Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LEO
Leo lay in the dark, staring at the Christmas lights shimmering on his ceiling.
His sheets still smelled like her, and her absence from his arms was like a vacuum.
This was a problem. He had never intended to get entangled with Emma. A week ago, he had been laser-focused on the community project, utterly certain of his path forward.
But now his priorities were muddied. He couldn’t stop thinking about Emma.
The twitch of her rosy lips when she smiled at one of his dumb jokes.
Her waterfall of hair swinging around as she danced.
The warmth in her green eyes when she talked about her mom.
And the fact that she would be going home after the gala.
He was panicky at the very thought. Their connection had been so instantaneous, it stole his breath. They fit together like perfectly planed wooden joists placed by a master carpenter.
But she wasn’t his.
His mother would never allow him to date an American. That had been the refrain in this house for his entire life. But suddenly, he couldn’t care less what she thought. Why did she get to tell him how to live his life? He was a grown man, and he would love whoever he wanted to.
Wait, what the fuck? Love? Why was that word even in his vocabulary? He had barely known Emma for more than a week. It was impossible.
But in that week, she had saved his life. Saved his sister. And wound her way into his heart with that irresistible smile and gentle fortitude.
Whatever was going on with Emma—whether it was love or just lust—it wasn’t worth throwing away over some medieval idea about mixing blood.
He couldn’t let her leave. He wouldn’t.
He leapt out of bed like he was about to rush off and tell her all this. But he stopped with a hand on the doorknob.
Her dream. He hadn’t ever been part of it. What was he going to do, demand that she uproot her entire life and move to Lynoria? And besides, he had a duty to the people of this country. He couldn’t leave. And she couldn’t stay.
And beyond that, she was fiercely strong, so independent.
Thriving even under insurmountable pressure that would have made him crumple in an instant.
She deserved to have what she had worked for her entire life.
He couldn’t do anything to compromise her plan.
Even if he shattered his own heart in the process.
It didn’t matter what he was feeling. This was bigger than he was. But maybe he could do something to help her, something to take some of the pressure off.
He threw some clothes on and sent a text to Emma’s mom.
Three hours later, he slunk down the hall to the kitchen. His parents had retired to their rooms, and most of the staff had finished their shifts and gone to bed.
Emma probably didn’t need his help, and maybe she wouldn’t even want him there. But he couldn’t stand the thought of her all alone in the kitchen, slaving away with piping bags and gingerbread.
He pressed an ear to the door and heard nothing. He bumped it open an inch and saw Emma looking frazzled, staring at giant pieces of gingerbread on the island in front of her.
“Hey,” he whispered, and she jumped. Flour dusted her cheek.
“All clear?” he asked.
She surveyed the kitchen and nodded. Her expression was still stormy, but it seemed to have softened a bit.
“What’s wrong?” He sidled up next to her. She was like a radiant heater, exuding warmth. And stress.
“There’s something wrong with my icing,” she blurted.
“It’s not stabilizing enough to hold the big pieces.
It’s going to fall apart in the middle of the dinner, and your mom will never give me the second half of the money, and then I won’t be able to afford my mom’s medication and I’ll have to run Maya’s business for five more years. I’ll never escape.”
He took her by both arms and steered her away from the kitchen island.
“Take a deep breath. Now take another one,” he said when she complied. “We’re going to figure this out together. Are you sure the problem is the frosting?”
Emma waved a hand at a miniature version of the castle sitting on the drying rack. “It worked on the cardboard version.”
“What if we make some supports to hold the pieces in place?”
“Supports? What kind of supports? I don’t have time to measure and bake something that might not even turn out.”
“No. Like wooden supports.”
Emma bit her lip. “They’re not edible. It’s cheating.”
He leaned closer to her. “Who in their right mind is going to dismantle this masterpiece? No one is going to eat this. It’s too beautiful. That’s why you made all the tarts and pastries and chocolates. No one will know. And no one would care.”
She seemed to make up her mind. “Okay. How do we do it?”
“Let me get my tools.” He kissed her on the cheek and hustled to his workshop.
Hours later, a partially constructed gingerbread castle stood before them.
They had left it in pieces so it could fit through the door, but it was now considerably more stable.
The walls and gatehouse stood sentry, waiting to surround the castle.
The turrets were shaped, the roofs were affixed.
Emma had insisted on obscuring the wooden supports with frosting—just in case.
“What now?” Leo asked.
Emma took a deep breath. “The pipework and decorating. Then the croquembouche tomorrow. It’s going to take all night.”
“I’ll be here. I’m going to help you. We’ve got this.”
“I’ve seen your handwriting. Put the piping bag down,” she fired in warning.
He backed away with his hands in the air.
“I still can’t believe you made this,” he said, inspecting a curved piece of gingerbread that had candy glass windows. “How?”
“That’s nothing. Check this one out.” She pointed to another piece.
She had somehow exactly recreated the stained glass dome in the solarium. It was breathtaking.
“This is incredible. You’re incredible.”
“Thank you. And thank you for your help with the supports.”
He brushed a hair off her face. He longed to kiss her, to convince her that everything was going to be okay. But that wasn’t what she needed right now.
A survey of the kitchen revealed a sink full of dishes. “I think I figured out how I can help.”
Hours passed while Emma decorated and he washed and dried dishes, minded the timer on the mixer for the royal icing, and gave ample hand massages. He also snuck out for provisions, including snacks and a Bluetooth speaker to play Christmas music.
They worked mostly in silence except for occasional instructions, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Her lines were machine-straight. She hand-painted edible beads, piped red-and-green wreaths and garlands, accented each faux brick. Macarons made a dazzling roof for the turrets. She airbrushed, dusted with icing sugar, cut, and adjusted.
It was amazing to watch her work. She was so focused, and every movement seemed so natural. Like she was a human 3D printer, reaching inside herself for some cosmic directions to sculpt the most perfect gingerbread castle. It looked like it had taken years to make, not a week.
Finally, she set the piping bag down and surveyed her work. The sun was starting to creep up outside the window, sending a rosy hue into the midnight blue sky.
“I should go,” he said, furrowing his brow. The staff would be up any minute to prepare breakfast. “How can I help?”
Emma shook her head. “Maya and some staff are supposed to come help me move the gingerbread pieces to the ballroom. I just have to work on the croquembouche in my apartment. Thank you. Seriously.”
She grabbed him by the lapel to kiss him, then released him. “Now go. Before you get us both in trouble.”
All of a sudden, time seemed very fleeting. Tomorrow morning, Emma would be on a plane to New York. She would be gone. And Lynoria would suddenly feel very empty.
It was best that he keep himself busy today. But he would see her tonight, even if he had to skip out early from the community kitchen.
It could be the last time he ever saw her.