Free My Funny Valentina by Kelly Curry Page A

bitter charges right back at him. ‘What’s wrong didn’t ‘ mana mou’ cook for you today?’
    Stash gave a harsh bite of humorless laughter, ‘you know what, Val, you’re right.  Silly of me to expect you would be home preparing a romantic meal waiting anxiously for your husband to return through the harsh winter elements.  From the looks of it, you’ve probably already fed a lot of appetites today.’  He turned away from her with a look telegraphing his disgust then quickly turned back.  ‘Just out of curiosity, what does an outfit like that sell anyway – besides you ?’
    ‘ Sports cars!’  Valentina stamped over to the built-in subzero refrigerator, yanking open the freezer section.  ‘Grilled steaks,’ she muttered, rooting around the icy contents snatching out two frozen steaks then swinging wide the refrigerator door.  ‘Greek salad,’ she clenched grabbing two plump tomatoes, feta cheese, cucumber, a head of romaine lettuce, bottle of salad dressing, juggling her bounty to keep from dropping it.
    ‘ What are you doing?’ he growled from the side of his mouth.
    ‘ Why, I’m making a romantic Valentine’s dinner for my darling husband, of course!’ She spat out the sarcastic response with head still stuck deep in the fridge. ‘And we certainly can’t forget the dessert,’ she snagged a can of whip cream and pint of cherries. ‘Black Forest Cake,’ she announced with mock fanfare, ‘ yummy! ’  Tipping down a bag of flour from the walk-in butler pantry, adding two golden potatoes from the bin into her overloaded arms, she turned, slamming the collected items down onto the kitchen island where they scattered in all directions. 
    Stash watched with his lips tightly clamped together.  Making no comment as she jerked open a drawer removing a sharp butcher knife she used to chop up one of the tomatoes in uneven chunks on the cutting board, her fingertips in grave danger of amputation with her eyes blurred by the tears she refused to wipe away.  Her head lifted only when he strode over and grabbed his navy overcoat from the back of a chair at the kitchen table, jaw line rigid as he pulled it on.
    ‘ Where are you going, Stash?  Your romantic Valentine’s dinner’s not ready yet!’
    He dealt her a cold flat look. ‘I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.’  He turned and jerked open the door to the garage – and it was only a fat red tomato whizzing perilously close to his ear before splattering onto the door and all over the front of his previously immaculate white shirt that kept him from exiting.
    ‘Don’t leave without at least having some salad first!  Oh, and don’t forget your favorite cake!’
    Stash’s broad shoulders stiffened when the bag of flour she’d heaved across the room hit the wall above his head and split open, dusting his hair in a shroud of powdery white.  He slammed the door dripping with pulpy juice shut, and spun back around.
    ‘ You know, I think you’re right.  I am hungry after all.’ Shrugging off his flour-bombed coat, he dropped it onto the kitchen floor, carelessly stepping on the cashmere-lined garment as he stalked towards her.  ‘ Very hungry!’ His fingers made quick work of the buttons of his stained shirt, shedding it in one economic movement, his muscle-packed chest temptingly revealed. ‘In fact, Valentina, I think we’ve both been starving for awhile now, so why don’t we break all the rules of etiquette and start with dessert…’ 
    H e rushed her – before her fight-or-flight instinct could kick in – boxing her in against the edge of the island.  His mouth dove down, capturing hers in the middle of the protest forming on her lips, persuasively transforming her heated exclamation from a curse to a drawn out moaning of his name. Stash stretched a long arm behind her, swiping all the food items she’d gathered off the island on to the floor with a deafening echoing clatter.  Lifting her up beneath her armpits, he laid