Chapter 40:

Scarlet and Ha-Joon walked downstairs, hand in hand, their steps light but their minds slightly on edge. They weren't sure how the morning would unfold, especially after the ridiculous situation they had just endured upstairs.

As they reached the living room, they saw their families already seated. Ha-Joon's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wi, were sipping their tea, while Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, Scarlet's parents, sat stiffly, their expressions unreadable. Mr. and Mrs. Kang, Ha-Neul's parents, were also present, their gazes sharp and observant.

Scarlet and Ha-Joon exchanged a glance before taking their seats between them. For a moment, everything was peaceful. The quiet murmurs of morning conversation floated through the air. And then, Christine appeared.

Scarlet's jaw almost dropped at the sight of her assistant descending the staircase, dressed as though she were an obedient daughter-in-law from an ancient dynasty. A long, heavy shawl covered her shoulders, her dress was overly modest, and she even had her hair tied in a tight bun.

There was a beat of silence. The entire family turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from shock to confusion. Scarlet quickly stood up, forcing a smile as she walked toward Christine, subtly elbowing her in the side.

Christine barely reacted, standing stiffly like she was about to be presented to an emperor. Clearing her throat, Scarlet turned back to the family, who were all staring at them with varying degrees of skepticism.

"This is my friend, Christine," Scarlet began, her voice smooth and confident. "She's from Paris, and she came here with her husband for a vacation. And, well... she found out I was here, so she thought she'd drop by to see me."

Silence. Mr. Rogers took a slow sip of his tea, his sharp Bluish green eyes studying Christine like she was an unwelcome intruder. Mrs. Rogers, however, was more direct.

"So she came all the way to Tuscany to interrupt a family trip?" she asked, her tone cool and unimpressed.

Scarlet forced another smile. "It wasn't planned, Mother. It's just a coincidence."

Mrs. Wi, Ha-Joon's mother, placed her cup down with a soft clink. "A rather strange coincidence, don't you think?"

Christine, sensing the tension, quickly bowed her head slightly. "I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience."

Scarlet turned her head just enough to hiss under her breath, "You are not helping."

Christine straightened, still looking like an overly proper guest at a formal event.

"Since she's already here," Ha-Joon interjected, leaning back with a casual shrug, "there's no point making a fuss about it."

Scarlet shot him a grateful look. Then she turned back to christine and immediately whispered furiously, "Why the hell are you dressed like this?"

Christine sighed dramatically. "Ma'am, it's not me, it's that idiot Thomas who said I should 'look married'!"

Scarlet recoiled in disgust. "Oh, for god's sake..."

Before she could say anything more, another presence made itself known. But Mrs. Rogers was far from convinced. "Then where is her husband?"

Scarlet stiffened. Shit. Before she could respond, a voice rang from the staircase.

"Right here!"

And there, standing proudly like he had every right to be there, was Thomas. Scarlet wanted to die. And within five minutes, he had already charmed half the table. His demeanor was warm and welcoming, his posture confident, and his tone carried the same ease as Mr. Kang, the ever-hospitable head of the Kang family.

"Ah," Thomas said with a bright smile, addressing the room. "I see I've arrived at the right time."

Scarlet walked back to her seat and slumped beside Ha-Joon. She nudged him with her elbow and muttered, "What kind of assistants do we have?"

Ha-Joon let out a long, suffering sigh. "Some insane people... and maybe a few jokers."

Scarlet had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. Thomas, meanwhile, was thriving. His energy was infectious, his expressions animated, and soon, he launched into the most outrageous story imaginable.

"So," Thomas began, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, "Christine and I met in the most fateful way."

Scarlet and Ha-Joon exchanged a knowing look. This was about to be a trainwreck.

Thomas continued, "She saw me from across the room, her heart instantly captivated by my undeniable charm."

Christine, who had just taken her seat, immediately scoffed. "I what?" she deadpanned.

"Yes, darling," Thomas said sweetly, smirking. "You fell for me at first sight."

Christine turned in her seat, glaring at him. "Oh, you poor delusional man."

Thomas ignored her and continued his tale, addressing the family. "She tried to resist, but alas, my magnetism was too strong. And so, I proposed to her..."

Christine cut him off immediately. "Oh, yes, he proposed to me. In front of a thousand*l people," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She folded her arms. "And I rejected him. Right to his face."

Thomas scowled, glaring at her. "Yeah, and then she proposed to me on New Year's."

Christine scoffed again, rolling her eyes. Thomas smirked. "And I, being the good guy, accepted."

Scarlet had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Ha-Joon nudged her, whispering, "This is better than a drama."

Meanwhile, across the room, Ha-Joon's brother, Sung-Hoon, was not buying a single word. He looked at the so-called 'married couple' with visible disgust, all while trying to make his restless toddler, Aimir, go to sleep.

Sung-Hoon bounced his son up and down in his arms as he walked back and forth, clearly frustrated that the little boy refused to settle. Ha-Neul, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke. He frowned, looking at Christine and Thomas.

"I've seen both of you in Scarlet's company for weeks." he said bluntly. "Never thought you were married."

Christine didn't even hesitate. "Neither did I." A heavy silence fell over the table. Everyone stared at them. Thomas, ever the performer, didn't even flinch.

"We're professionals," he said smoothly. "That's why we don't let it show."

He turned to Christine, smiling. "Right, honey?"

Christine, with a blank expression, slowly turned her head to glare at him. It was the Annabelle horror movie moment. Scarlet and Ha-Joon completely lost it. They turned away, shoulders shaking as they struggled to contain their laughter.

Ha-Joon whispered, "Oh my god, I can't..."

Scarlet buried her face in his arm, whispering between giggles, "They're insane."

Christine, meanwhile, was plotting Thomas's murder. Sung-Hoon, still bouncing Aimir, finally exhaled sharply and muttered, "I give up."

At that moment, the toddler yawned but still refused to close his eyes. Thomas, seeing the struggle, leaned forward and grinned. "Ah, children love me. Here, let me try."

Sung-Hoon shot him a glare so sharp it could cut through steel. "Stay. Away."

Thomas put his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. No need for violence."

Christine muttered under her breath, "Yet."

Scarlet shook her head, completely done with the madness. Ha-Joon leaned in and whispered, "Do you think my family will disown me after this breakfast?"

Scarlet smirked. "I think they're reconsidering keeping both of us."

Ha-Joon sighed dramatically, rubbing his temple. As the chaos continued, Scarlet couldn't help but think. This was turning out to be one hell of a morning.

***

The moment Mr. Kang spoke, the lively chatter at the table quieted. He looked around the group, his expression expectant. "Well, since everyone is here already," he began, before turning his sharp gaze toward Sung-Hoon, "where's your wife?"

Sung-Hoon let out a long, suffering sigh, bouncing Aimir slightly in his arms. "Sleeping, of course." He glanced down at his son, shaking his head. "This little guy refuses to sleep and doesn't let anyone else sleep either."

Mr. Kang exhaled heavily, rubbing his temple. "Aimir takes after you then."

The entire table chuckled, except for Sung-Hoon, who muttered under his breath, "I wasn't this bad."

Mr. Kang, ignoring his nephew's complaints, clasped his hands together. "Today, we'll take a Tuscan cooking class together. We'll learn to make pasta from scratch. It'll be a good bonding experience."

Scarlet perked up at that, her lips curling into a smile. "That actually sounds fun."

Ha-Joon leaned closer, whispering, "As long as I get to taste-test everything, I'm in."

Scarlet rolled her eyes playfully, squeezing his hand. Within moments, the entire group made their way to the estate's backyard barn kitchen, where a group of elderly Tuscan women stood waiting. The scent of fresh basil, tomatoes, and aged cheese filled the air. Long wooden tables were set up, covered with bowls of flour, eggs, and fresh herbs.

An elderly woman, with a warm smile and hands dusted in flour, clapped her hands. "Buongiorno, everyone! Today, we will be making pici pasta, ribollita soup, and, of course, tiramisu!"

Excited murmurs rippled through the group. Then came the pairing. "Each couple will cook together!" one of the ladies announced. "Mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, partners, everyone will work together."

The pairings were made quickly. Mr. Wi and Mrs. Wi. Sung-Hoon and his wife, Aaira, who finally arrived, looking half-asleep. Mr. Rogers and Mrs. Rogers. Mr. Kang and Mrs. Kang. Scarlet and Ha-Joon. Christine and Thomas.

Seung-Il's wife, who was heavily pregnant, sat at a cozy corner table, sipping herbal tea and watching with amusement. That left Seung-Il and Ha-Neul as the last pair. Ha-Neul's expression remained neutral, but Seung-Il groaned loudly. "Great. Just what I needed. A cooking partner who barely speaks."

Ha-Neul ignored him, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's just get this over with."

Scarlet, already tying her apron, leaned toward Ha-Joon with a grin. "This should be interesting."

Ha-Joon smirked. "Just try not to burn anything, love."

Scarlet gasped, playfully smacking his arm. "Excuse me, I am an excellent cook."

Ha-Joon raised an eyebrow. "Really? When was the last time you cooked?"

Scarlet paused. "That's not important."

Ha-Joon chuckled and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. "Alright, my little chef. Let's see what you've got."

As they started kneading the pasta dough, Scarlet concentrated on mixing the ingredients while Ha-Joon watched her with amusement.

"You're really into this," he murmured.

Scarlet shot him a glare. "Unlike you, I actually want to learn."

Ha-Joon grinned, but then he suddenly moved behind her, his chest pressing against her back as he reached over to guide her hands.

"Here," he whispered against her ear, his breath warm, "you have to be gentler with the dough."

Scarlet shivered slightly but held her composure. "I know what I'm doing."

Ha-Joon hummed, unconvinced. "Mmm, do you?"

His fingers overlapped with hers, molding the dough carefully. Scarlet swallowed hard. Ha-Neul, working at the table across from them, tightened his grip on the rolling pin. His jaw clenched as he watched Ha-Joon lean closer to Scarlet, whispering sweet nothings as they worked together.

Seung-Il, noticing the shift in energy, smirked. "You okay, Ha-Neul?"

Ha-Neul didn't answer, continuing to roll out the pasta aggressively. Meanwhile, Christine and Thomas were already at each other's throats. "You're doing it wrong!" Christine snapped.

Thomas huffed. "How is there a 'wrong' way to roll dough?"

"You're supposed to use the heel of your hand, not your fingers, you idiot."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I accidentally sign up for Gordon Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen?"

Scarlet bit back a laugh as she whispered to Ha-Joon, "They are such a disaster."

Ha-Joon kissed her cheek and murmured, "Not our problem, love."

Scarlet turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "You're awfully affectionate today."

Ha-Joon grinned. "Can't help it. Cooking with you is... romantic."

Scarlet scoffed but smiled. "You just like getting handsy."

Ha-Joon chuckled, brushing flour from her cheek. "Guilty."

Across the table, Ha-Neul's grip on the pasta roller tightened. He was losing patience. Every glance at Scarlet and Ha-Joon felt like a reminder of something he could never have. Seung-Il nudged him. "Dude, you're gonna break that thing."

Ha-Neul exhaled slowly, loosening his grip. "Focus on your work, then me."

But even as he forced himself to focus on the cooking, his eyes kept drifting back to Scarlet, her laughter, the way Ha-Joon touched her so effortlessly, as if she belonged to him completely. And for the first time in a long while, Ha-Neul realized something. It hurt. It hurts like hell.

The Tuscan kitchen was alive with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the rhythmic motions of kneading, rolling, and cutting dough. The elderly Tuscan women, who had spent their lives perfecting the art of homemade pasta, walked among the groups, observing their progress with sharp but warm eyes.

One of the older women, Signora Bianca, clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Now, listen carefully, everyone! Pasta is not just food, it is tradition, love, and family. In Tuscany, we do not rush when making it. We take our time. Feel the dough. Respect it. And most importantly, make it with love."

Scarlet, her hands dusted with flour, exchanged a glance with Ha-Joon, who smirked. "Did you hear that?" he teased. "Make it with love."

Scarlet rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "I'm already regretting partnering with you."

Signora Bianca continued, walking to the front of the kitchen where a wooden table was set up for demonstration. "Today, we make pici pasta, one of Tuscany's most beloved dishes. It is a hand-rolled pasta, thicker than spaghetti, and it holds the flavors of our land beautifully. It was created by our ancestors who had only flour and water but still wanted to share a meal together. That is why it is special."

She gestured for the others to gather around as she grabbed a large wooden bowl. "First, we start with the dough. We use only flour, water, and a little olive oil. No eggs, this is how true Tuscan pici is made."

As she poured the flour onto the wooden surface, creating a small mound, she made a well in the center. "This," she said, pointing at the well, "is where the water goes. Slowly, little by little, you mix the flour into the water with your hands."

She demonstrated, using her fingertips to bring the flour inward, creating a thick, sticky dough. Scarlet and Ha-Joon followed along at their station, Scarlet carefully adding water while Ha-Joon mixed. "You're surprisingly good at this," Scarlet noted.

Ha-Joon smirked. "Are you impressed?"

"Not yet."

On the other side of the room, Christine and Thomas were already bickering.

"You're putting too much water!" Christine scolded.

Thomas grinned. "What? You said 'little by little.' I'm adding it little by little."

"You're drowning the flour!"

Seung-Il, standing nearby, muttered, "This is a disaster."

Meanwhile, Ha-Neul focused intensely on his dough, his movements precise and controlled. Seung-Il, on the other hand, groaned in frustration. "Why is this dough so dry?"

"You didn't add enough water," Ha-Neul said without looking up.

Seung-Il scoffed. "And you're an expert now?"

Ha-Neul remained silent, rolling his sleeves higher and kneading the dough with steady hands. His mind, however, was not on the pasta, it was on Scarlet and Ha-Joon.

Sung-Hoon stood beside Aaira, his hands coated in flour as he worked the dough with practiced ease. Aaira, quiet as always, focused intently on kneading the mixture in front of her. She pressed down, her delicate fingers digging into the soft dough, but it resisted her touch, stubborn and unyielding.

A few strands of her hair had slipped from behind her ear, falling into her face as she worked. She sighed in mild frustration, pushing them back with the back of her flour-dusted hand, only for them to fall again.

Sung-Hoon watched her struggle for a moment before chuckling softly. "Here," he murmured, stepping closer. Gently, he reached out, tucking the loose strands behind her ear. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and he felt her stiffen slightly at the unexpected touch.

"You should tie it," he said, his voice low and amused.

She gave him a fleeting glance but said nothing. Instead, she wiped her hands on her apron and gathered her hair into a quick, loose knot.

Ha-joon leaned closer to Scarlet's ear. "You see?" He gestured towards sung-hoon. Scarlet followed his gaze and nodded. He continued, "I've never seen Hyung smiling like that all my existence." Scarlet laughed.

As soon as Aaira's hands returned to the dough, Sung-Hoon found himself watching her again. There was something oddly mesmerizing about her movements, focused, precise, yet hesitant. She wasn't bad at this, but she wasn't used to it either.

"You're too gentle," he pointed out after a moment, reaching over to guide her hands. "You have to be firm."

His larger hands covered hers as he pressed the dough down, kneading it with steady, rhythmic motions. The warmth of his touch sent a faint shiver through her, but she didn't pull away.

"Like this," he murmured. "See?"

Aaira nodded, following his lead. The dough slowly began to soften under their combined effort, becoming smoother and more elastic. Sung-Hoon smirked. "You're good at this."

She glanced up at him, skeptical. He chuckled. "Okay, maybe not great. But good."

Aaira simply pressed the dough harder in response, making him laugh. They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds between them were the soft thuds of kneading and the distant chatter of the others. Sung-Hoon liked the quiet. There was something about Aaira's presence that was calming, even when she wasn't speaking.

Signora Bianca walked over to their station, nodding approvingly at Ha-Neul's technique. "You have strong hands," she said. "Good for making pasta."

Seung-Il snickered. "Yeah, sure, let's call him 'The Pasta King' now."

Ignoring him, Signora Bianca turned back to the class. "Once your dough is smooth, you must let it rest. Ten minutes is enough."

As they waited, another elderly woman, Signora Lucia, stepped forward. "While we wait, let me tell you why making pasta together is important in Tuscany."

The group leaned in, curious. As they finished kneading, Sung-hoon leaned in slightly, his lips dangerously close to Aaira's ear. His voice dropped to a whisper, teasing and warm.

"You know," he murmured, "making a kid is way easier than making this pasta."

Aaira froze. Her hands stilled on the dough as her breath caught ever so slightly. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, her eyes narrowed in silent disbelief. Sung-Hoon just smiled. That same effortless, teasing smile that drove people crazy.

Aaira didn't respond, at least, not with words. Instead, she picked up a small handful of flour and, without breaking eye contact, flicked it at him, carefully with his eyes. Sung-Hoon blinked as the white powder dusted his cheek and hair. Then, instead of looking annoyed, he just laughed, low and deep.

"Alright," he admitted, brushing the flour off. "I deserved that."

Aaira smirked, just barely, but went back to rolling out the dough, pretending the conversation never happened. Sung-Hoon watched her for a moment longer before finally focusing on his own task. But his grin never faded.

Lucia smiled, her eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "In the old days, families would gather in the kitchen, just like this. Grandmothers would teach their daughters, grandfathers would tease their grandchildren, and young lovers would steal glances at each other while rolling the dough."

She winked at Scarlet and Ha-Joon, making Scarlet blush. Ha-Joon, of course, grinned proudly.

Lucia continued, "Pasta-making is about connection. It brings people together. Even when times were hard, even during war, famine, or sadness, people still made pasta. Because food is not just food. It is history. It is love."

A soft silence followed her words, the weight of tradition settling over the group. Even Ha-Neul, who had been distracted, found himself listening.
Signora Bianca clapped her hands again. "Alright! Now we roll the dough."

Everyone returned to their stations. "Do not use a machine," she instructed. "We do this by hand."

She took a piece of dough and began rolling it into long, thick strands, stretching it gently with her fingers. "Pici should not be perfect. Each piece is different, just like each of you."

Ha-Joon attempted to roll his dough but ended up making it too thick. "This doesn't look right."

Scarlet, laughing, took his hands in hers. "Here, let me help."

She guided his fingers, rolling the dough with more precision. The warmth of her hands sent a shiver up Ha-Joon's spine. "You're really good at this," he murmured.

Scarlet smirked. "Told you."

Across the room, Christine and Thomas continued their disaster. "Stop making yours so thin!" Christine scolded.

Thomas grinned. "It's artisanal."

"It's spaghetti."

"Same thing."

Meanwhile, Seung-Il groaned again. "Ha-Neul, yours are perfect. Mine look like worms."

Ha-Neul sighed, taking Seung-Il's hands and showing him how to roll. "Like this."

Seung-Il stared at him. "Did you just... help me?"

"Don't get used to it."

Signora Bianca chuckled, watching the chaos unfold. "Now, we cook!"

She led them to a massive pot of boiling water. "Pici does not take long to cook. Only a few minutes."

One by one, they dropped their pasta into the pot. The air filled with the scent of fresh dough and olive oil. As they cooked, the Tuscan women prepared the sauces, simple yet rich. Fresh tomatoes, garlic, and basil for one; olive oil, pecorino cheese, and black pepper for another.

When it was time to eat, the couples sat together at a long, rustic table outside, under the warm Tuscan sun. The first bite was heaven, simple, flavorful, and rich with tradition.

Scarlet leaned back in her chair, sipping a glass of red wine. Ha-Joon, beside her, reached over, wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of her lips. "Messy eater."

Scarlet rolled her eyes. "Says the guy who got flour all over himself."

Ha-Joon grinned. "Worth it."

Across the table, Ha-Neul watched them, his chest tight. He stabbed his fork into his pasta, barely tasting it. Seung-Il nudged him. "You okay?"

Ha-Neul didn't answer. Because no matter how good the food was, nothing could distract him from the fact that Scarlet was happy, with someone else.