Page 11 of All Hale the Queen

She smiles, obviously pleased with the praise. “I learned from my maternal grandmother, who was Italian.” Taking a sip of the wine, she continues. “My father was wealthy, so my mother hired a chef when they got married, and she rarely cooked at all. I always loved being in the kitchen though. I think a kitchen is the hub of the home.”

“Did you teach your sons? Remi seems to be a pretty good cook.”

Her face takes on that softness you see when mothers speak about their children. “I always had my boys in the kitchen with me. Haywood hired some help when I was pregnant with the twins and until I had recovered, but once they were old enough to entertain themselves for a while, I started cooking again.”

I grin at her and point at my almost empty plate with my fork. “I’m grateful you did.”

“Helix was curious in the kitchen, always experimenting with mixing different flavors and trying them out. I knew early on he was going to be my scientist.” She places another chicken thigh and more rice onto my plate. “Phoenix, on the other hand, was pure chaos.”

A chuckle rumbles my chest. “I can see that. I bet he made quite the mess.”

Ophelia giggles delicately. “Honey, you have no idea. Remi though… he followed recipes to the letter with absolutely no deviation.”

I take a drink of my wine, the cool crispness bursting on my tongue with a hint of pear. “I’m sure it was interesting to see how their individual personalities developed as they grew older.”

“It was.” She tilts her head. “I’ve never heard you mention children.”

Chewing the bite of savory potato in my mouth, I shake my head. “I never had any. Never married either. I went straight into the military after school.”

“What did you do in the military?”

“Special forces,” I say simply. “That was my life for over a decade, so I never had much time for anything else.”

Ophelia seems to be done eating and rests her chin in one hand, watching as I dig into the new piece of tender chicken she put on my plate. “And you were raised in Ireland?”

I swallow and nod. “In a small village near Cork.”

She lifts the glass to her smooth, bare lips and takes a small drink. “That’s in the south, right?”

“It is. Have you ever been to the island?”

“I’ve been to Dublin.”

Offering an almost apologetic smile, I say, “Where I grew up was much more rural than that.”

She leans forward like she’s actually interested. “Will you tell me about it?”

And I do. I tell her about running wild with my cousins, about the festivals and music we enjoyed, about our tiny school with fewer than a hundred students. Ophelia seems entirely enamored of my stories.

“And how did you end up joining the military?”

I chuckle and set down my knife and fork. “I wasn’t exactly the academic type, though I did enjoy reading, mostly about military history.” Leaning back in my chair, I fold my hands over my full belly. “I remember my grandfather telling me about his days in the Army Ranger Wing, which is the special operations unit of the Irish Defense Forces. When one of my teachers suggested the military as a career option for me, I jumped on the idea.”

Ophelia pours us both some more wine. “I bet your grandfather was proud of you.”

“He’d already passed away by then, but I think he would have been pleased. I loved my life in the rural area, but I always dreamed of seeing what else was out there in the world.” I reach for my glass and stare down into the pale liquid. “It was so muchmore than I could have imagined. I’d never seen a proper city until I left home for training. I remember being shocked by the size of the buildings and at how many vehicles were just driving around the streets. My family never even owned a car, though I sometimes rode in the back of a neighbor’s truck when I worked on his farm during school breaks.”

“Were you homesick when you left?”

I tilt my head and let my memories of that time flood back. “I missed my family, but I was also fascinated by all the new things I was experiencing.” A grin crooks up at the corner of my mouth. “I was especially excited about the food. Everyone in my village pretty much grew and raised their own food, so I loved getting to try cuisines from other cultures.”

“I can imagine.” Her smile is soft and genuine. “I bet the landscape was beautiful around your village.”

I get a mental picture of this stunning, refined woman out in the wilds of Ireland, and somehow the vision is not as far-fetched as I would have thought.

“It was. I think you’d like it there.”

Our eyes hold. “I think I would too.”