EPILOGUE
Sebastian
THE SOFT OPENING OF MY RESTAURANT TOOK PLACE the following November. The trees were starting to shed their leaves, and a gust of late-fall air wafted through the door as my hand-selected group of guests arrived one by one or in groups.
“Darling, this place is gorgeous,” my mother said in French. She gave me a double air kiss and swept her gaze around the dining room. “I am so proud of you for opening the best restaurant in the city.”
“The restaurant technically isn’t open yet, Maman,” I said, amused. “You haven’t even tasted the food.”
“Please.” She scoffed. “I’m your mother. I don’t need to wait to know what I said is true. Isn’t that right, Michel?”
My father grunted. He took in his surroundings with a more critical eye, but his frown of concentration smoothed by the time his attention returned to me.
“Papa.”
“Sebastian.” He accepted a welcome drink from the hostess and eyed a group of newcomers.
They included the editor-in-chief of a major food trade magazine and Christian Harper and his wife Stella, who was a famous fashion designer in her own right.
I hadn’t employed Christian’s services since he helped us take down Whitaker, but he deserved a dinner invite.
I wouldn’t have this restaurant if it weren’t for him. “Good turnout.”
“I’m lucky to have a supportive network,” I said.
The past fourteen months had been some of the hardest of my life.
The food was only a fraction of what went into starting a restaurant.
The rest was a nightmare of finances, permits, logistics, and arguments with suppliers and contractors.
There were days I wanted to bang my head against the wall or outright quit, but Maya and my friends had carried me through it.
Xavier had been particularly helpful, given his experience opening the Vault.
Now, after thirteen months of blood, sweat, and tears, the restaurant was complete. Tonight was for friends, family, and close associates; tomorrow, it would open to the public.
Cold sweat slicked my skin. Opening a restaurant was like tearing off a piece of my soul and offering it to strangers for their consumption and judgment. They might love it, they might hate it, or they might forget all about it.
But it was here. I’d done it, and no matter how the grand opening or subsequent weeks and months went, I was damn proud of myself for not giving up.
“It looks good,” my father said after a pause. “I know pulling this off wasn’t easy. I’m… proud of you.”
I wasn’t chasing his approval anymore, but it still felt good to hear him say it. “Merci, Papa.”
My mother beamed. “See? You were both so moody for no reason.” She patted my cheek. “We’ll let you go. I’m sure you have a lot to do. But I’ll see you and Maya for dinner next week, yes?”
“Of course.” I smiled as she dragged my father over to speak with Maya’s parents.
My mother’s emotional state had improved greatly over the past year.
She was still prone to the occasional bout of melancholy, but that was a normal expression of grief.
Losing your sister wasn’t something anyone truly got over.
Most importantly, she was going to therapy, and her drinking had never edged into worrisome territory.
I really had been projecting my own fears and insecurities onto her. In a way, I’d underestimated her the way my father had underestimated me. She was a lot stronger than I’d given her credit for.
I spent the next half hour mingling with the guests. All my closest friends and family were here, along with a handful of important investors and tastemakers. Xavier and Sloane were deep in conversation with Margaux while Dante and Vivian conversed quietly with Christian and Stella.
I spoke briefly with Killian. To my surprise, he’d shown up without a date.
“How was Greece?” I asked.
“What?” He gave me a blank stare.
“Greece,” I repeated. “You were in Milos over the summer, right?”
“Right. It was fine. Beautiful.” He seemed oddly distracted, but he’d been acting weird for months.
His eyes flicked to the entrance. I followed his gaze to where a major real estate developer was checking his coat along with an unfamiliar redhead.
“I’m going to get another drink,” Killian said abruptly. “Talk later.” He skirted around a table toward the servers in the back, deliberately avoiding the coat check station.
Weird.
Chandler, the real estate developer, approached me to offer his congratulations.
He wasn’t a huge player in the business world—there were developers who were ten times more powerful, like Alex Volkov of the Archer Group—but his company owned the building the restaurant was in. It was smart business to invite him.
We chatted briefly before he introduced the woman next to him. “This is Tate.”
That was it. No last name or explanation of who she was to him. She looked half his age and was quite attractive in an understated way, but I didn’t get couple vibes from them. In fact, he seemed annoyed she was there.
She smiled at me. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and a lush mane of auburn hair spilled past her shoulders. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m excited to try your food. I’ve heard nothing but great things.”
“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” I said. She reminded me of a deer—a little skittish, but so gentle she automatically triggered my protective instincts.
“I’m sure it will.”
I was about to ask how she knew Chandler, but she’d stopped paying attention. She was staring at the back of the restaurant, where Killian lounged against the wall, nursing his drink and looking uncharacteristically broody.
He glanced over, his gaze narrowing. Tate blushed before her mouth hardened into a thin line. She averted her eyes, but her blush remained.
Oh, boy. I was tempted to warn her away from him—she seemed like a nice girl, and Killian ate nice girls alive—but Chandler was still standing there, oblivious to his date(?)’s distraction.
In the end, I minded my own business and excused myself.
I had other people to see.
I slipped through the crowd and into the supply closet. Maya was waiting for me, her shoulder propped against a shelf of dry goods.
“Took you long enough,” she said.
“I had to finish making the rounds. You know how it goes.” I gave her a soft kiss and breathed in the delicate scent of her perfume. “Everyone’s asking where you are. You excused yourself to use the restroom…” I checked the clock. “Half an hour ago.”
“I’ll tell them I was trying to wish my boyfriend good luck,” she teased, placing a hand on my chest. My heart thumped beneath her touch. “It’s here. You did it. Breathe.” Her words were soft.
“I am. I will.” I dragged in a lungful of air. “I should get back to the kitchen. Service starts soon.”
“I know.” Maya stood on tiptoes and kissed me again. “One kiss for good luck. One kiss to be collected after you knock it out of the park.”
“Are you withholding a kiss from me?”
“You need something to motivate you.”
I chuckled, my grin still in place as I left the supply closet and headed into the kitchen. Our interaction had been brief, but I’d needed it.
Without her—the beautiful, incredible, fucking brilliant woman who’d held me together through the lows and pushed me to highs I hadn’t thought I was capable of—I wouldn’t have survived the past thirteen months. Maya was my secret weapon. As long as I had her by my side, I could do anything.
My staff had the kitchen under control, but I still triple-checked everything myself. Everyone I loved was here tonight. If the food wasn’t perfect, and they got sick, I’d never forgive myself.
A familiar worm of anxiety scuttled through my chest before I quashed it.
I forced a slow breath of air through my nose and exhaled.
I didn’t think I’d ever truly shake the fear of hurting someone with my food, but the fear was no longer debilitating.
That was the important part. It hovered at the back of my mind as a reminder, but it didn’t control me.
After another calming breath, I refocused on my inspection. I saved the most important dish for last: the scallops. The star of tonight’s menu.
I’d spent the past year tinkering with the recipe. I’d experimented with dozens of ingredients before I finally, almost by accident, stumbled upon the magic one.
I’d tested and retested the recipe so often I could whip it together in my sleep, but I had to taste it one last time. Just in case.
I picked up a scallop from the test plate, put it in my mouth, and chewed.
The bright pop of strawberry basil salsa paired beautifully with the savory seared scallops.
Perfect.
In hindsight, it was so simple. Strawberries provided the same acidity as the lemon beurre blanc sauce in my previous recipe, but their sweetness made the dish fresher and more dynamic.
I would’ve never thought to pair them with scallops if it weren’t for Maya’s obsession with strawberries.
We had so many cartons of them in our fridge that I was constantly using them in different recipes, and I’d inadvertently struck gold.
Thankfully, the diners seemed to agree. Service started soon after I finished my walkthrough. Judging by the exclamations and murmurs of appreciation throughout the night, the food was a huge hit.
“Do me a favor.” I handed my ma?tre d’h?tel a folded note halfway through the night. “Give this to table eight.” That was Maya’s table.
She immediately understood. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”