Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EMMA
Emma checked her hair surreptitiously in a gilded mirror by the gingerbread table in the ballroom. A string quartet in the corner was tuning, and smells of a magnificent feast were in the air. Round tables with golden charger plates and dramatic rose centerpieces were clustered toward the back.
The castle was exquisitely festive.
But if she were being honest, no part of the ball was as regal as the gingerbread castle.
Against all odds and in a kitchen that ran on Celsius, the castle had come together.
Nothing crumbled or collapsed. And it was—by far—the most magnificent thing she had ever made.
All the castle staff had oohed and aahed over it as they helped Emma transport it to the ballroom.
Tarts, pastries, and cupcakes made up the grounds. And with the addition of the croquembouche Christmas tree in the nonpareil courtyard, it was as close to perfect as she could make it.
Guests would be arriving any moment. The royal family had provided her and Maya with black-and-gold chef’s coats to wear, but Maya had disappeared in hers. She had looked teary-eyed all morning, so apparently things were not going to end well with Prince John. It figured.
The doors opened, and Emma straightened up. It was the queen.
Her anxiety spiked to eleven, and she held her breath as the queen approached.
Emma curtsied, and the queen greeted her with a casual “Miss Clark.”
Slowly, the woman circled Emma’s creation. She bent to inspect the tiny petals on an apple tart and the macaron-dotted pathway down to the greenhouse made of candy glass.
An eternity passed as she examined every part of it—pausing extra long on the stained glass solarium dome. Would it meet her expectations?
Finally, she clasped her hands in front of her.
“This is lovely. Beatrice will see that you receive the second half of your payment.”
Relief flooded Emma so instantaneously that her knees almost collapsed.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. This project was fun. Stressful, but fun.”
The queen looked surprised at her description, and the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Perhaps we’ll collaborate again someday.”
Emma nodded and curtsied again as the queen walked away.
Holy shit. She had done it. The money was hers. Now all she had to do was man the table and enjoy the party. She could probably even sneak a drink or a plate of food from a server.
This money was about to change everything.
Her mom could stay on her medication. She could tell Maya to kiss her ass on New Year’s Eve.
Or maybe she should wait until she lined up a couple of freelance social media gigs.
Their following had increased by at least a third since their trip to Lynoria, and the video Emma had just posted of the gingerbread castle was already up to twenty-five thousand views.
Everything was perfectly on track. She should be euphoric, shouting from the rafters. But instead, there was a dark cloud inside her. In a matter of hours, she and Cooper would be on a train to Barcelona, then a plane to New York. And Leo would still be here, fighting for his dream.
And she probably wouldn’t even see him before she left. He was busy with the community kitchen, serving his people as always.
Did he even care that she was leaving? The way he had made love to her the night before didn’t feel like a casual, friendly thing. He had worshipped her, savoring every inch of her flesh like she was a gift he was unwrapping.
Shit. His gift. She had almost forgotten. She had baked a cheesecake for his birthday and left it in her fridge. She’d have to find a way to sneak it to his room without the queen seeing her.
A pang hit her heart. She would miss his birthday. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason, it did.
The doors opened again, and guests started filtering in. Ruby ran over to gawk at the castle, and Emma slid her an espresso croissant she had made just for her. A dozen more were in the freezer per the queen’s request.
A couple members of the press had slunk in and were taking pictures. One approached her and held out her hand.
“Miss Farrell?”
“Clark. Emma Clark.”
“Oh, great. I’m Sidney Mukherjee from Food Magazine.”
That name was familiar. The nerves were back. Emma held her breath and fought the sudden strange urge to curtsy.
“It’s wonderful to meet you. I love your travel pieces. The mochi ice cream feature you did in June? Inspired.”
Sidney smiled and brushed her dark hair away from her face. “Thank you so much. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? And take some pictures. I’ll be honest, I’ve never seen a gingerbread on this scale.”
They talked for forty minutes as the gala commenced. Maya was nowhere to be found, so Emma never bothered to mention her. She didn’t deserve even an ounce of credit.
By the time Sidney left, Emma’s heart was full. The magazine feature could change things for her.
Tons of people had stopped to take pictures with the castle, including the king and queen. Guests chattered excitedly, bending down to inspect the tiny windows and shingles.
For the next couple hours, people streamed up, asking questions about the castle and pulling cupcakes and macarons off the grounds. But no one touched the castle. It was just as well. Queen Eleanor would probably have them beheaded.
God, Emma was tired. Maybe she could catch a couple hours of sleep before her ride to the train station.
She searched the crowd continuously, hoping against hope that Leo would return. How selfish was she to hope that he left the food bank early?
A server slipped her a plate, and she ate it on the floor behind the gingerbread castle.
Garlic mashed potatoes, cornish game hens, and buttery carrots.
It was to die for. And within a year, she’d be able to afford better food for her and her mom.
Her savings plan was complete. Now she just had to ride out the noncompete period and set up her own business. It was terrifying, but exhilarating.
“You did it,” a familiar voice said behind her, breaking her out of her reflection.
“Leo,” she said with what was probably a gigantic smile. “You made it.”
He must have slunk through the back door behind the dessert table. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel, but he was sexier than any of the tuxedo-clad men in the ballroom.
“I told you I would. Emma, this is incredible. True art. Your mom must be so proud.”
“I think she is,” she said with a smile. They had video chatted earlier and Emma’d had to mute her exclamations as they echoed in the ballroom.
Leo glanced past her, nodded at someone across the room, and held out his hand.
She looked at him. What was he doing?
“You’ve been paid, right?” he asked.
She nodded. A wire transfer with the other half of the money and a sizable tip was pending.
“So dance with me.”
He turned and made eye contact with the conductor. The string quartet started playing “Fade Into Me,” and goosebumps raced up and down her arms.
“I can’t. Your mom—”
“She wouldn’t dare say no to the shelter. She’d have to have a lump of coal for a heart. Dance with me. Please.”
There were a million reasons why she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to jeopardize his plans or piss off the queen. And yet another part of her—the much bigger part—wanted nothing more than to be enveloped in his arms just one more time.
“Outside,” she said with a glance over her shoulder. The queen was chatting with Beatrice at a cocktail table.
He pulled her through the door behind them. Their footsteps echoed in a hallway she’d never been in. It was dark, and his hand was warm around hers. Together they passed through a doorway and the foyer.
The orchestra was still audible from the courtyard.
She shivered, and Leo pulled her close. Her cheek pressed against his chest, and she breathed in the sharp mountain air.
They swayed to the music, a sea of unspoken feelings swelling between them.
The night was almost perfectly still, like the world was holding its breath.
It was so profoundly unfair that this wasn’t the first chapter in their happily ever after.
Tomorrow she would be on a plane to New York, and the distance would break whatever hope she had left for a future with him.
Conversations would slow to a crawl, and Leo would forget about her.
Someday he’d fall in love with someone else, and she’d have to read tabloid headlines about it.
She lifted her head to look at him. His expression was cloudy too. Was he feeling the same?
“Leopold.” A sudden steely voice cut across the courtyard like the crack of a whip.
Emma and Leo sprang apart.
Oh, shit.