Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 346

Abby

When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I notice is the golden sun filtering in through the sheer curtains, warming my cheek.

The second thing I notice is the severe nausea roiling around in my stomach.

Oh no. In one swift movement, I throw the covers off and bolt across the room, over to the en suite bathroom. I practically fall to my knees in front of the toilet and effectively vomit up everything that my stomach has consumed since yesterday.

When I’m finished, I let out a low groan and flush the toilet. I stand on two shaky legs and waddle over to the bathroom sink, where I rinse my mouth out with burning mouthwash and try to breathe deeply to quell my poor stomach.

“Ugh,” I whisper as I watch the blue liquid swirl down the sink. “What the hell is going on with me?”

My wolf, who has been unexpectedly quiet ever since Karl and I broke things off, barely stirs inside of me.

“I don’t feel so good,” she moans.

I almost laugh. “Yeah, ya think? Me neither,” I retort. “Must be a touch of food poisoning or a stomach bug.”

“Or…” My wolf’s voice trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish. I know what she’s been thinking; I’ve been wondering it myself since yesterday.

“No. I can’t be pregnant,” I say as I pat my face dry with a plush towel. “It’s impossible.”

“You don’t know that. How long was Karl giving you those serum drops for? Three weeks?”

A slight scoff escapes my lips. “Snake oil. Dr. Armitage is a hack. There’s probably nothing more than a few herbs and some flavoring in that potion of his.”

My wolf growls a bit, but says nothing more. I shake my head again and let out a slow breath to steady my racing heart.

I’m not pregnant. It’s simply impossible.

…

“And here is the kitchen,” Edgar says as he pushes through the large double doors. “Your work space for the next week. Do feel free to familiarize yourselves.”

My staff and I step into the incredibly spacious kitchen, and a chorus of gasps escapes all of our lips in unison.

“Wow, Edgar,” I say, turning around as I slowly walk into the room. “This is… magnificent.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” John breathes. “Not even on TV.”

“Not even in my wildest dreams,” Anton adds.

Edgar chuckles at our obvious awe. “Everything is state of the art,” he explains. He gestures to the beautiful stainless steel appliances. There’s two of everything: two sinks, two fridges, two stoves, two dishwashers.

“Holy shit!” Daisy suddenly exclaims, causing all of us to snap our heads up. She clamps her hand over her mouth with embarrassment written across her reddening face. “Sorry. It’s just… is this a smart fridge?”

“Indeed it is,” Edgar says with a laugh as he walks over to her. The rest of us watch in anticipation as he taps twice on the front of the fridge, and a digital menu pops up.

“Here, you can adjust the temperature settings inside the fridge. Each drawer has its own setting, so you may customize based on ingredients,” he continues. “You can do other things too, such as send a direct item request straight to the phone of our in-house inventory manager. Any requests?”

Daisy thinks for a moment. Then, Ethan chimes in, “Rocky Road ice cream?”

Edgar nods and types into the keyboard on the screen. “Rocky Road ice cream has been added to the list. Ah, and of course, you can make phone calls as well. The fridge also supports video calls.”

“Maybe you can video call Logan while you work,” I tease Chloe, nudging her in the ribs. She rolls her eyes, but I can see the way her face turns red at the mention of his name.

“Now then.” Edgar turns away from the fridge and claps his hands together. “Do enjoy your afternoon. The prince has requested that a trial dinner be prepared tonight; a menu of your choosing. Should you need any ingredients, well… you now know how to request them.”

With that, Edgar leaves us alone in the spacious kitchen. My staff and I look around for a little while longer, admiring the seamless cupboards, the pristine floors, and the enormous windows looking out over the ocean.

“Wouldn’t be so bad to work here, now would it?” Chloe whispers, being the one to nudge me in the ribs now. “I mean, look at this place.”

I can’t help but blush. “No. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad…”

…

“Excuse me, Miss Abby?” Edgar’s head pokes through the door. “Prince Damon would like to speak with you, if you have a moment.”

I look up from the stove, where a delicate lemon cream sauce is simmering. Tonight’s dinner is lemon chicken and fettuccine, with home-baked focaccia bread. For an appetizer, John is putting together a light cucumber salad. Anton is whipping up pistachio mousse for dessert.

“Uh, sure,” I say, drying my hands on the towel that’s slung over my shoulder. John nods at me, indicating that he can handle the sauce. Across the kitchen, Chloe winks slyly. I pretend not to see her as I follow Edgar out of the kitchen.

“Ah! Abby,” Damon says as I enter the enormous banquet hall. He’s standing in the center of the room while various servants put together lavish decorations—everything from pristine white tablecloths to ice sculptures.

“Good evening, Damon,” I say, offering him a polite smile as I approach. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes.” Damon gestures for me to follow him over to a corner where various tables are clustered together. “I was hoping to get some insight on this seating arrangement. Since you’re a restaurant owner yourself, I thought you might be able to offer some advice.”

“Of course.” I look over the table setup and think for a moment before gesturing around. “They’re too close together. If people are sitting this close, they won’t be able to enjoy the nice view through the windows. And…” I turn, where my gaze lands on a small stage on the opposite wall. “That pillar over there is going to obstruct their view of the live music.”

Damon nods slowly, stroking his chin as he listens. “I see,” he says. “So I should spread the tables out, and ensure visibility around the pillar.”

“Exactly.”

With another nod of affirmation, Damon claps his hands together and immediately instructs several servants to do exactly as I suggested.

That was easy, I think to myself. It’s somewhat refreshing to have my opinion respected so easily. It’s not something I’m used to.

“Thank you so much, Abby,” Damon says with a polite dip of his head. “You know, I really do value your expertise.”

I can’t help but blush a little. “Thank you, Damon. I must admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that you wanted my opinion to begin with.”

Damon laughs as he guides me away, back toward the center of the banquet hall. “Oh, please. You’re a culinary genius, in my book.”

My blush deepens ever so slightly. “Well, I—”

“Which leads me to my next point,” Damon says softly. He stops and turns to face me. His eyes scan over me, slightly wide with anticipation. “About last night… Have you thought at all about my proposal?”

His words lead me to freeze in my tracks. I swallow, running a hand over the back of my neck. “I’d be lying if I said that that kitchen isn’t extremely tempting,” I admit with a laugh. “But… I’m still not sure as of right now. I’m sorry. It’s just such a big change.”

Much to my surprise, Damon nods and an understanding look comes over him. “Of course. Take all the time you need,” he says.

“Thank you, Damon—”

My voice cuts off, though, when he suddenly takes a step closer to me. I feel my heart begin to race as his hand reaches out, his finger brushing across my cheek.

“Damon—”

“There,” he says warmly, pulling his hand away to show me his finger: flour. “You had a little something on your cheek.”

“Oh.” I quickly raise my hand to my cheek and touch the spot where his finger was. The skin almost feels a little warmer there in my own head; or maybe that’s just my nerves getting the best of me. “Thank you.”

Damon nods and tugs his pocket square out of his suit jacket. He casually cleans his finger and then folds the handkerchief up again, sliding it back into the little chest pocket. It looks absolutely perfect, even though it was just used. It really does speak of a lifetime of growing up royal; everything is always just so.

“Well, I suppose I should finish up in here,” Damon says casually, flashing me an award-winning smile. “And judging from the delectable smells wafting in from the kitchen, I assume you are cooking up an exquisite dinner.”

I nod, but I’m still unable to speak.

Damon turns, then, in the direction of the aforementioned tables. As he strides away, he calls over his shoulder.

“Do consider my offer by the end of the week, Abby. I’ll be looking forward to your answer.”