Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
LEO
Leo trudged into the blue room, body feeling as battered as if he’d just had a session with his personal trainer. Early morning sunshine streamed in between the thick velvet curtains.
Why had his mother insisted on a family breakfast meeting?
He had gone to bed entirely too late the previous night, poring over the architect’s plans in his workshop until nearly dawn.
As much as he wanted to bring up the project, it wasn’t the right time.
He could practically feel the tension simmering in the room.
His mother wouldn’t be able to focus on anything until the ball was over and done with. With any luck, it would fulfill her every dream, and she would be in such a good mood the next day that she and Father would greenlight his plans. In the meantime, all he could do was prepare.
“Good morning,” he said to his father, who was reading a newspaper while sipping a cup of tea.
“Leo,” he said, raising his gaze from the paper. “Did you catch the match last night?”
Did all the men in this country care solely about sports?
“What, the football? No, I was working on something.”
The king tutted. “Busy, busy. How is it that you’re busier than the king?”
Leo smiled. He opened his mouth to say something about his near-death by pastry, but he stopped himself. His parents would probably find him weak if they knew an errant tart had almost permanently impacted the royal bloodline.
His thoughts returned to the baker. Emma. Finding her in the kitchen had felt like fate. Although it had nearly caused his death, her raspberry tart had been a vision. Maybe his sister was right to insist on this bakery, even if it meant not supporting a local business.
The odds were very good that he would run into her again. His stomach twisted. He had sort of lied to her when she asked him if he worked at the castle. Technically, he did. He just also happened to live here.
It had been a long time since he’d run into a woman who had no idea who he was—maybe even since university. It was almost intoxicating. Would she be upset when she learned the truth?
He poured a cup of coffee, and the warm, buttery scent lifted his mood. He was the only one in the family who drank it—one of his many failures of character—but the cooks always kindly brewed a pot for him. The first sip burned his throat, and he involuntarily flashed back to the night before.
He could have died in that kitchen. His throat still ached from the lodged pastry, a constant reminder of his near-death experience. But Emma had saved him. And she didn’t even know who he really was.
His mother bustled into the room, followed by a bleary-eyed Ruby. John trudged in last, a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes even though he was indoors. Apparently Leo wasn’t the only one who was up late.
John collapsed into a chair. A servant descended with a plate already made up. His brother had probably never made up his own plate in his entire life.
“Why did we have to have a breakfast meeting? I was sleeping,” Ruby complained.
“It’s important for families to eat together,” the queen said as she sat at the far end of the long, polished table.
A servant pushed her chair in for her and immediately poured a cup of tea.
It was almost irritating, a performative dance that went on and on for decades.
Could no one in this family do anything for themselves?
“Besides,” the queen added, “we’re sampling the pastries from the bakery you insisted we fly across the world. I could use your help in deciding what we want featured at the ball.”
Bollocks.
Ruby immediately sat up in her chair. “Fine, I forgive you. When?”
The double doors opened, and two women walked in carrying trays.
The first one he didn’t recognize, but if he had to guess, he would say she was American.
Rail-thin, heavy makeup for eight in the morning, and blue eyes that immediately settled on John.
Behind her, Emma carried a two-layer cake decorated in purple-and-gold—the colors of Lynoria.
His heart rate kicked up a notch. She looked very professional in a crisp black chef’s outfit, but it didn’t hide the fact that she mustn’t have slept at all.
Was she going to be upset?
The first woman curtsied almost comedically deep. “Good morning, Your Majesties. Your Highnesses,” she said with a second curtsy and her eyes still set on John.
Emma scanned the room and stopped in her tracks when she saw Leo. Her polite smile froze.
Uh-oh. Her mouth had dropped open, and she didn’t look pleased. He smiled at her, and color rushed into her cheeks. Then her jaw clenched. She averted her gaze and instead looked at his mother.
“Good morning,” she mumbled with a much shallower curtsy.
“Thank you for joining us this morning, ladies. Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, thank you, Your Majesty,” the first woman said with another curtsy.
Ruby let out a small snort, then clapped a hand over her mouth. The queen shot her a look. Even though they were somewhat used to people fawning over their family, some people took it to a whole new level. But Emma wasn’t interested in fawning. If anything, she looked pissed off.
The other woman shot Ruby a look, then surveyed the room. “Thank you so much again for having us, Your Majesties. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, striding over to the king. “Maya Farrell.”
The king nodded deeply at her, and she turned uncertainly in the direction of John.
He slid the sunglasses down his nose and appeared to take her in. “Prince John,” he said simply.
Great, they were already careening toward another scandal.
“Would you like us to explain what we brought?” Emma’s voice cut through the awkward silence.
“Please,” the king said, folding up his newspaper and sitting forward to inspect the trays of baked goods that had landed in front of him. Apparently the smell of butter had shaken him from his football-induced stupor.
Leo glanced at his watch.
As lovely as it was to see Emma again, he had a long day ahead.
The stage needed to be repaired before the carnival started, he had to deliver a printer to the library and replace some bulbs in the reference section, and there was a rumor that a debilitating storm would hit later in the week.
That meant checking that the community kitchen and homeless shelter were well-stocked.
The shelters in Avolis would be overrun, and sometimes people in need made their way to the village.
The other baker’s attention shifted back to the table. Emma still refused to look at him.
“So,” Maya said, “we’ve prepared several options for you to try.”
Leo squinted at the use of the word “we.” Unless Maya was out fetching ingredients, Emma had been all alone in the kitchen the night before.
“And, of course, we’re open to suggestion,” Maya continued. “The first is our legendary espresso croissant. It’s the item that put us on the map as a must-visit pastry destination.”
While she spoke, Emma donned a pair of gloves and arranged croissants on plates.
She walked around behind them and passed them to each family member.
She even did it correctly, so she must have done some googling in the night.
Her presence was like a radiant heater as she stood behind him.
She smelled like vanilla extract, and her sleeve brushed against his shoulder as she reached.
The croissant landed more harshly in front of him than it had for the others.
He bit his lip. He would have to find time to make it up to her. She had saved his life, after all. He should have told her the whole truth.
It was his own fault. It had been intriguing to consort with a beautiful woman who had no idea who he was. She had been so natural and relaxed—apart from the Heimlich, anyway. A far cry from the nervous debutants he usually met.
Maya was still babbling about the croissants and their commitment to using sustainable and conflict-free ingredients as Emma walked back to her side.
Ruby let out a deep sigh from down the table. There was a smudge of espresso powder on her cheek. The queen, who was sampling her pastry with a fork and knife, cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows.
Ruby sat up straighter in her chair. “I think we’re done here, right? We just need like six or seven hundred of these. Do they freeze well?”
Emma smiled, and the queen fired a warning.
“Ruby.”
Oh, right. He should probably try the dessert that Emma had put so much effort into.
An unexpected twinge of anxiety hit when he picked up the croissant, and his heart beat faster.
He hadn’t eaten anything since the choking incident.
Being unable to breathe had been uniquely horrifying.
All because he was an idiot who couldn’t chew properly.
He took a small, cautious bite and chewed for what felt like an eternity.
It was incredible. The exterior was flaky, buttery, and crispy. The ganache inside was delicately sweet and reminiscent of a cup of espresso enjoyed on the terrace in fall. How did she do it? She pulled a memory out of him that he didn’t even know he had, all with one baked good.
“Ruby’s right,” he said, dabbing a napkin over his mouth. He would swim in that espresso ganache.
Emma’s cheeks tinged pink again, but she avoided eye contact with him. Maya’s gaze was on John, while Emma was fixated on the queen.
The king nodded his approval, and the queen put her fork down.
“And the next selection?” she asked.
One by one, Emma passed out the desserts while Maya gave an explanation. A couple of times, Leo caught Emma shaking her head at Maya, who then quickly changed whatever she was talking about. The raspberry tart was even better when he wasn’t choking to death on it.
Finally, Emma reached into the lowest tier of the cart and withdrew a breathtaking miniature croquembouche tower. Glistening strands of spun caramel wrapped around perfectly sized creampuffs. She gingerly set it on the table in front of the queen.
“Croquembouche is a classic showstopper,” Maya intoned. “Refined, elegant, and delicious.”
For once, Maya was right. Everything Emma had created was incredible. Whoever married her one day would be heartily spoiled.
His mother had withheld her opinion the whole way through. Classic Eleanor. He had been in Emma’s shoes many times, bated breath while waiting for her judgment.
“Well,” the queen said, sliding her plate away from her. “I don’t so much care for a coffee flavor, but I know many of our guests will. You’re a skilled baker,” she said to Maya.
Maya looked very pleased with herself.
“But none of these desserts were magnificent enough on their own,” the queen continued.
Emma’s lips pinched together, and flames of anger grew in Leo’s stomach. In what universe were these not good enough? They had surpassed their old royal baker’s standards by kilometers, and Emma wasn’t even sleeping with John.
“I’d like to see some of each of these, plus other kinds. It needs to be artistic, elegant, regal. A show-stopping display. I want the servants to cry out in displeasure at having to cut into it. It must be magnificent.”
She didn’t actually have a gavel in her hand, but she spoke with the authority of someone holding one.
She stood, and everyone but the king stood with her. “I’ll check in with you in two days to hear your ideas. That should leave enough time to gather supplies and make preparations.”
With that, she left the room. He could practically hear the anxiety sizzling off of Emma. It certainly wasn’t the most helpful feedback.
“Thank you, ladies,” the king said.
They both curtsied, then left the room with their cart.
The taste of caramel was still on his tongue. Emma’s caramel. He shouldn’t bother her. She was clearly sleep-deprived and probably angry at him for concealing his identity. But he couldn’t help himself.
He jumped to his feet. “I have to get going. Duty calls,” he said.
John grunted at him and leaned back in his chair, sliding his sunglasses back over his eyes. Ruby had pulled out her phone the second the queen left, and the king had picked up his newspaper.
He left them to their devices and hustled out of the room.