Their breakfast was going to be ruined. Valencia knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt, and if the smells wafting from the kitchen were anything to go by she knew she was right. Still, she was doing her best to abide by his request to remain out of the kitchen. Lunch would have to be served earlier to accommodate this disaster, and if she was lucky perhaps she would find something in the ice box left behind by their housekeeper. But, Don Juan wished to serve them burnt bacon for breakfast, and Valencia loved him enough to allow him to try.
Even if he risked burning his sensitive bits with his lack of clothes.
It was the sight of the raw but too-browned eggs, visible even from the doorway, that forced her into the kitchen to insist he allow her to help. The housekeeper hadn't gone shopping, she pointed out irritably. We have no more eggs. But, before she could further her point (or better - steal the spatula from his grasp) a knock came from the front door and she looked at him questioning. He wouldn't have risked a visitor whilst nude, and her family knew better after the Christmas morning fiasco to attempt a visit without first owling. So who -?
Again, he shooed her from the disaster and towards the door, the too-thin house dress and stockings all that covered her skin. Don Juan had grumbled at even those few layers but Valencia found herself grateful for them as she opened the door to a woman — a beautiful, striking woman — on their stoop. "Hello. May I help you?" Her tone was polite, questioning, her confusion at the visit obvious.
The woman didn't make her wait long.
"Hello, I am so sorry to intrude like this. I'm here to see my husband, Don Juan." The woman said, her expression cold.
And despite not understanding every word said, she understood both the look on the woman's face and her husband's from where he peeked in from the kitchen. "You know this woman?" She asked her husband as she fixed him with a sharp, piercing stare.
Even if he risked burning his sensitive bits with his lack of clothes.
It was the sight of the raw but too-browned eggs, visible even from the doorway, that forced her into the kitchen to insist he allow her to help. The housekeeper hadn't gone shopping, she pointed out irritably. We have no more eggs. But, before she could further her point (or better - steal the spatula from his grasp) a knock came from the front door and she looked at him questioning. He wouldn't have risked a visitor whilst nude, and her family knew better after the Christmas morning fiasco to attempt a visit without first owling. So who -?
Again, he shooed her from the disaster and towards the door, the too-thin house dress and stockings all that covered her skin. Don Juan had grumbled at even those few layers but Valencia found herself grateful for them as she opened the door to a woman — a beautiful, striking woman — on their stoop. "Hello. May I help you?" Her tone was polite, questioning, her confusion at the visit obvious.
The woman didn't make her wait long.
"Hello, I am so sorry to intrude like this. I'm here to see my husband, Don Juan." The woman said, her expression cold.
And despite not understanding every word said, she understood both the look on the woman's face and her husband's from where he peeked in from the kitchen. "You know this woman?" She asked her husband as she fixed him with a sharp, piercing stare.