The Billionaire's Mask

3

I woke up earlier than my alarm this morning. Heck, I barely even slept, with all these inexplicable emotions churning inside me.

Nonetheless, I can’t decide if I’m excited or just nervous because I’m sure that work won’t be easy for the next twelve months. I lazily swing my legs out of the bed and step into the bathroom.

After a shower, I put on a regular white chef’s uniform and fix my hair. I hurry to the kitchen and arrive a few minutes earlier than Mr. Katrakis. I’m thankful for this, remembering Ms. Lennie’s rules about being on time.

“Good morning, Alayna.” He immediately puts on an apron when he walks in. “Are you ready?”

“Good morning, sir. Yes, I’m ready!” I reply heartily.

He draws out a sheet of paper from the wall and hands it to me. It’s a copy of the meal schedule and the list of dishes he spoke about yesterday. It says breakfast is at seven, noon for lunch, and seven for dinner. Today is Tuesday, so for breakfast, Elipsiomo bread and Kagianas—a scrambled egg dish with tomatoes and topped with feta. I assist Mr. Katrakis in preparing the dish.

The dish is easy, and two or more other people working in the kitchen make it even easier.

“We might as well give Brandon a cup of English Breakfast. He likes tea very much,” Mr. Katrakis tells me after we finish. He takes out a cup from the cupboard and pours brewed tea from the kettle. Then he transfers the food I cooked onto a plate and sets it with a garnish.

“Preparing Brandon’s meal is like serving an important restaurant guest,” he says, lifting the plates and setting them on a food trolley. “You’re quite fast in the kitchen.”

“Maybe because egg dishes are one of my specialties,” I say proudly.

“Great, because he is fond of those.” He grins. “One, in particular, is Eggs Benedict—which is his breakfast tomorrow.”

All right, I guess this really isn’t so hard after all. Not only was Mr. Katrakis quiet in the kitchen, but he was also kind. We were working well together; I could get used to this.

“Oh, I’ll take note of that. So, um, I’ll clean up here first, and I’ll start to organize the ingredients for the Master’s lunch?”

“Of course,” he agrees. “But after that, I suggest you visit the library upstairs.”

“I’m allowed?”

“Sure. I have a few recipe books there that you can borrow. And oh, there’s fiction as well, if that’s your style.”

“That’s perfect! Thank you, Mr. Katrakis.”

“I’d better take this to Brandon, then I’ll come to find you.”

“You will?” I ask in surprise. I’m taken aback by my own words. “Sorry.”

“Of course. I’ll show you around. You can say that it’s a part of your orientation from me,” he says with a smile.

Honestly, I imagined Mr. Katrakis as a stern, intimidating CEO kind of person—if that’s a thing. But he is so kind, and I can speak to him without formality, it seems.

I return the smile. “Thanks again, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. And, by the way, make sure Lennie doesn’t see you go up there. It’s not that you’re forbidden to go. Brandon just uses it sometimes. If she does see you, let her know I gave you permission to use the library.”

It sounds like a dangerous offer, but I would love to see the library, regardless. I watch Mr. Katrakis push the trolley outside.

After cleaning, I walk to the third floor and reach the library. I turn the knob and grin when I find that it is open. I breathe in awe as thousands of books appear before my eyes. It’s so beautiful! The library’s floor is polished, and it has a granite fireplace and a comfortable, well-worn sitting arrangement.

I heave a sigh, relieved that Ms. Lennie isn’t around to reprimand me.

I’ve always loved reading and collecting romance books at home, so seeing these shelves just makes my heart soar. I start my journey inside, searching for cookbooks.

Instead, I stumble upon a book placed in a glass cage in the middle of the classics section. I lean forward, touching the glass as I try to read the title. It’s Macbeth and Hamlet by William Shakespeare. The air instantly abandons my lungs when I catch sight of the leather-bound cover. It’s very old but still stunning.

“Wow,” I whisper, but then I suddenly hear a snap behind me. I jerk in surprise.

I turn around and find Mr. Katrakis very close. I must admit, I’ve never seen someone as handsome as him. He’s the kind of man who would sweep you off your feet with one look. His presence alone radiates charisma.

“Careful,” he says softly. “That’s a first edition.”

I swear I can feel his breath on my neck. My eyes widen. “Do you mean this book is four hundred years old?”

“1663 to 1664, from the Third Folio. Do you want to see it?”

I shake my head firmly. “I don’t think I can hold that book. That is very rare.” I chuckle nervously. “But amazing. How did you get it?”

“Not without difficulty, and this is actually Brandon’s,” he mumbles with a frown. “One of his collections. Anyway, I’ll show you my shelves.”

“Of course.” I step aside.

I follow him as we stroll down the library’s hall. It’s huge. He points out each section from the classics, fiction, non-fiction to volumes of economy and business books. Honestly, I enjoy listening to his voice. He sounds so soothing.

We stop at one particularly tall shelf in the left-end corner.

“These books here are mine.” He pokes a finger at a title and draws it from the shelf. The cover is new and glossy, and the size of a magazine. “This is called Mastering the Art of Greek Cooking. I wrote this book under the pen name of Oliver Youngwood.” He gives me the book.

“And you write cookbooks too! What a surprise.” I’m beginning to admire the man a lot. It’s true what they said about him on the internet then. He’s a man of many talents. “Just what else can you do aside from being a CEO and a chef?”

One side of his mouth curves into a grin. “I’ll take that question as a compliment.”

“What will I find here?” I ask as I open the first page and see pictures of unfamiliar dishes.

“You make good food, Alayna, but cooking isn’t just following the recipe.”

“It’s the authenticity of the taste,” I agree.

“Yes, and if you want to become Brandon’s chef, you must study more. You know by now that he’s Greek, and he’s very fond of the traditional dishes, but he’s into other cuisines as well. His mother used to cook for him as a child, and even if he was born and raised here, he never forgets where he came from.”

Well, that’s another glimpse of Brandon Lucien’s mysterious life. Had I known that he’s Greek, I’d have probably taken the time to learn more about the country. But even his origin isn’t in the public records. I have experience cooking several types of cuisine, even Middle Eastern and Asian—and I’ve always loved Mediterranean food, but my knowledge of Greek cuisine isn’t as broad as my experience with Italian cuisine.

“And this isn’t in the notes you gave me?”

“Those are just his favorites. You must learn more.”

“Thank you. I always love exploring more in my field.” Honestly, this makes me feel like I’m still a newbie, but this is a challenge I welcome.

“By the way, you don’t have to call me Mr. Katrakis; Oliver will do.”

I clear my throat. “But you’re his cousin, and Ms. Lennie would think it’s inappropriate—”

“I’m saying this so you don’t feel awkward around me.” He sends me another charming grin after cutting me short.

I blink. Am I being awkward? “Fine. Oliver.” I laugh.

“Good.” He beams. “Would you like to stay here a bit more?”

“I’d like to study this first. I can still come back here later, right?”

“Of course. Now, what would you like to know first?”

Back to the central kitchen, Oliver pretty much only speaks about Greece while we work. I learn that the country produces a range of fruits, nuts, beans, oil, and green vegetables, complemented by a selection of herbs. Those are the base of the traditional Greek diet. Seafood is also popular and a standard part of their regime, and during the holidays, they specifically use meat such as beef or lamb.

Knowing a little about them makes me want to visit the place. Thinking of their festivals, I imagine a colorful life with people dancing in the streets, parades, men and women in costume, and probably fireworks, although maybe that doesn’t take place in Athens as much as in the smaller cities. I want to explore more of their diet and traditions.

“One of my favorites is souvlaki,” Oliver says as we put the finishing touches on his cousin’s lunch. “It’s basically grilled meat on a skewer that can be anything from chicken, pork, lamb, or beef, or even vegetables—though I prefer chicken. And it usually comes with a side dish like pita bread or tzatziki.”

“Like a barbecue.”

“Yes, like a barbecue.” He chuckles softly. “But as I said, the flavor should be authentic for a Greek’s taste buds.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip. Just the description makes me hungry. “I’d like to try that sometime.”

“Of course. Sometime.”

“I’m just kind of curious: You said you were born in Athens, but why did you come here? Your country sounds amazing... why would you want to leave?”

“Yes, it is.” He smiles, not answering my question. “My family still lives there.”

“Your parents?”

“Yes, my parents and my sister. Though you’ll get to meet my brother soon. He just doesn’t often come to the mansion.” Oliver stands, walks over to the fridge, and grabs two bottles of beer after we finish our lunch. “Do you drink?”

I shrug. “Occasionally. Is it okay?”

He flashes a half-smile, sits across from me, and gives me the other bottle. “Technically speaking, I’m your direct superior, and I allow you.”

“Thank you.” I take the beer. “But I thought Ms. Lennie was my superior.”

“Well, she’s in charge of the household, and her rules somewhat apply to you. Your position is as important as hers, but since I’m Brandon’s right hand, she is also under my wing.”

I nod, agreeing. Frankly, I prefer him to Ms. Lennie. She seems nice, but she’s also so... blank.

“Is it bad that I’m more curious now?”

“About what?” Oliver chugs his first shot of the beer. “Tell me.”

“Honestly, I don’t mean to be nosy on such private matters, but I’m going to be living here now, so I’m curious about everything.” I grip the bottle tightly, the condensation wetting my fingers. “It’s not wrong to want to know more about him, right?”

“There are complicated explanations as to why we moved here, Alayna. I can’t tell you about Brandon, but I can tell you some of mine.”

I nod. “I’m listening.”

“I only lived there until I was ten,” he starts. “We moved here because we wanted to be free of the family circle.”

“I thought your parents were still there?”

“They just moved back. I stayed here because America grew on me. If you are a member of the Katrakis family, you must follow all the rules. They honor it like it’s some kind of legal thing.”

“Rules?” I frown. “What kind of rules?”

“There are too many of them. You’ll hurt your mind.” He laughs. This man can really smile a lot! And that’s probably why I like him.

I have my first gulp of the beer. Surprisingly, the sweet taste outweighs the bitterness. “Then tell me one important rule.”

“I’ll tell you something interesting. Women in the family should only marry a man from two of the few prominent families in Greece. The Stavros and Dragoumis. The same rules apply to them. They were the only clans in the ‘alliances’ of the Katrakis family. It’s like living in the fourteenth century, right?”

“What is this? It sounds like there’s going to be a war, for your family to need alliances.” I chortle at my own joke. “And it only applies to women? Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“That’s totally unfair. What if I’m a Katrakis and I fall for someone from a different family. What would they do to me?”

“They’d kick you out.”

My jaw drops. “As simple as that? Wow. I’m thankful I wasn’t born in your family.”

“You can say that. If only I could have chosen my family, I would’ve done it.”

Chills run down my spine, and I grimace. “Oh my God. It’s basically marrying a distant cousin. It’s allowed now in the law, but I can’t...” I shake my head in sheer disbelief. I feel suddenly ill. “You’re right. I’m just going to hurt my brain.”

“Stupid, isn’t it? Why do you think we’re here? Brandon despises the laws. That in particular.”

“Yes, I figured.” I’d probably just run away too.

His eyes gleam. “I like talking to you,” he remarks frankly. “Your eagerness to learn things... It’s what I like the most.”

My cheeks redden. “Thanks.” No one has ever spoken to me this straightforwardly, yet so sweetly.

“Now, would you like me to help you prepare for Brandon’s dinner?”

I look up at his handsome face. “Well, that’s my job.”

We begin sorting out the ingredients. Oliver assigns me to prepare the side dish while he takes care of the main dish as he continues to answer all my questions. But I’m careful not to ask too much. I don’t want to cross any lines.

I find myself watching him move around the kitchen. I love how he exudes confidence, and I always find men who know their way around the kitchen sexy.

As I’m chopping vegetables, it suddenly strikes me odd that Master Brandon doesn’t bear any of the mentioned family names. He’s a Lucien.