small bites of desserts inside them. I make a raspberry sauce under George’s watchful gaze, who grunts in approval as he tastes it. Right as a butler comes to tell us that the guests are ready for dessert, I find some gold leaf in one of the cupboards. With a bit of dazzle on top of the chocolate domes, and a delicate decanter of raspberry sauce, the dessert looks decadent, refined, and—if I do say so myself—perfect.
The waiters whisk the plates away, and I lean back against the countertop, letting out a heavy sigh. I grab a piece of broken chocolate dome—one of the extras—and pop it into my mouth. It snaps delicately between my teeth and then melts on my tongue. I groan, nodding.
“That’s good.” I try to smile, but I’m exhausted.
George comes to stand in front of me and extends his hand. “Thank you, Miss Ivy.”
I smile. “My pleasure. I’ve never worked in a commercial kitchen before. That was incredible.”
The old chef stares at me, crossing his arms. He taps his lips with his fingertip, tilting his head to the side. “I’ll be here for the next month, before we head back to Westhill Palace with Prince Gabriel. Would you like to come train with me until then? You’re talented, and I could use your energy and creativity in here.”
My eyes widen, and I stare around the dessert room. This is my dream. It’s more than my dream! I’d wanted to own my own small bakery, maybe somewhere in Grimdale. I had modest ideas.
But to bake for royalty? To learn from one of the world’s top pastry chefs?
Unreal.
My face breaks into a smile. “Yes! Yes, I’d like that very much.”
George nods. “Good. Now get to work, we have a lot of cleaning to do.” His eyes flash and a hint of a smile flits across his lips. I glance at Ben, the other apprentice, who grins at me.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he laughs.
I smile in response, because I don’t want to say the thought that passes through my mind—that even if working here is hell, it can’t possibly be worse than being my sister’s personal assistant.
This is my chance to do something for myself. To do something I love. I won’t be watching my sister blossom, constantly feeling like I’m less than her.
Maybe, working here, I’ll finally feel like who I am is enough.
8
Luca
Dinner goes by in a haze of alcohol and tedious conversation. Margot sits beside me, and even the jealous glances that Cara sends my way do nothing to entertain me.
Only when dessert arrives do I feel any sort of joy sparking in my spirit. The veil of numbness that I’ve worn all evening shivers slightly, and I see Ivy’s touch in the dish that’s served.
A few comments are made on the dessert, but no one seems to appreciate the genius on the plate. I saw the cake smash against the ground. I saw the disaster in the kitchen.
To then have it turned into something delicate, delicious, and refined… That takes a master’s touch.
Ivy’s touch.
When I taste her creation, I feel like I’m tasting her. I moan into my plate, imagining her red lips.
I need her.
Or, maybe, I just need a distraction from the woman who decided to marry my brother instead of me.
Being at this table is suffocating. I feel like I’m about to explode, and all I can do is sit here and endure it. My gaze drifts to Cara, even though I know it’ll hurt to look at her.
Her beauty. Her smile. Her perfect fucking body that no longer belongs to me.
Maybe it never did.
“…and we’re so glad to see Luca recovered so well,” Cara smiles, swinging her eyes to me. They hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut, her smile a knife that twists in my back.
Dahlia clears her throat. “We were hoping that Prince Luca would stay in Farcliff for a while longer. He’s an inspiration to us all.”
All eyes turn to me. Margot slides her hand over my thigh, and I resist the urge to leave the room.
Cara’s eyes are the dial that cranks up the agony in my spine. Every time she looks at me, my nervous system screams, and pain shatters through my body. Deep, throbbing pain starts to well up in my marrow, and I need to swallow another pill or three.
I stare at the raspberry sauce on my plate, dragging a spoon through the thick, sweet liquid.