“Your Highness,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” The Prince’s voice drops, and his hand drifts to my lower back. Fire teases my insides, licking my thighs with delicious heat as his touch spreads warmth through my body.
A crash followed by a shriek makes us both turn our heads toward the dessert room. One of the pastry chefs is holding his head while another runs over. I can sense the panic rolling through the door in waves.
Pushing the swinging door open, I step through.
I don’t know why. I have no right to be there. I’m sure they would have kicked me out immediately if not for Prince Luca’s presence. The pastry chef’s faces turn from shock, to outrage, to polite resignation as they both bow at the Prince.
At our feet, the three-tiered cake—and all its delicately piped roses—lays smashed on the floor. Buttercream icing is smeared from one end of the room to the other.
The young pastry chef holding the piping bag looks at the older man and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry, George, I don’t know what happened.”
“Mon dieu,” the older man says, slipping his chef’s hat off and raking his fingers through his hair. “That was our pièce de résistance. We have only small bites to serve now.” The old man’s face crumples, and he shakes his head. “My first time serving dessert somewhere other than Westhill Palace, and I won’t have anything to show for it.”
His eyes dart up to Prince Luca, and the old man’s cheeks turn bright red. I can feel the shame and embarrassment radiating from him.
Putting my hands on Prince Luca’s shoulders, I spin him around. “Nice to see you. Bye!” I say to his back as I push him out the door. It swings back toward him and smacks the Prince on the bum. He stumbles forward, whipping around to stare at me through the door’s window. His eyes are wide with shock, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now.
The young pastry chef’s jaw is on the floor, and the old man is looking at me with an arched eyebrow. I don’t have time to explain my weird relationship to Prince Luca to them, though, because there’s a dessert disaster at my feet. If there’s one thing I know how to do properly, it’s how to fix a baking mishap.
“Okay,” I start. “We can’t serve this. What else have we got?”
“We?” the young chef asks, crossing his arms.
George, the old one, must see something in me though, because he nods his head and turns to the stainless steel tables behind him.
“Tree raspberry cheesecakes which were meant for tomorrow—Queen Elle’s favorites—and two small chocolate cakes which were to be the miniature versions of this one. We have small bites of homemade chocolates and some macarons.” I can tell by his accent that he’s French, but I don’t have time to think about anything other than the desserts in front of me.
The old man takes an apron off a hook on the wall and tosses it at my chest. I catch it, slipping it over my head.
George points to the young pastry chef. “Ben, clean up this mess.” He gestures to the floor.
My eyes drift up to the doorway, where Prince Luca is looking at me with a curious grin on his face. He inclines his head and walks away.
I shake my head to clear the thoughts away. I can’t think of him right now, or the way he makes my body ignite. Tightening the apron strings, I put my hands on my hips.
“We don’t have enough for one big dessert, so how about we do individual ones?”
George quirks an eyebrow.
I nod to the cheesecakes. “Individual raspberry cheesecakes and chocolate cake bites inside a tempered chocolate dome, served with warm raspberry sauce. The sauce will tie the two desserts together. Do you have good quality chocolate?”
“Of course,” George smiles.
“Good. Let’s get tempering. We can make a praline topping for the cheesecake squares and garnish the whole with the macarons. The whole thing on the individual plates, served to each guest.”
The old man puts his hands on my shoulders and stares into my eyes. “Genius, mademoiselle. What’s your name?”
“Ivy,” I answer.
“Well, Ivy, you’re a hero.”
“Don’t know if I’d go that far, but I may have saved the dessert for tonight.”
The next hour is a flurry of activity. The three of us work like crazy to create chocolate domes, placing