Piercing My Heart

65

I've gotta give it to Dom. He blindsided Zena and practically forced her to go back to school. At first, Zena put up a massive stink. With Mila's help, I put my foot down and told her she had to attend school. Actually, that was a fucking lie. I was seconds away from caving in, but Mila spoke for us and told Zena to at least try school. Zena agreed (with many, many grumbles).

I knew she was scared for her first day, especially since Ellio couldn't attend that day. That was the reason we were thrilled to find out she enjoyed her first day. Zena was more than happy to describe her day in grave detail. It also brought a smile to my face to know that Dom made sure she attended classes she enjoyed. I think it also boosted his ego since he helped tutor her in certain subjects.

Zena and I have been spending time together by preparing extravagant dishes. It brought a smile to my face since this was something that we could do together, just the two of us. We've practically been joined at the hip in the kitchen. Zena, like me, had a passion for cooking. Unfortunately, I had awoken the Chef Ramsey monster in her.

"Why on earth are you adding milk to the sauce?!" Zena squeaked.

"Huh?" I turned to her.

"You are adding milk to the sauce! That will ruin it!"

"No, it won't. It's a béchamel dish. Milk is a part of it." I shrugged and continued pouring it.

"Béchamel? We're making a carbonara and milk isn't in carbonara!" She plucked the milk from my hands and poured it down the sink.

"Zena! That's precious milk." I paused. "And we're making a béchamel, not a carbonara." Zena glared at me, so I glared back. "We're making a French dish, not an Italian one." I think I may have witnessed Zena literally die inside.

"We- not- Fre-Ital- WHAT?! WE MAKE ITALIAN FOOD!"

"No, we're making a French dish and-"

"I want pasta!"

"It is a type of pasta, but uses-"

"Real pasta!" She sassed. "Not a French imitation of pasta! I want the real deal! Give me my carbonara!"

"Zena, Italians sometimes use this method-"

"Carbonara." She snarled. Oh my God. This girl is impossible. "I only eat Italian food!"

"French food is better."

"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" She huffed in offense. "Don't you dare say something as blasphemous as that!"

"Just try French food!"

"NO!" She roared back. "I want pasta! Pasta! Pasta!"

"Life doesn't revolve around pasta!" You would think I just struck my kid. Zena appeared so hurt and wounded over my words. "Try a chicken confit, salmon en papillote, quiche, croquet, lamb shank. Literally anything other than that wheat!"

"If you really loved me, then you'd never force me to eat that poison." She spat. "I will proudly eat my wheat!"

"What is going on in here?" Mila walked into the kitchen. "I've been hearing yelling."

"She's trying to poison me, mum!" Zena ran and wrapped her arms around Mila. "Don't make her hurt me, mum." That girl literally conjured up crocodile tears and cried into my wife!

"Lara, what the hell did you do?" Mila glared at me.

"N-Nothing! I didn't do anything. I'm trying to make her eat French-" Zena cut me off by wailing. "Frenc-" Zena's cries got louder. "Not pasta!" Zena nearly collapsed onto the ground. "She refuses to eat anything other than Italian food."