His Private Chef (by Amycee) novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Linda smiled, poised and perfect. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Jay gave a low whistle. “Fashionably late, huh?”

As everyone rushed to greet her, I didn’t look at Linda.

I looked at Noah.

He hadn’t moved. Not even an inch.

His eyes were locked on her, but there was no joy. No softness. Just that tight jaw, that still body, that internal war barely hidden under the surface.

Sophia turned to me, whispering as Linda got swept into hugs, “Well… game night just got a sequel.”

I nodded slowly, watching Noah fake a smile while his fingers clenched his glass like it might shatter.

Love.

It’s crazy how something so beautiful can sometimes hurt so badly.

After Linda’s arrival, it was strangely calm for a few minutes. Maybe everyone noticed the not–so–warm welcome from Noah. But trust the Black kids never to let anything kill the vibe, especially on vacation.

Sophia, Linda, and I naturally gravitated toward each other, three women in a sea of testosterone. We lounged on daybeds by the infinity pool, sipping from pineapple coconuts like we weren’t mentally calculating everyone’s emotional damage.

Linda, to her credit, was charming. A little too polished, but still likable. She complimented my nails, asked Sophia for skincare tips, and recounted her layover disaster in Paris like it was a scene out of a rom–com. But even with all the effort, I couldn’t ignore how still Noah had been since she showed up. Aloof. Quiet. Almost… removed.

Sophia noticed too.

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“Alright, spill,” she said, setting her drink aside and turning to Linda. “What’s going on with

and Noah? That welcome? The tension? Off the charts.”

you

Linda’s smile faltered. “It’s complicated.”

Sophia didn’t blink. “Try me.”

“We’ve been… off. For a while,” Linda admitted, her voice softer now. “I thought this trip would fix things.”

“And?” I asked gently.

She exhaled. “He’s not talking to me unless he has to. And even when he does, it’s like I’m a stranger.”

I didn’t say anything, but I glanced across the patio. Noah was seated alone on the balcony above, staring out at the ocean with a half–empty glass in his hand. He looked like a man trying to remember why he came.

By dusk, the mood lightened. Leo, who I’d come to learn was the mischievous one among his brothers, decided to host a “Couples–In–Crime” mystery game: a chaotic mashup of charades, lies, and solving made–up scandals. Way more fun than I expected.

Sophia and I were accused of smuggling diamonds in coconuts. Owen turned out to be the “informant.” Jay faked his own “death.” And Liam, of course, played the poker–faced detective who arrested half of us just for fun.

Liam and I kept our distance. No more secret thigh squeezes. But he kept glancing at me, his gaze sharp, unreadable. Kelvin, meanwhile, hovered nearby. Offering drinks. Making cheeky comments. I laughed a little too hard at one of them, and I didn’t miss the way Liam’s expression changed.

Later, I stepped out for air. I wasn’t surprised to find Noah already outside, standing near the edge of the garden where the path dipped toward the beach.

“Hey,” I said softly, stepping beside him.

“Hey,” he replied without turning.

“I’m guessing games

aren’t your thing.”

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He gave a hollow chuckle. “Not the ones where I have to pretend everything’s fine.”

I paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitated. “Do you always offer yourself to broken people?”

“Just the ones who sit alone at parties.”

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