The Man Behind The Beast (BWWM) ✓

Chapter 6: Prepare The Food And Know Your Boss

The walk through the castle was, dare I say, magnificent.

I hadn't realized the extent of how large this place was, until Mrs. Potts took me down hallway after hallway after hallway. Dozens of Windows lined the walls as natural light shone though the panels, illuminated the deep rich wood.

Everything here, along with the staff, seemed so out of place. It was like I just walked out of the 21st century and into 18th century England. They all had some kind of accent that wasn't American. Lumiere's, for sure, was French. I think Mrs. Potts had an old English charm to her voice, but Mr. DeGramont was something else entirely. His accent was undetectable, but I was certain it wasn't American.

"Mrs. Potts?" I asked, as we continued to make our way down yet another hallway.

"Yes, love?" She replied.

"Chip. The boy. Are you two related?"

"No," she shook her head, "I'm actually his godmother. I knew his parents very well before they had him, so they made me his legal adversary if anything were to happen to them."

"Something happened?" I asked.

"They got into a car accident few months back, so Chip is now my responsibility."

"I think I heard about that on the news. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Chip has taken it as well as any boy possibly can. I take it you've now guessed Chip isn't his actual name. His real name is Charles, but about a year ago, he was learning to ride his trolley and accidentally fell off. There was a rock nearby that he hit the top part of his mouth against and chipped his tooth. His parents wanted to take him to the dentist to get it checked out and hopefully refilled, but he refused. He thought it added character." She joked, as we entered another living room. This one held a large glass piano, against a few bookshelves on the far right of the room.

"Why does Mr. DeGramont live here?" I asked, taking a seat against one of the large window panes at Mrs. Potts dusted away the book shelves.

"This was originally his fathers estate. He inherited it after their passing." Mrs. Potts explained.

"What exactly does he do?" I asked, finally getting to the question everyone had been dodging since I arrived here.

"I think it's better if he tells you himself, my dear." She replied, skillfully diverting my questions once again.

I was interrupted from asking anymore, by the coins of someone clearing their throat. Mrs. Potts and I both looked back towards the noise.

"Mr. DeGramont has arrived. He skipped lunch due to a few unexpected meetings and He's asked for an early dinner tonight. I must whisk Ms. Mallerie away so she can begin cooking." Lumiere announced.

"That's fine. Good luck, love." Mrs Potts, whispered to me as I reluctantly joined Lumiere at the door.

"Thank you." I replied, before following him out the door and back down the series of corridors.

~

"What were you planning on serving tonight?" Lumiere asked, as he leaned against the kitchen island to keep me company.

"Let's check what we have here. I might have to do some grocery shopping tomorrow." I replied, opening up the pantry. My eyes instantly zeroed in on the fettuccini pasta and cheese that was stored near the back. "Could you pull out some whole milk and heavy whipping cream from the fridge for me?"

"I'm here all of five seconds and you've already put me to work?" Lumiere joked, walking towards the fridge.

"Could you also grab that dessert from last night and toss it out? I don't think Mr. DeGramont is going to finish it." I added, shooting him a quick grin, as I poured water into a pot.

"It's gone." Lumiere spoke after a short pause.

"What do you mean?" I asked, glancing over.

"The cup is empty." He explained, setting it inside the sink.

"Mrs. Potts probably finished it."

"She's lactose intolerant." He replied.

"Chip?" I offered.

"He doesn't stay here overnight. He attends a boarding school further up north and only visits during the day sometimes when he finds time." He explained.

"Mr. DeGramont must have eaten it... But that makes no sense. Why fire me over the dessert when he actually liked it?" I asked, sprinkling some sea salt into the pit of water, before placing it on the electric stove.

"I'm not sure either." Lumiere shrugged. "Why did you add salt to the water?"

"It actually helps add flavor to the pasta. Every bite now is guaranteed to taste delicious whether there's sauce on it or not." I explained, starting to grate the cheese as the water came to a boil.

"What's the cheese for?" He asked, while he cleaned the empty cup in the sink.

"I'm going to make a creamy, rich, chicken Alfredo sauce. Could you also take out the chicken slabs in the fridge and cut them up into diced pieces?" I asked, giving him a doggy face pout as he reluctantly walked back to the kitchen.

"I'm about to demand a cut of your pay here." He sassed, placing the uncooked chicken onto a cutting board.

"Oh shush. I'm sure, even with your candle lighting job, you still get paid more than me." I sassed back.

"I'm also Mr. DeGramont's personal slave, let's not forget that." Lumiere laughed, tossing the cut up chicken in a bowl for me.

"About that. What exactly do you do for Mr. DeGramont? Wait, scratch that, what does Mr. DeGramont do precisely?" I asked, trying to nonchalantly pry into this mans not so personal affairs.

"I think it's best if-"

"If he tells me himself, I know I know." I grumbled, pouring some milk into a saucer then placing it onto a different spot on the stove.

"What should I do with the chicken pieces?" He asked, conveniently changing the subject.

"Grab another frying pan from the rack. Only put a small amount of olive oil onto the pan before laying the chicken down. I want the chicken to be tender yet flavorless so it can absorb the flavor of the sauce." I explained, as we continued to cook.

~

"What is it?" Mr. DeGramont asked, as I set the plate down and removed the plate cover.

"Fettuccine Chicken Alfredo."

"Mm. Out with it." He barked, digging the fork into the pasta.

"W-What?" I stuttered, taken back by his directness.

"You clearly want to ask me something. What is it?" He asked, his voice as rough as ever.

"Well, I was just wondering- you know, you're paying me quite a lot, and I just didn't-"

"You want to know what I do." He spoke, cutting me off.

"In a sense, yes."

"My family has created an organization overseas that has grown itself quite substantially since then. We've... Networked our growth to some... Uncanny people-"

"Criminals?" I whispered.

"Your words, not mine." he replied nonchalantly.

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwait... Y-Y-You're in the Mafia?" I asked, my eyes growing wide.

"You're words, not mine."

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