14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Dacre
I feel Emma’s eyes on me all morning. I focus on the taste of my food while I try to think about anything other than the amount of space she’s taking up in the dining hall.
She’s physically small, but everything else about her is large.
She’s loud. Bright. Her scent wafts around her till she fills half the room. It’s impossible not to notice her.
I ease my chair forward as I stare at the poster of the other council members and me on the wall. I feel the heat on my lips from when I whispered in her ear, the warmth of her skin while the tips of my fingers graced the small of her back.
It’s all I’ve thought about all weekend since the initiation. Especially after she slipped her signed copy of our contract under my door on Monday morning.
What have I gotten myself into? Why can’t I stop thinking about being close to her?
It’s because we’re scent-matches. That’s the only logical conclusion. This is all a biological urge to keep her safe because of something that is completely out of my control.
I remember the night of the initiation again.
Having her take that potion was a reflex. I saw her walk into the room alone, and I knew what was coming. It was a split-second decision.
I was keeping her out of Luther’s hands. The way he was looking at her . . . The thought alone is enough to make me want to find him and make his life hell.
I can’t stop thinking about the ease with which she responded to me. It was like disarming a bomb when she had every right to blow up in that room.
I felt it.
The warmth of her back against me as she took a deep breath.
The goose bumps on her thigh when I whispered in her ear.
Truly, the most baffling part of the whole ordeal is that not for one second did I think of my grandfather and what he would want me to do. In that room, duty and family were the furthest things from my mind.
I’ve shaken the thoughts from my head by the time I reach the culinary club kitchen.
Emma saunters in shortly after me, bubbling with energy, while Verity helps set her up for the day with a coat and a locker.
Emma chirps around like a little bird fluttering its wings in a shallow bird bath.
This is all she’s ever wanted, and I have to ruin it.
That’s the only way this ends amicably for both of us.
After spending the weekend ruminating, I came to the conclusion that I can’t let her stay in the culinary club. If being near my scent-match causes such a severe lack of judgment on my part, then there is only one remedy.
Stay far away.
Upon further research on the subject, I found there isn’t much information on scent-matches. We are reacting to each other. Her body responds to mine and mine to hers, and the more time we spend in proximity, the more complicated things will get.
I don’t need “complicated.” Not when I’m so close to getting my sister and me out from underneath my grandfather’s thumb.
That’s how this has to be, the only logical strategy left.
If I break her spirit, she’ll want nothing to do with this place.
Could my grandfather blame me then? If she decided to drop out of the club altogether, that wouldn’t be my fault.
It’s survival of the fittest, and even my grandfather understands that.
If she abandons her dream and leaves, that has nothing to do with me.
He won’t see her the same, and maybe he’ll set his sights on someone else.
There is no other way forward. She can’t know. My grandfather can’t know. So I have to sever her from my life with a blade so sharp that she never wants to set foot in a kitchen again.
Her head turns as soon as I near.
“Morning!”
“You seem chipper for your first day.”
One minute. You have one more minute to be nice.
“Well, after a shower . . . I came over during the weekend just to familiarize myself with the kitchen. I ran into Luther and Verity, and it was fine. No apologies, but Luther showed me the gallery wall of maids that came before, and he put up my picture, and it wasn’t terrible.
I . . . don’t trust them or anything, but I can coexist, and this isn’t about them anyway. I won’t let them deter me.”
“I thought we were pretending that night didn’t happen?”
“Oh, right.” She squares her shoulders, and her voice lifts an octave. “It’s not really any of your business, anyway.”
Thirty seconds.
“I’ve got to go. Be ready when the class starts. We won’t wait for you.” A tug on my sleeve stops me.
“Wait, before we go back to that, I have a question. I asked my friend about donations, but don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone about our arrangement.
I was just wondering because I didn’t hear from you after I signed your contract and put it under your door, and that was kind of confusing because I thought for sure you would say something . . .”
She continues her wordy rant.
The reason I didn’t feed on Emma is that I can’t, in good conscience, go through with it.
I could never actually coerce her into being my source.
I was just trying to scare her, and clearly, that backfired.
Now that she’s in the club and gaining more attention, keeping her out without any cause will only piss her and everyone else off, including my grandfather.
“Emma.”
She stops, nearly out of breath.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
The door clicks, and in walk Luther and Verity, and we separate.
Their friendship is completely platonic and unlikely.
They don’t have much in common other than what we all have in common, overbearing parents who have big plans for them.
But that brought them together and only added to our division.
That, and I’m pretty sure they have hearts made of stone.
Those two bring out the mean in each other.
I never let them get close to me, partly because I’m their leader and they’re beneath me, but mostly because growing up in my grandfather’s circle of “friends” taught me that you can’t trust anyone. Not even the people you think would take a bullet for you.
I clear my throat, and Emma straightens as if she understands. Sadly, my time being nice is up, and that leaves a sick disappointment in my stomach that I’m not sure where to place.
“Now that you’re part of the culinary club, I have authority over you in this room. This club covers everything, not just your specialty.”
“That won’t be a problem. I actually want to study all of it . . . I mean, I love baking and pastry, but who knows? Maybe there’s more out there I’ll enjoy.”
Emma continues on another excited rant about cooking and how excited she is to be here. It’s not working. My usual scowl isn’t budging that smile on her face. I’m losing my edge.
“Why are you smiling so much?”
“Because I’m happy. You should try it.” She licks her lips as if she’s choosing her words carefully.
“When you’re here and you’re learning under me, you call me Chef.”
She turns her chin up, still smiling. There’s something different about her—the softness of her shoulders, the fact that she isn’t looking at me as if she wants to kill me. Her feet are nearly touching mine.
“Yes, Chef.”
Her compliance sends shivers down my spine. As if I don’t have enough problems, my dick decides it likes that look in her eyes.
It likes it when she listens. Emma never listens, but here, she has to.
“Good. Just because you’re in doesn’t mean I can’t kick you out.”
“Yes, Chef.” There it is again.
This has to be her scent getting into my head, making me think about scenarios where she does exactly what I tell her to.
“I’m going to make you regret that sarcasm.”
She keeps smiling. Emma is about to get a taste of the Vviveren culinary world in a way she never has before. Growing up in a secluded area gave her the time to hone her talent, for sure. But you need more than talent to work in the city. You need discipline.
I get the whole room started on their first task, which is working with starches and prepping dough for pasta.
I’m not always the teacher; we plan out a schedule in which Luther and Verity teach their specialties, and we have guest celebrity chefs come in a couple of times a month as well.
I can teach everything else in between. Since I’m never late or sick, it works out well.
“Can I talk to you for a second, boss?” Luther flags me as I’m making rounds at each station.
His ingredients sit untouched on his cutting board. He only participates if he is interested in a lesson, and I couldn’t give less of a shit whether he does or not. Sometimes, I make him participate if I feel like ruining his day, and today, he’s walking on thin ice.
“You’re a dick.” He sits on the counter across from me as we settle at the empty stations on the far end of the room. I try not to notice him dirtying my counter while he plays with the spices sitting at the fringe of the cabinet.
“What did I do today?”
“My dad is on my ass now because of your little show at initiation.” He motions to Emma, who is doing surprisingly well with her dough. “I have nothing on her.”
“Why would your dad be interested in her?”
“Not exactly sure I should tell you. I’m having trouble figuring out whose side you’re on at the moment.”
I fight a growl. Showing interest in Emma is the wrong approach.
The more interest I show in her, the worse off she’ll be.
It may be what my grandfather wants, but that could be directly opposed to what everyone else in Vviveren wants, including Luther’s father.
I should have known my grandfather wouldn’t be the only interested party.
“Tell me, what is it about the Osborne girl that gets you so riled up? Verity tells me she’s talented, but she’s just a girl. Unless there’s something you’re not letting on . . . You know the Osbornes are on everyone’s radar.”