together. Nadia may be a horrible piece of human garbage, but thanks to her nastiness (and apparent mastery of rodents), I found the love of my life. I almost feel guilty needing to ruin her on live television.
Almost.
Forty-Seven
Cynthia
I move methodically, checking every measurement twice and working in silence. I feel miserable, helpless; something’s about to happen and I can’t do anything to stop it. But the cameras are rolling. Like it or not, it’s showtime.
“For our dessert challenge, I’ve decided to go with a truffled crème brülée.” I smile to the camera as I grab my ramekins. “It’s a favorite of mine, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as cracking the top with your spoon, is there?” I laugh and shoot a quick look at Stephen.
“I served a simple crème brülée for my opening, but this time, I’d like to try something a little special,” I give a thumbs up and continue my work, slicing down the front of a vanilla bean and imagining it’s Nadia’s wrist.
The camera moves on to Nadia and she smiles sweetly, discussing the secret to her ginger layer cake. The secret is lies! I think stupidly as I crack the eggs. The camera finally rolls back from her and takes a wide shot of the two of us, busy with our work.
I’ve stripped the vanilla bean and mixed the heavy cream. I move to the burner, ready to put on the heat. It needs about fifteen minutes here, but with doomsday upon me, it feels like a year and a half.
With every step, I’m checking my ingredients, wondering how many she’s taken, trying to brace myself for what’s to come. I head back for the egg yolks and sugar, so far so good. I pour and mix in small doses, to keep the eggs from scrambling.
It’s such a strange moment. It’s one of my favorite dishes to make, one that makes me think fondly of the first night I ever laid eyes on Stephen Longvale. And he thought I was a server… I shake my head, suppressing a smile.
When this is all over, whatever happens, I’ve got to apologize. I have to be brave enough to tell him how I feel, how I really feel. I’m not sure which feels more terrifying at the moment — the impending accusation or telling the man of my dreams I’m in love with him.
I do a quick taste of my batter. Fuck, that’s good. I’m hitting my stride. I double check that my torch is in place, I’ll need it later if I can make it that far. Or to set Nadia’s hair on fire. Either way, I’m glad to see it’s where it should be.
With my egg yolk mixture complete, it’s time for my main ingredient. Truffle oil. The moment of truth is upon me, and I try to catch Stephen’s eye. I can’t find him in the crowd and I feel the panic rising in my throat.
I move toward my ingredients dumbly, knowing what I’ll find, or what I won’t. I search once, a part of me hoping this is all a cruel joke, and she wouldn’t dare move anything. I move through my ingredients once, twice. But it’s not there. It’s now or never.
“Where is it?” I ask as I set my hand down where the oil should be. There’s a faint ring left behind, evidence it’s been there recently. I spin around to Nadia, who’s too ‘busy’ to notice my question. “Nadia.” I say evenly, “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” she asks, busying herself with the mixer.
“Where’s my truffle oil?”
Nadia finally stands up and looks at me with concern. “I don’t know, Cynthia, where did you last see it?” This bitch.
“I last saw it, where I set it down, at my station. Now where is it?”
“Cynthia, I don’t have time for this, I’m sure you’ve just misplaced it, you have quite a habit of that,” she chuckles to the camera and bends down to the oven once more.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” I say, my eyes boring into the back of her skull. She stands up slowly and turns around, her face twitching with the faintest bit of fear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.
“Oh, yes, you fucking do!” I roar and reach beneath her table for the bowl. She yelps and rushes toward me, trying to stop me, but it’s too late. I hold the bowl in my hands and reach for the oil.
“This truffle oil, Nadia! This ingredient! What