tw! ed

Rеgulus' eating habits were... not the best. Being a model usually comes with a couple of eating disorders, and Rеgulus was no exception. He has been in recovery for a little over a year now, so the situation is more or less stable. Still, he hated the thought of people knowing that he struggled with something as simple as eating. It felt like a weakness.

But most of all, he despised that he needed a private chef. Well, truth be told, he didn't need a private chef. But his parents insisted, and his git of a brother surprisingly agreed.

So for a little over three months now, you were preparing food for him wherever he was. You've been in the kitchen of his flat in central London, his chic apartment in the middle of Paris, and his townhouse in New York. Maybe being a model did get you eating disorders, but it also got you three houses around the world. Not that bad of a deal, eh?

He didn't like your presence. Sure, you were classically trained in France and worked in Michelin-starred restaurants, but for him, you were an eye sore. A reminder that he wasn't doing as well as he liked to tell people. The food you cooked was unfairly delicious, though.

"What's for dinner?" Rеgulus asked, walking into the kitchen. You were in New York for fashion week, and he just got off the catwalk for Jacquemus.