchen, covered top to toe in flour carrying two plates of pasta and a deliciously buttered loaf of garlic bread.
The maids were stationary for a moment before busying themselves with setting the table.
"Do you eat alone all the time?" Enrique asked the French boy as they began their supper.
"When it's a last resort..." Oliver smiled. "Otherwise I eat at my restaurant..."
"Don't you have a butler?" the baffled Italian replied, curious at the chef's solitude. Oliver shook his head.
"So you mean...all the servants here are women?"
"Yeah..." he said after swallowing a bite. "I've got a counter for a butler though. She's my head maid, Marie-Sophie..."
A beautiful modest lady with beautiful strawberry blonde wavy hair, blue-green eyes and in her mid-twenties came forward with military swiftness.
"Oui monsieur?" she asked.
Oliver blinked in surprise. "Oh you heard me..." he said and soon waved her away.
"I thought French family ties were...uh...tight, in a sense..." Enrique asked. "How come your papa and mama..." he trailed off.
"I keep in touch with my parents..." the grass-haired boy said a matter-of-factly. "It's just that pére works and stays in Versailles. The restaurant is mine by the way, pére helped me establish it when I was eight. Then he left..."
Enrique smiled softly and ate a big forkful of pasta. "Your mama?"
"Maman?" Oliver repeated, thinking. "Pére says I look like her. Ahahaha...she's a model so she travels a lot, but I get to see her. Maman has a knack of knowing even the most hectic of my schedules. She tends to surprise me when I'm not busy...or when I'm painting."
The Italian nodded, missing his own home already.
"I miss my tulips..." Enrique randomly said after a short pause. "I'll ring my chauffeur to pick us up tomorrow..."
"All right..." Oliver said and ate a slice of bread.
"Hey...don't tell me your chauffeur's a girl too..."
"NO!"
TBCA/N: next stop...Italy! Hope y'all enjoyed! Review!xD