4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Emma
Dacre has nice handwriting. That thought keeps coming up every time I glance back at the letter, and that only adds to the annoyance I feel for giving Dacre any form of a compliment.
He’s never been nice to me. Our only interactions have been him seeing me in passing and finding something to sneer or jab at me with when I have the audacity to be in his face or ask him anything about the culinary club.
Just being in his space seems to aggravate him, and I’ve given up on trying to decode why.
The most likely answer is the usual reason: a lot of people at the top are miserable, and Dacre’s no exception.
For someone who has everything I want, he appears perpetually bored and miserable all day.
And yet, here I am, in heels and a dress, just as that asshole requested. It’s mostly for me. When else am I going to get the opportunity to dress up on a weekday evening? Plus, whatever awaits me, I’d rather look pretty doing it.
I step out onto the Central Lawn, which stretches far in front of the castle.
Since it’s after dark on a class day, the campus is sparse.
There’s a pink crescent moon sitting bright in the sky, but the other moon is completely covered by clouds.
I only get glimpses of a few faint stars, which adds to the general gloom and loneliness.
The nights are getting colder, and I hug my arms around my body against the chill.
A jacket, though practical, would have ruined this outfit.
“Emma Osborne?” An older woman with long salt-and-pepper hair stands next to the castle door. She’s dressed in slacks and a blazer, with her hands behind her back in a relaxed stance.
“That’s me.”
“My name is Marjorie. I work for the Everharts. Mr. Dacre Everhart has sent me here to escort you.”
“Escort me where?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
The letter didn’t say we’d be going anywhere. That familiar prickle of curiosity is enough for me to nod and follow her down the path to a clearing in the trees.
“Do you know why he wants to see me?”
“Mr. Everhart only told me he had business with you tonight.” She offers a calm, reassuring smile and not much else as she motions for me to follow her. I don’t have any complaints as we cross the campus to where a limo is waiting.
I turn back toward the castle, knowing this is my last chance to run. But on the other side of that door, I might find exactly what I need. I’ll be one step closer to getting into the culinary club, and that’s all that matters.
What’s the worst that could happen?
The door slamming makes me jolt as I step out of the limo. The drive was short, which means we must be just outside the gate of Doxlothia. A mansion looms up the driveway, with a warm light that stretches over the lawn. As big as it is, it’s dwarfed by the castle lights in the distance.
I make my way through the pillared front steps and across the threshold. This might be a bad idea. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Olivia will kill me when she finds out, and that’s why I couldn’t tell her.
This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in a situation like this.
I’m the only one of my three sisters who ever got grounded growing up.
My dad calls me impulsive, but Mom called me adventurous.
I prefer her explanation. Sometimes, it’s led me to places I most definitely shouldn’t have gone, like to our creepy neighbor’s shed to quell my imagination that he was a serial killer and that’s the reason he was always stuffing garbage bags in there.
It was leaves, but that’s beside the point.
As I’m escorted through halls of black marble, the mystery of what awaits me is enough to make me press on. That, and answering all of my many questions. Is this Dacre’s house? Why make me meet him off campus instead of at the culinary lounge or in one of the various common rooms?
I have nothing to compare this house to. Not the size nor the shiny floors in which I can see my reflection. It’s dimly lit, with a fresh floral scent lingering in the hallways from huge bouquets of white roses.
A set of doors swings open, and Dacre sits in a suit at the end of a square table, waiting. The table is adorned with a crisp white linen tablecloth, and all the tableware I’d expect from someone in the culinary world. This must be his house . . . At least one that his family owns.
No smile touches his lips when he stands to greet me.
“I didn’t think you’d actually dress up.”
He’s never seen me in anything but my Luxxia House uniform, which is mostly skirts and sweaters in various shades of blue. So I went with my favorite color I never get to wear, a short light green dress with a princess skirt and off-the-shoulder ruffles.
I scoff. “Is this . . . a joke? Are you pranking me?”
“No. Please sit.”
Dacre whispering “please” rattles uncomfortably in my head as I struggle with unfolding my napkin.
Someone comes in to ask for drink preferences and allergies. I’m worrying about the possibility of someone slipping something into my food when the server disappears through a door and I get a glimpse and smell of a fully functioning kitchen.
This is professional.
Dacre’s presence lingers heavily in the air. His knuckles are white as he brings a glass to his lips, but he hides his emotion well under a smooth expression and a handsome face.
He’s the kind of handsome that should only be reserved for good, deserving men.
Instead, the stars above blessed him with a perfect face, and no doubt he uses that to his advantage.
That, and he must wear the most expensive cologne in Vviveren because even with the smell of food in the air, I get a whiff of it and swallow.
It’s hard to say exactly what I like about it.
I just know it’s the type of smell I want to run my tongue over. It’s . . . delicious.
His black forearm tattoos peek out from under his blazer, and the veins in his hands pop in the light of the candles on the table. I think I see a scar—
He clears his throat, and I straighten my shoulders against the back of the chair. It doesn’t matter how perfect Dacre looks or how delicious he smells. Nothing will negate that putrid personality.
I take a sip of the wine on the table.
“I’m surprised you came so willingly. Did you even tell anyone where you’d be tonight?” He smirks, but his knuckles stay white as his fingers wrap around the glass.
How would he know?
I narrow my eyes. “Of course, I did.”
I take a bite of bread to avoid further questioning on that subject. A gasp leaves my lips as it crunches between my teeth and the butter melts in my mouth.
“I thought dinner would be the most appropriate setting. A peace offering, if you will.”
“So this is about the culinary club?”
“You should eat first. I think you’ll enjoy your surprise.”
“I didn’t come here to talk.”
“Oh, what else did you have in mind?” He swirls his drink around in his glass and licks the liquor from his bottom lip.
It feels as if he’s got me up against the wall, even in this big, spacious room. I press one of my cold hands to the heat rising in my cheeks.
“I mean . . . I did. I just didn’t come here to argue.”
“Neither did I.” His voice is smooth and confident, and I swallow at the intensity of his gaze.
The door flies open, and a host of people walk in with our food. In that shuffle, a familiar face catches my eye, and I nearly fall out of my chair to introduce myself. It’s the Sophia Arendal. Sophia—I have a three-star Bureau-rated restaurant—Arendal.
“It’s . . . I’m . . . Hello. I’m Emma. Emma Osborne.” I quickly wipe my hands of butter residue to shake her hand.
“Ms. Arendal is a good friend of mine. I take it you’re familiar with her work,” Dacre says.
Sophia Arendal is one of the best chefs alive. I’ve read every article and book about her I could get my hands on. She’s got a billboard with her face on it on the tallest high-rise in Vviveren City.
“You’re . . . my favorite chef. I’ve been obsessed with you since I was a kid.” I attempt to keep my voice even. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I have no idea what to say.
“That’s very kind. I hope you enjoy what I’ve prepared for you this evening.
” She goes into a list of every dish, four courses served at the same time, at Dacre’s request. I try to memorize this moment in its entirety.
I want to hear about all the dishes and their intricacies, but when she’s finished, I don’t remember a word of what she said.
“I’d love to have you at my next workshop, if you’d be interested.”
I barely manage a resounding yes and stare at her while she walks back to the kitchen.
“You did all this for me?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
He continues eating, ignoring me. I glare at him as I pick up a fork and begin tasting the best meal that’s ever graced my lips.
I’ve never had anything comparable, and Mom took me to as many restaurants as she could when growing up.
I hate giving Dacre any credit, but my excitement is overriding my annoyance.
This must be his master plan to butter me up till I’m ripe with excitement for whatever he’s asked me here for.
“How did you know Sophia Arendal was my favorite chef?” I try again.
“You aren’t exactly subtle on the forums with your interests.”
“So, you’re stalking me.”
He shrugs. “What would you do if I were?”
I sit with that, thinking of what Dacre might gain by such a thing.
He’s just trying to distract me, but as I sip my soup, I picture him sitting at a computer and wonder how many hours he might have spent to find out that information.
Did he sift through my likes and reposts?
Scroll through my profile and see my thoughts on the newest romance drama, Magically Mated?
“So that’s the reason you called me here? So you could reveal your sick interest and get me into a nice dress?”
Come to think of it, I did have some pictures of my friends and me at the Luxxia pool party.
“I’m going to accept your nomination.”
I drop my spoon.
“You will?”