The Don Tore Up Our Divorce (Gemma and Cassian) novel Chapter 40

**Before Rain Touches Earth Memories Return With Gentle Warmth by Eli Dane Crest**
**Chapter 40**

**Gemma**

I hunch my shoulders, attempting to blend into the background as if that could somehow render me invisible. Of course, it doesn’t work, and with a resigned sigh, I pivot to face James.

His smile is like sunshine breaking through clouds, illuminating the kitchen as he strides toward me. “Hey! I can hardly believe it’s you! The elusive mystery menu consultant!”

“Yup…it’s me,” I reply, forcing a cheerful tone that feels more like a mask than a genuine emotion.

“You’re the absolute best person I could have run into today. You had this uncanny ability to predict exactly what Mr. Blackwell would adore. Come on, step into the kitchen with me and sample my latest dessert creation!”

I hesitate, searching for an easy escape, but none presents itself. And besides, Cassian isn’t here to complicate things. Plus, who could resist the allure of free dessert?

As James leads me into the kitchen, I can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. The dessert he presents is a vision: delicate mini lemon tarts topped with a swirl of vibrant raspberry curd. They look heavenly.

“He’s going to love these,” I exclaim, genuinely meaning it. Cassian has always had a soft spot for the bright, zesty flavors of lemon and raspberry.

“So, what’s been going on with you?” James inquires, leaning casually against the counter while we both dive into our forks, savoring the tart’s exquisite balance of flavors. “I tried to track down your contact details, but it was like you vanished into thin air.”

“Oh,” I stammer, my mind racing to concoct a plausible explanation. “I…was brought on through one of the Blackwell companies. But…um…”

The memory of that fateful day—the day everything changed—flashes through my mind, and I cling to the fabricated story I told my coworkers on the warehouse floor when the flight was sabotaged. “My husband died,” I confess, my voice steady despite the weight of the lie. “I needed some time to process everything.”

James’s expression shifts to one of genuine concern, his brows knitting together in sympathy. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Just then, a few waitstaff members enter the kitchen, and I recognize them from my previous visits.

“It’s Gemma!” exclaims a waitress, her face lighting up with surprise. “We were all wondering what happened to you.”

“Her husband passed away,” James informs them, his lovely English accent giving the words a somber weight.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry! When did that happen?” one of them asks, her voice laced with empathy.

“Are you looking for a job again?” another server chimes in, excitement creeping into her tone. “I loved everything you put on the menu!”

A third server quickly shushes her, the gravity of the moment hitting home. “Her husband is dead! This is not the time to bring that up!”

“Don’t worry,” I interject, eager to regain control of the narrative. “He cheated on me and then died after getting drunk and driving his car straight off a bridge. No tears shed here—just shock.”

The kitchen falls silent, everyone staring at me in stunned disbelief. But given the nature of this restaurant—a front for an underground mafia casino—they’ve likely encountered far stranger tales.

“Well, damn,” James finally says, a hint of admiration in his voice. “Good riddance, then.”

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, the absurdity of the situation washing over me. Since the story is a fabrication anyway, I decide a little embellishment won’t hurt. “He was terrible in bed, to boot. Really, truly useless.”

“Is that so?” a deep, cool voice interrupts from behind me.

My stomach drops.

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