Stella And Bartolomeo Quotes

“He let his fingers tease her until she uttered soft cries. Stella spread her legs further and wider as his hand explored, touched, and pleasured every part of her womanhood.
She untied her outer bodice and lifted her breasts so they spilled from her corset. Her hands rubbed and played with her nipples. She knew what excited Bartolomeo. He continued to pleasure her while she touched herself, and he stroked his erection until he was near to bursting. Finally, he pulled her forward and slid into her, and her exclamation was louder than either of them expected. She clamped a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed.
He did not release her. Instead, he slowed his motion, and once he felt sure no one could have heard them, he began to rock against her, deeper and harder. The bed began to creak, but he was lost in the depths of his desire.
When she reached her climax, her cries more urgent and sustained, he lost control and spilled into her, his hips bucking a few more times. His legs threatened to give way with pleasure and exhaustion.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“Today I saw the most beautiful girl in the world...

She is the most beautiful girl in the world, Bartolomeo Scappi thought. Never have I seen a woman so perfect, so angelic, so impossible for me to attain.
"Bella," he breathed when air filled his lungs once again.
Even Ippolito d'Este's presence at the dining table could not mar his giddiness. The girl was so beautiful she glowed like a painting of the Madonna, making everyone around her seem colorless in comparison. She was clearly a principessa of a grand house, sitting between Ippolito's father, the Duke of Ferrara, on one side, and a woman most likely to be her mother on the right.
Bartolomeo sought to memorize every feature of this goddess with golden hair that shone with glints of red in the last rays of the day's sunlight. Her eyes were dark chestnut, rich and deep, while her lips were pink, like the inside of a seashell. Her hair was braided, but much of it flowed loose over shoulders, teasing her pale skin. She wore a dress of red, with sleeves billowing white. Rubies and pearls spilled across her delicate collarbone toward her beautiful breasts. Scappi painted her picture in his mind and stored it deep within the frame of his heart.
That evening, while staring at the sky, his thoughts lost in the memory of the signorina, a shooting star passed across his vision. "Stella," he said under his breath. I will call her Stella. My shining star.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“Stella. I cannot wait to see her and hold her in my arms once more. I long for my stellina. I worry that the distance between us will someday create cracks in our love that cannot be mended. Our time together sometimes seems thin, like a spice or other flavor is missing. I need to think of something I can do more to seal our love together, to rekindle our fire so we will always long for each other.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“A woman I didn't recognize tapped my arm. She was elderly, but still stood tall, her dark eyes bright with sadness. She wore a black brocade gown edged with red. She held out a bouquet of red carnations and white narcissus. She stepped forward and placed the flowers on Bartolomeo's headstone, then stepped back and slipped into the crowd so fast I could not see where she went.
I stared down at the flowers. Narcissus was a common spring flower at funerals, but red carnations meant only love, deep abiding love. I had never seen her before. Who was she?”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“, Bartolomeo Scappi thought. Never have I seen a woman so perfect, so angelic, so impossible for me to attain.
"Bella," he breathed when air filled his lungs once again.
Even Ippolito d'Este's presence at the dining table could not mar his giddiness. The girl was so beautiful she glowed like a painting of the Madonna, making everyone around her seem colorless in comparison. She was clearly a principessa of a grand house, sitting between Ippolito's father, the Duke of Ferrara, on one side, and a woman most likely to be her mother on the right.
Bartolomeo sought to memorize every feature of this goddess with golden hair that shone with glints of red in the last rays of the day's sunlight. Her eyes were dark chestnut, rich and deep, while her lips were pink, like the inside of a seashell. Her hair was braided, but much of it flowed loose over shoulders, teasing her pale skin. She wore a dress of red, with sleeves billowing white. Rubies and pearls spilled across her delicate collarbone toward her beautiful breasts. Scappi painted her picture in his mind and stored it deep within the frame of his heart.
That evening, while staring at the sky, his thoughts lost in the memory of the signorina, a shooting star passed across his vision. "Stella," he said under his breath. I will call her Stella. My shining star.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“Surely she knows the effect she has on me, he thought. He was close enough to smell her orange blossom perfume. Oh! What a glorious scent. He brought himself back into focus, leaned in, and with the large serving tongs carefully lifted the lobster from the tray.
Dear Lord, guide my hand. Do not let me make a fool of myself this day. Do not let me flip the spoon into her lap, please, please, guide my hand.
Not a crumb of lobster's stuffing escaped as he laid it gently upon the exquisite maiolica plate decorated with scenes of pastoral life. Relief.
"Thank you," she said again. Her soft voice was a chorus of angels. She touched his arm in thanks and a thrill ran through him. He wanted nothing more than to lean down and brush her white neck with his lips, but instead he departed before she could see the heat of embarrassment rising to his cheeks.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“She was a paragon of good health and didn't need to worry herself about the advice of doctors. She should instead worry about love. Love of the crumble of a lavender tourte against her tongue. Love of the delicate flavor of sole in a tarragon sauce. Love of the flaky crust of a prune and cherry crostata. Or love of the wine mingling with the taste of a pig freshly roasted on the spit.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“The evening Bartolomeo left her the radish rose, he also ignored the words of her gray-haired mother and gave Stella an extra serving of pappardelle, made fresh from ricotta, eggs, and goat milk, fried to perfection and dusted in sugar. They were called "gobble-ups" for a good reason, and the principessa was pleased to indulge, that is until her mother bade Bartolomeo to take the plate away. She glared at her mother and snatched one last fritter. Sugar coated the edge of her pretty lips and Bartolomeo thought he might swoon. He would give anything to kiss the sweetness away.
The rose was gone when he went to clear the plates. He could only hope she had secreted it away in the finely embroidered saccoccia hanging at her hip.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret