Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMMA
“Hold on,” Lola said on speakerphone. “You’re telling me Cooper peed on a member of the royal family? And you weren’t immediately extradited or imprisoned?”
Cooper raised his head from his reclined position on Emma’s unmade bed. The gatehouse apartment had proven to be very cozy. The nap had done wonders for her emotional stability, but she was still tired. A responsible night of sleep would have to wait until after the winter carnival.
“Well,” Emma said, rifling through her suitcase, “I did kind of make up for it by saving his life. It would be a bad look for them to deport me. Plus then Maya would be completely screwed. Maybe I should convince him to deport me.”
“Holy shit,” Lola said. “I am so jealous of your life right now. You know what Mateo and I did last night? We put together a thousand-piece puzzle of Big Ben. How are you peeing on princes in foreign countries while I’m stuck in Chicago doing puzzles and getting my ass blown into the river?”
“I’m not peeing on princes,” Emma said. “Probably should have though, since he lied to me about who he was.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Your problems are so much cooler than mine,” Lola muttered. Her fingers clattered on a keyboard in the background.
“Really? You want to add a disabled mother and a terrifying career change to yours?”
“Point taken. How is your mom?”
Emma had spoken to her only half an hour ago, but now that she didn’t have the distraction of five types of baked goods in process simultaneously, the distance was making her nervous.
“She’s fine so far. I check the nanny cams every half hour at least.”
“It’s not going to happen again,” Lola said firmly.
“One in four stroke survivors go on to have another one,” Emma said flatly. “And once again, I’m not there.”
Lola started to say something, but the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Shit,” Emma whispered. “I was supposed to have another hour. I have no clothes. What am I going to do?”
“Go naked. Bring home a royal baby.”
“You’re the worst. Love you. Bye.” Emma hung up and swept a glance over her room. There was a dirty coffee mug in her kitchenette sink, and the few clothes she had brought were strewn all over the bed.
“Emma?” a female voice came from the other side of the door.
Oh, thank god. It wasn’t Leo. She crossed the room and pulled the door open.
“Ruby! I mean, uh, Your Highness.”
Shit. She still should have cleaned up.
Ruby smiled.
“What can I do for you?” Emma asked.
The young woman wandered into the apartment and settled on the bed next to Cooper. He lay his gigantic head in her lap and happily accepted her pets.
“I’m sorry about my mom,” Ruby said.
Emma glanced around the room, but there was no way to tidy up without the princess noticing. At least it was a teenage girl and not the queen herself. She would have had to pitch herself out the second-story window if Eleanor had shown up.
Would it be super inappropriate for her to interrogate Ruby for information on her mother’s likes and dislikes?
“I—uh—appreciate a good challenge,” Emma said.
Ruby snorted at that. “You can be honest.”
“I do wish there had been a bit more guidance. But Maya—my boss—is working on some ideas.”
The princess straightened up. “She loved it, you know. That was by far the least amount of criticism I’ve ever seen her give a pastry. That’s why I wanted you guys to come here. You’re the best.”
Emma’s heart softened. “Thank you. Stop in when you get to New York for school, and I’ll make you something special on the house.”
Ruby glanced around the room. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Kind of. I was planning to go to the winter carnival to get a feel for the town, but I realized I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”
She probably shouldn’t mention the fact that she was going with her brother.
Ruby stood up and walked over to her, seeming to size Emma up. “I think we’re about the same size. Come with me,” she said, heading for the door.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“We can’t have you freezing to death. Besides, it’s nothing. The winter carnival vibe is very après-ski and casual.”
Après what now?
“Even if you’re—hypothetically—in the company of royalty?” Emma asked.
Ruby stopped in her tracks, and Emma almost ran into her. She whirled around. “You’re not going with John?”
Emma shook her head.
Ruby seemed to be relieved. “Good. We do have to do a little bit more work, in that case. I assume you’d like to keep a low profile?”
“The lowest. Can you make me invisible?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Forty-five minutes later, Emma emerged from the princess’s department-store-sized closet feeling a bit foolish.
The girl had a keen eye for fashion—maybe a little too wild for Emma’s taste, since she rarely wore anything but work and athleisure clothes.
She hadn’t been on a date in almost two years, and she had sold some of her going-out clothes to help make ends meet.
Ruby had grilled her on life in New York—what was her favorite Broadway show?
Where were the best tacos? Had she ever run into celebrities?
While the real highlight of Emma’s career had been crafting a commissioned birthday cake for Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Princess Ruby was more excited by Timothee Chalamet’s brief visit in the fall.
Emma had to talk her down from wearing faux fur head to toe, and instead they had settled on all-black attire.
A black cashmere sweater beneath a black puffer jacket.
Surprisingly warm leggings tapered into fur-lined snow boots.
And a black beanie pulled low over her ears.
Would it be insane to wear sunglasses at night?
The less of her face that was recognizable, the better.
Maybe Leo was exaggerating the interest from the press and public. She could probably keep a few feet between them. No one had ever noticed her before—why would they start now?
“Thank you so much,” she said to Ruby.
“It was nothing. Thank you for the croissants.”
“I’ll make them for you anytime.” Emma checked her watch. “Crap, I better go.” She took a step, then stopped. “Crap, I probably shouldn’t say ‘crap’ around a princess.”
The girl giggled. “Don’t worry about it. Have fun tonight.”
Emma started to leave the room, but Ruby stopped her once more.
“Cardamom,” she said.
Emma turned around. “Pardon?”
“My mom loves cardamom. Use the information however you see fit.”
She disappeared back into her closet with a wave.
Emma’s mind spiraled with ideas. Maple cardamom sticky buns.
Browned butter snickerdoodle cookies. Wait, shit.
Not fancy enough. Maybe fig and cardamom macarons?
There was time to worry about this later.
Cardamom was a start, but right now she needed to pump Leo for more information—and try not to humiliate herself again.
Magnificent and regal was the official request, but the secret to Emma’s success had always been identifying the client’s unspoken underlying needs. Did the queen want to feel special? Powerful? What made her tick?