I’m not your personal chef!

The chef lingered for a moment before retreating, and I allowed myself a small smirk. I didn't need anyone hovering over me, especially not tonight. This was my moment.

With the salmon prepped, I turned my attention to the risotto. I poured a splash of olive oil into a heavy-bottomed pan and let it heat until it shimmered. Then, I added finely diced shallots and garlic, their aroma quickly filling the air.

As the shallots softened, I measured out the Arborio rice and tipped it into the pan, stirring it to coat each grain in the fragrant oil. The sound of the rice toasting was oddly satisfying, a gentle crackle that promised something delicious.

When the grains turned translucent around the edges, I poured in a generous splash of white wine, the liquid hissing as it hit the hot pan.

The scent of the wine mingling with the garlic and shallots was intoxicating, and I couldn't help but smile.

Cooking always felt like magic a blend of science and intuition that transformed humble ingredients into something extraordinary.

I began adding ladles of warm chicken stock, one at a time, stirring constantly as the rice absorbed the liquid.

The process was slow, almost meditative, but it gave me time to think. My mind wandered briefly to the tournament tomorrow, to the chaos of the day, and then, inevitably, to her the mafia girl.

Her smirk had been infuriating and yet magnetic. The way she moved, so confident and unbothered, lingered in my thoughts like an echo.

I shook my head, focusing back on the risotto. I didn't have time for distractions.

The rice was nearly done, each grain plump and creamy, when I added a splash of cream and a handful of freshly grated Parmesan.

The mixture came together beautifully, rich and glossy, and I folded in a handful of chopped parsley and a squeeze of lemon juice for brightness.

Next came the cherry tomatoes. I heated a small skillet, added a drizzle of olive oil, and tossed in the tomatoes along with a pinch of sugar and a splash of balsamic vinegar.

As they caramelized, their skins split and released their sweet juices, creating a sticky, tangy glaze.

Finally, it was time for the salmon. I heated another skillet until it was screaming hot and placed the fillets skin-side down.

The sound of the fish hitting the pan was music to my ears, a sharp sizzle that spoke of crisping perfection. I pressed gently on each fillet with a spatula to ensure even contact, then waited, letting the heat work its magic.

After a few minutes, I flipped the fillets, the skin now perfectly golden and crackling. I basted the tops with a spoonful of butter, infused with thyme and garlic, the melted fat adding a rich, aromatic finish.

I plated everything with care, starting with a scoop of the risotto, its creamy surface catching the light.

The salmon fillet went on top, its crisp skin contrasting beautifully with the pale risotto. I spooned the caramelized tomatoes around the edge and added a sprig of parsley for garnish.

As I stepped back to admire my work, a voice broke through my concentration.

"That looks extra good."

I froze. My heart did a little somersault, and I turned my head to find her the mafia girl standing a few feet away. She wasn't wearing her chef's uniform tonight, but her presence was just as commanding.

Her purple eyes scanned the plate with a look of genuine appreciation, and then they flicked up to meet mine.

For a moment, I couldn't find my voice. My thoughts tangled together in a chaotic mess of surprise, irritation, and something dangerously close to excitement. Of all the people to show up, it had to be her.

As I stared at her, the mafia girl's lips curved into a knowing smirk, and she stepped closer to the cooking station.

Her movements were smooth, deliberate, and so maddeningly confident that I felt both annoyed and drawn in all over again. 

She leaned over slightly, her eyes scanning the plate I'd just finished with a quiet intensity.

For a moment, I thought she might critique it or even make some sarcastic remark, but instead, she glanced at me with that infuriating smirk still in place. 

"Mind if I take a bite?" 

Her voice was low and smooth, like honey laced with danger. 

I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… sure?" The word slipped out before I could think of a reason to say no. 

Without waiting for further permission, she picked up a fork and delicately carved a small piece of the salmon, ensuring she got a bit of the risotto and tomato in the same bite. She lifted it to her lips, chewing slowly, her expression unreadable as she tasted the dish. 

I couldn't look away. Her presence was magnetic, and the way she focused on the food made me feel like I was being judged not just my cooking, but me as a person. 

Finally, she swallowed and nodded, her smirk softening into something almost genuine. "It's good. Better than most of the stuff I've seen tonight." 

"Thanks," I managed, though the compliment felt like a trap somehow. 

She set the fork down, giving me one last unreadable look before moving to another cooking station. Just like that, she was gone, and I was left standing there with my thoughts racing and my heart thudding unreasonably loud. 

Before I could process what had just happened, chaos descended in the form of my family. 

"Rhiannon, what's this?" Rowena's voice boomed as she appeared out of nowhere, her sharp eyes locked on the plate. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a fork and dug in, shoving a large bite of risotto into her mouth. 

"Rowena!" I hissed, but it was too late. 

"Mm," she mumbled through a mouthful of food. "This is good. Why don't you cook like this at home?" 

"Because I'm not your personal chef!" 

"Could've fooled me." She took another bite, and before I could stop her, Seraphine and Riley appeared on either side of me. 

"What's all this?" Riley asked, her gaze sweeping over the station. "Did you cook this?" 

"I—" 

"Don't just stand there," Seraphine interrupted, grabbing another fork and tasting the salmon.

Her crimson eyes lit up, and a delighted smile spread across her face. "Rhiannon, this is incredible. You've been holding out on us!" 

"I'm not holding out, this is just dinner!" I snapped, but they weren't listening. 

Riley was already reaching for the risotto, while Rowena polished off the cherry tomatoes. Plates and forks clattered as my family descended on the food like a pack of wolves. 

"Hey! Save some for me!" I protested, but it was hopeless. 

"Rhiannon," Seraphine said between bites, "you need to make more of this. It's not enough." 

"Not enough?" I echoed incredulously. "There's four of you, and I cooked for one!" 

"Well, now you're cooking for four," Riley said cheerfully, nudging me toward the stove. 

"I'm on vacation!" I protested. 

"Yeah, a vacation where we get to eat your cooking," Rowena chimed in, already scraping the last bit of risotto off the plate. 

"You're unbelievable," I muttered, but I grabbed more ingredients anyway. Trying to argue with them was like trying to stop a hurricane with a paper umbrella. 

As I worked on a second batch, my family continued to chatter and bicker around me.

Seraphine started arguing with Rowena about whether the salmon needed more seasoning, while Riley attempted to swipe a piece of raw tomato, only for Seraphine to smack her hand away. 

"Wait until it's cooked, Riley. Have some class." 

"It's a tomato, not a five-course meal," Riley shot back, grinning. 

"It could be if you let me finish," I said dryly, trying to focus on chopping herbs while they turned my cooking station into a circus. 

By the time I plated the second round of food, I was exhausted. My family attacked the new dishes with the same enthusiasm, their laughter and banter filling the air. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and somehow heartwarming all at once. 

But as the plates were scraped clean once more, a horrible realization dawned on me. 

"Wait," I said, looking around. "Did anyone save me a bite?" 

The room went silent for half a second before Rowena burst out laughing. 

"You didn't eat?" 

"No!" I snapped. "Because you vultures inhaled everything!" 

"Oh, come on," Riley said, nudging me with her elbow. "You're the chef. You can whip up something else in no time." 

"That's not the point!" 

"Should we make her cook again?" Seraphine asked, smirking. 

"I think we should," Rowena said, grinning wickedly. 

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. How did I get stuck with these people?