His Private Chef (by Amycee) novel Chapter 139

Chapter 139

Sophia pulled into the driveway of one of Liam’s properties- a low, modern home dressed in cedar and shadowed caves, a neat row of olive trees standing guard along the front. Liam had stayed here the night before to keep us off Cassie’s radar.

He was already waiting at the steps, looking infuriatingly calm and put–together. The moment his eyes found me, he smiled, the one reserved only for me.

“The last time you took me on vacation, I was sixteen,” Sophia said, climbing out and crossing her arms. “But here you are, all teeth, whisking Emily away.”

“Your man should do that for you,” Liam shot back without missing a beat.

She scoffed. “If only you’d let me get one.”

“If only you made good choices,” he countered, “and brought home someone decent.”

“1

I stood a step back, watching them volley insults like it was sport, my smile refusing to hide.

Sophia turned to me, eyes gleaming. “Do me a favor, ruffle his feathers for me. Payback for every time he’s been a jerk.”

“I’ll try,” I said, though my laugh gave away I didn’t mean it.

A short drive later, we rolled straight onto the tarmac. The jet gleamed under flawless Los Angeles sky.

Inside, the air carried the quiet luxury of polished leather and fresh citrus, until the soft trace of the flight attendant’s floral perfume layered over it.

I winced, leaning closer to Liam.

“Is it just me, or is that perfume trying to choke me out?”

His mouth twitched like he was hiding a laugh. “I barely notice it. How bad?”

“Feels like it’s wrestling my lungs,” I muttered, clicking my seatbelt.

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13:03

Chapter 139

His eyes flicked toward the attendant, then back to me, amused. “Couple of hours and you’ll be breathing island air instead.”

“Good. Any longer and you’d have to land for a medical emergency.”

The rest of the flight passed in low voices, fleeting touches, and the kind of silence that feels like home.

We landed at Key West International just before sunset, the air warm and salt–heavy. A black SUV waited at the edge of the tarmac, its doors open, the driver immaculate in white gloves.

Twenty minutes later, we reached a secluded dock, where a mahogany yacht rocked gently against the pier.

“This is our ride?” I asked, spotting the champagne chilling on deck.

“Private drop–off,” Liam said, his hand steady at my back. “No point wasting time on a ferry.”

“You spoil me,” I murmured, though my smile made it clear I didn’t mind.

“That’s the idea,” he said, steering me toward the railing. “Better start getting used to it.”

–

The boat slowed as we neared the island, the hum of the engine fading into the gentle splash of waves against the dock. The air was warm and salty, with a soft breeze brushing against my skin. The sun hung low, turning the water gold and scattering tiny sparks of light across its surface.

Tall palm trees swayed above, their leaves whispering with each gust of wind. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out. The air carried a light, sweet scent, like flowers after rain, mixed with the deep, steady smell of the sea.

A concierge in crisp white linen waited at the dock with a polite smile. She handed me a cool linen envelope. Inside was a small card with neat writing: No phones, no cameras allowed on the island.

I glanced at Liam. Of course he’d bring me somewhere like this. A place with no distractions, no interruptions. Somewhere I couldn’t escape into a screen, where it would only be the two of us.

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