Disclaimer: I do not own VA and thank Richelle Mead for writing such an awesome series.
Rose and Dimitri finally met in the last chapter – hope you liked their first meeting…
Week 1 of competition people! Things will get interesting now…
LITTLE HELP
What do you think should be considered as a 'signature dish' for the following cuisine types?
Turkish
Russian
Italian
Chinese
Thai
Spanish
Indian
German
French
Japanese
Answer via review or PM me… :P
Teşekkϋr ederim (Turkish – thank you)
_
Two rival restaurants and chefs – what happens when love joins the menu?
Restaurant Wars
CHAPTER 8
Dimitri POV
She was gone…
My red temptress from last night was no longer sleeping next to me and for the first time in my life I felt alone.
She had waltzed into the club, a sexy vixen pulsating with angelic innocence and my heart had almost burst with an unknown emotion. I can't remember ever having such a reaction to a woman. She held my gaze, my heart, my soul and I hadn't even spoken to her yet. Her eyes were already on me when mine met hers and I'm not sure whose magnetism worked its charm, but she made her way towards me, completely oblivious to the way she held the attention of the entire room, regardless of whether they were male or female.
The innocence I had detected made me think she would be a shy, little thing, so was pleasantly surprised when she extended out her hand and introduced herself as Rose. Hmm, Roza…her dark red dress definitely complimented her name. Out of habit I introduced myself as Xander (short for Alexander – my middle name) and not Dimitri. I adopted this practice after an incident a few years back, where a girl got too clingy and didn't understand the concept of a one-night stand (I'd made it perfectly clear that I didn't want anything serious). Suffice to say she was my first and (hopefully) last stalker, but to be on the safe side, since then, I never gave women my real first name – this way they couldn't find me (if I didn't want them to) and technically wasn't lying about my name.
As we fell into a comfortable conversation, I kept admiring her gorgeous dress and that beautiful body it covered. Even though she wore the dress in confidence, the amount of skin she exposed kept her alert. I could tell from the way she sat and consumed her drinks that the clubbing scene was not something she frequented often and the dress, definitely not something she would ever wear.
But fuck, did she look smoking!
Dancing with her felt like heaven!
The more I touched her, the more I yearned for her. Every part of my body ached to feel her, skin to skin. My nerves felt like they were on fire when I was able to touch her bare skin and I lost my ability to breathe when she placed my hands under the slits of her dress, daring me to discover whether my observation on her commando status was real. She had no idea how dangerous that move had been for her – I wanted to take her right there and then on the dance-floor, fuck propriety!
With my last shred of rationality, I had stopped myself and instead asked her to leave with me – praying she would let me take her away, far from all the other eyes that kept devouring her beauty. She was mine and that possessive thought scared me more than any other reaction I had that night.
I turned over in my bed and pulled the pillow she had slept on closer to me, hugging it the way I had dreamt I would have hugged her if she had remained by my side when I had woken up. Her scent lingered on the soft cotton – a heady mix of sandalwood, gardenia and roses. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine it was her, but it wasn't enough and if anything, felt like I was torturing myself.
Scenes from last night played out behind my closed lids – her nervous demeanour when we got to my apartment, the shy way she pulled away from me when she realised I had figured out her little secret, how she looked in my clothes, the hours we spent talking and finally making it to the bedroom.
Oh fuck that kiss! Recalling it was bittersweet, because even though it made me feel giddy with happiness it also made me ache for her.
Damn this woman for shattering my walls and causing these strange reactions from me and my body!
Suddenly realty hit and my eyes sprang open when I recalled what day it was.
"Fuck!" I exclaimed, springing out of bed I threw a quick look at the clock on the wall. I had less than an hour to get showered and ready before I needed to get to the studio. All thoughts of Roza had to be put on the back-burner for now, while I ran around my apartment like a headless chicken, getting dressed while consuming some toast and my much needed cup of coffee – a unique blend that was exclusively mine. One of my friends owned his own coffee exportation business and as a birthday present, allowed me to come to one of his production houses to mix my own signature blend. Since then I only drank my own 'personalised' coffee – it was perfect for my taste-buds and didn't need anything fancy like milk, sugar etc.
I was at the door, ready to leave with 5 minutes to spare, when in the midst of grabbing my keys (for my Harley) and wallet, I found a little piece of paper lying next to them. Forgetting about my need to rush, I felt my stomach tighten with expectation – could this be a note from Roza?
With shaky hands I picked it up to reveal the message within.
Dear Xander,
I had a lovely time last night – it's been a while since I had that much fun and enjoyed someone's company who wasn't my family.
I'm sorry I left before you could make me that special breakfast – raincheck?
As you know I'm a sous-chef and I work ridiculous hours, not to mention I'm involved in a project that will keep me even busy for the next 2 months, but once things die down…if you want… I would love to catch-up with you again…
I do hope to hear from you soon…even if our schedules don't allow for a face to face until much later…
Rose (aka your Roza)
She had left her mobile number at the bottom and ended her note with a kiss imprint.
My Roza – I loved the sound of that!
A small frustrated groan left my lips when I remembered I had told her my name was Xander and not Dimitri. No matter, I thought, it was going to be the first thing I rectified the next time I spoke to her.
Shaking off my memories from last night and the taunting dreams from morning, I resumed my earlier dash to the studio – so much for leaving on time!
It seemed the Universe owed me a solid because there wasn't much traffic and I made it just on time. The place where they were filming and running the competition looked like a large warehouse which they had converted into a studio that contained mini-kitchen areas (I think they were using the same lot as where they had filmed MasterChef, but with some minor remodelling to make it appear different).
All the other restaurateurs were there already, wandering around amongst the production people, judges and other people involved in the show/competition. Two rooms were set-up on the side labelled Green-Room1 and Green-Room2. I was still taking in my surroundings when a throat cleared near me. I turned around to face my father, who was sporting a disappointed look on his face.
"You're late…"
Without further comment he turned and made his way to an area they had set-up for us. Feeling like a 5 year old reprimanded for stealing cookies, I quietly followed him, hoping no one noticed our exchange. Once we got to our area, I deposited my jacket, helmet and other items I wouldn't need. I wanted to ignore my father's presence but it was hard when I could feel his eyes glaring at me. I really didn't want to, but I felt compelled to apologise for my tardiness.
"I'm sorry father…"
A million excuses ran through my mind and I really wanted to justify my behaviour, but past experience had taught me (the hard way) it was better to just apologise and move forward rather than try to give any reasons behind the mistake – no excuse would justify a mistake in my father's eyes and if anything, it just made him more angry.
His response to my apology was an annoyed grunt but he kept his hard gaze on me, waiting for me to finish getting ready so I would finally turn around and acknowledge his presence. Sighing in frustration and knowing there was no point in delaying the inevitable, I finally sat down facing my father, feeling my muscles bunching in stress and irritation.
After a few more minutes of glaring, he pointed to a manila folder that sat on the desk at our workstation. Understanding his unspoken instruction, I picked the folder up and went through the papers. It contained all the necessary Information and forms for the competition – a rough outline of the competition's structure and filming schedule, information about the production company (their protocols and rules), some forms to sign to keep things confidential and allowing them to film me. I had just finished reading the last bit of information that explained the role of the Green-rooms (areas where the contenders were expected to go and film their 'individual' responses – those solo monologues reality shows normally have), when I heard a voice I would have recognised anywhere.
My eyes flicked up in surprise as I watched Roza and another man leave the two green-rooms. They were busy talking and laughing, oblivious to their surroundings. I narrowed my gaze on the man standing next to her – he looked much older and something about him was familiar. A small gasp left my lips when I suddenly recalled mama had pointed him and his wife out to me last night at the party. Abe Mazur had a commanding aura and at the party had looked both imposing and dangerous, but now, standing next to Roza, his features and demeanour were softer and he looked more at ease. The longer I stared, the faster my heart pounded against my chest – I could see certain things the two shared in common, the biggest being their hair and eyes.
No…it couldn't be…
My mind wanted to reject the thought even as it formed. No way could this be happening. I finally found someone who spoke to my soul and she was related to Abe Mazur! Shit…Fuck!
Noticing who I was starting at, my father's harsh laughter broke the spell, causing me to look at him sharply. Thankfully he hadn't noticed the inner turmoil I had just endured, only me checking out the competition.
"Looks like Abe's prodigal daughter finally makes her appearance – he is a fool thinking she will help them win the competition. I find it even harder to believe she is his sous-chef – she looks like she only just graduated from culinary school!"
Father's cruel words made my stomach clench and I felt anger burst through my veins – not because of finding out that Roza was in fact Rosemarie Mazur but because I wanted to hurt my father dearly for belittling Roza.
How dare he say such things about her?
The need to protect her had developed sometime last night and this new feeling made me want to punch my father in the mouth to shut him up.
Where the hell did that hostility come from?
Before I could explore my inner musings any further we were called to attention. The contenders and judges were bought into the main standing area and the production manager outlined the structure for today's filming. Everyone got into their respective spots so filming could commence.
Galina – the competition host – went through the introduction spiel (premise of the competition, structure etc.) before introducing the 5 judges and giving brief bios on them. Next they went to each of the 'restaurants' and got them to introduce themselves. I hadn't noticed till they got to the Mazur restaurant, that Roza and her father were situated directly in front of us. Roza had not seen me yet as her back was to me but that was going to change once Galina and the camera crew came over to us.
As I suspected, she turned (like everyone else) to view us introduce ourselves. I wanted to ignore her, but my curiosity to observe her reaction won out. Father was not amused that he had to do most of the talking because my attention was diverted elsewhere.
To say she was shocked would be an understatement. If the situation wasn't so heartbreaking I would have found the deluge of emotions flickering across her face comical:
Shock
Longing
Confusion
Anger
Sadness
Finally her face went blank and a steely resolve settled in her sharp gaze. I watched her father lean towards her and whisper something, to which she gave a curt nod, refusing to look away. This time as we gazed at each other the feelings that stirred were very different to last nights. I was the first one to look away, when I felt my father jab his elbow sharply in my rib to get my attention – apparently Galina had flirtatiously asked me a question which I hadn't heard.
Thank God this was not live!
We were the last restaurateurs in the 'contender bio' segment of the filming and after a 15 minute break to reshuffle the set and cameras, the filming resumed to start off week 1 of the competition.
After much fanfare and witty banter between Galina and the judges the first weeks challenge was revealed – each restaurant were to cook their signature dish. We were given a week to plan, gather the necessary ingredients/equipment etc. At the end of the week we would to return to the 'kitchen' here in the studio to prepare the dish and let the judges' taste and pick who would move forward. As it was first week of the competition there was no elimination – that was going to commence next week. They wanted us to take week 1 as a 'trial run' and see how we managed the challenge while still working at our restaurants (something they apparently would film as well as 'behind the scenes' footage from time to time for 'added drama').
All in all the whole process took half a day (and that was without any cooking) so I could imagine that when we did have to cook, we were probably looking at spending the whole day at the studio – Great! Spending a whole freaking day staring at Roza… I mean Rose.
I was lost in my own thoughts, as I made my way to our workstation to grab my things when I felt her presence. The air felt thick with our tension and even after everything (discovering we were heirs to our family's hatred) the sexual tension still remained.
Schooling my face into a blank canvas I turned to face her, wondering why she had come over. Glaring at me, her small hands on her hips she thought she looked intimidating but to me she looked like a ferocious kitten – I had to work hard to not smile at the cuteness.
"Please don't bother to call me… Xander...or should I say Dimitri. God I can't believe I almost slept with you last night! Thank God my head cleared enough to stop me from making the biggest mistake of my life. Was anything you said last night true? Or were you just lying like you did with your name!?"
She hissed at the end, trying to keep her voice low and hide her embarrassment.
Now normally, I'm a nice guy and I try to avoid confrontation. But when threatened and cornered (case in point), well, I can become an arrogant asshole.
"Look darling, I technically didn't lie to you. My middle name is Alexander and as you can guess Xander is a shortened version of it. As for why I didn't reveal my real first name, I have my reasons, but finding out that you are a Mazur – well, not only am I glad that I didn't tell you my real name but also for having the common sense of not sleeping with you. Thank God I can handle my alcohol otherwise I don't think you would have been able to resist my charm if I had really wanted to fuck you…though seeing that rod up your fine arse makes me wonder whether I would have done a public service if I had pounded into your last night. I think you are overdue for a good lay to help you relax, otherwise at this rate you will prematurely age and join spinsterhood before you turn 40…"
I watched her mouth gape open more and more as I went on, though a small part of my cringed at the hateful words. She looked like she was about to explode when something, or should I say, someone caught her eye. I turned to follow her gaze and felt a scowl form on my face.
Adrian Innocenti stood not too far from us, blatantly staring in our direction. When he noticed us looking back at him, he gave a cocky smile and wink, before turning around and walking away.
"Asshole…" I muttered quietly, but Rose still heard me and snorted at my response. Glaring at me one more time, she gave a little huff before spinning around and stomped away. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her fine arse walk away.
This competition just got interesting…
So now Rose and Dimitri know about their respective families and the existing rivalry…I know it's strange the truth didn't come out the night of the after-party but I'm blaming the alcohol and a hidden need they had to showcase themselves rather than being defined as a Mazur/Belikov.
Don't forget to give me your suggestions on the 'signature dish' for the various restaurants.