That Prince is Mine

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Emma Yoon tucked her feet under her and tilted her face toward the midday sun. The window seat overlooking the garden was her favorite spot in the house. Well, the garden had been transformed into a veritable organic farm since her dad retired, but it still provided her with a lovely view. Exhaling a happy hum, she sipped her tea from a delicate porcelain teacup dotted with pink blossoms.

With her morning lesson finished, she had a couple of hours to herself before her next client arrived, but her thoughts had already drifted to the recipe she planned to teach. Gujeolpan, platter of nine delicacies, consisted of colorful julienned meat and vegetables circling a stack of small, delicate crepes. Each of the dish’s nine components took time and effort to prepare, but the end result was visually stunning and absolutely delicious, which made it the perfect introduction to Korean royal court cuisine. Anyone could add beauty and harmony to their lives with a little loving care. With jeongseong.

Jeongseong wasn’t a cheeky sentiment like a “sprinkle of love.” It meant working hard with a generous heart. It was a pure and true intent to do your very best—to imbue the best of yourself into something. Korean royal court cuisine would be nothing without jeongseong. As a matter of fact, Emma was a firm believer that life itself would be meaningless without it.

When her mother left, Emma built a warm, loving home for her dad and herself with jeongseong. All the meaningful relationships in her life were sustained through it. Everything that was beautiful and worthwhile required jeongseong. It might not come conveniently bottled, but jeongseong might truly be the secret ingredient to a happy, secure life.

As Emma swung her legs to the floor to go check on some ingredients, her cell phone rang in the pocket of her favorite floral maxi dress—the pocket being a major contributor to why the dress was her everyday go-to. Setting down her empty teacup beside her, she glanced at the screen before answering with a smile.

“Hi, Imo.”

“Hello.” Her godmother’s voice sounded uncharacteristically hesitant and her heart gave an involuntary lurch. “How are you, my dear?”

“I’m doing great, thanks to you,” Emma said, smoothing out the frown gathering between her brows. It was probably nothing. “The new clients you referred to me are all so sweet and eager to learn. They’re a pleasure to teach. And with my business growing, I’ll be able to put a down payment on a commercial kitchen space soon.”

Auntie Soo was a renowned Madame Ddu, a Korean matchmaker, with a coveted Black Book that made her unbeatable at the game. She’d not only successfully matched countless couples in the US, but her reputation had reached the rich and powerful jaebeol families of Korea, extending her business overseas. This development proved lucrative for her godmother and came with an unexpected boon for Emma’s small enterprise.

Rumor had it that a bride of the pseudo-royals in Korea must possess a proficiency in Korean royal court cuisine—gungjung yori. Since Auntie Soo had an impressive line of clients hoping to marry into a jaebeol family, she directed them straight into Emma’s kitchen and open arms. The implication that women belonged in the kitchen chafed. Who did these jaebeol people think they were? But if these women chose to be in the kitchen—as Emma had—then more power to them. Their place should be wherever they chose to be.

And thanks to her new clients, Emma’s dream of opening a culinary school was finally within reach. Her parents disagreed on virtually everything, but the one thing they tacitly agreed on was the importance of having a profession you were passionate about. It shouldn’t mean everything to her—her mom’s career took precedence over her family—but it should be something essential to her. She wanted to do something worthwhile with her life. Something worth her jeongseong. Running her own culinary school would be just the thing.

“Those goddamned busybodies,” Auntie Soo muttered.

Emma’s mouth dropped open. Her godmother treated all her clients with warmth and respect. She would never call them… “Goddamned busybodies? Your clients?”

“No, not them.” She clicked her tongue. “Why would I call them busybodies?”

“I have no idea. That’s why I asked—Never mind.” Emma paused for a calming breath. “Who were you calling busybodies, then?”

“The Crones, of course,” Auntie Soo said.

Mrs. Chung, Mrs. Lee, and Mrs. Kim—her godmother’s rival matchmakers—were not-so-affectionately nicknamed the Crones. They absolutely abhorred each other except when it came to ganging up on Auntie Soo. Then they became of one mind and purpose—to cause their biggest rival the most grief they could possibly conjure up. But they were pesky little gnats more than anything. Her godmother really shouldn’t let them get her so worked up.

Emma padded into her bright and tidy kitchen and glanced around with a content smile. Even with tidings of the Crones, the pristine white of the subway tiles and the cool depth of the slate-gray countertop soothed her. Every small detail in the kitchen—from the sunny yellow valance over the sink to the copper rooster mold on the side wall—were lovingly handpicked by her.

“What did they do this time?” she said with studied patience as she placed her empty teacup in the sink to hand-wash later. Seeing no point in being idle, she wiped the already clean counter with a dish towel.

“Don’t patronize me, child. I’m not calling to gossip,” Auntie Soo said with an impatient huff. “This can impact my business, which means it can impact your business.”

Emma’s hand stilled over the spice jars she was about to rearrange. “How can they possibly hurt your business?”

“They’ve discovered my Achilles’ heel,” the older woman said in an ominous whisper.

“You have an Achilles’ heel?” Thank goodness she was done with her tea. Otherwise, she would’ve spewed it all over her kitchen counter.

“Yes.” Her godmother paused for dramatic effect. “It’s you, Emma. You may be my downfall.”

“Me?” Emma couldn’t hold back her snort, but an uneasy premonition tempered her amusement. “Imo, you can’t be serious.”

“We should’ve done a video call. Then you’d be able to look into my eyes and see how serious I am.”

“Fine. I believe you,” Emma said with an innocent sigh. “Your eyes are full of seriousness.”

“Impudent girl,” Auntie Soo chided, but Emma didn’t need a video feed to see the affectionate smile on her godmother’s face. “You’re like a daughter to me.”

“I know, Imo.” She blinked away hot, sudden tears as gratitude mingled with the ache of an old wound. Her godmother was more of a mother to her than her own mom ever had been.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her godmother sniffed loudly, understanding Emma’s unspoken words. “But since you are basically my daughter, the Crones are whispering in people’s ears that they can’t trust a matchmaker who has a spinster daughter.”

“A spinster?” Emma sputtered. Focused on building her business, she hadn’t given relationships much thought. Besides, she had no reason to waste time on something as unreliable as dating, since she’d always assumed her godmother would arrange a good match for her when the time came. But a spinster? “What are we? Living in a Jane Austen novel? No, wait. Are they telling people I’m on the shelf ?”

“Be serious, Emma.”

“I am, Imo. My eyes are filled to the brim with seriousness. I’m only twenty-eight.” She threw her hand up, pacing back and forth in her kitchen. The Crones were making her feel like a canned good about to expire. “I’m not close to being a spinster.”

“Of course, my dear,” Auntie Soo readily agreed. “You still have months until you turn twenty-nine.”

She shouldn’t even ask. “What happens when I turn twenty-nine?”

“ Then I will have a spinster daughter.”

“Imo,” Emma shrieked, smacking her palm down on the counter. It was just a number. What made twenty-nine so special? Why not thirty-five? Or twenty-seven? Or eighty? What if there were no random number at all to label women as this or that? Was that too much to ask?

“Oh, my poor ear.” Her godmother clicked her tongue. “In my line of work, reputation is everything. Something as inconsequential as having an unwed, twenty-nine-year-old goddaughter could be spun into a personal failure.”

“What about Jeremy oppa?” Emma was breathing so hard she probably looked like a charging bull. And she sure wanted to ram into something. “Your son is thirty-two years old and still single. Why isn’t he your personal failure?”

“Jeremy is busy building his practice—”

“Well, I’m busy building my culinary school,” Emma snapped, then closed her eyes. There was no point in berating her godmother. She wasn’t responsible for the inequities of society, where a woman’s worth hinged on her youth and beauty. “Just say it.”

“And he’s a man,” Auntie Soo said with a resigned sigh. “He has at least two more years until he’s considered an aging bachelor—probably longer since he has an MD.”

“Ugh. Just ugh.” Fuck patriarchy. Emma massaged her temple. “It’s all so ridiculous. The Crones are just going to make themselves look foolish.”

“The problem is I deal mostly with my clients’ mothers, and they tend to have thin ears.”

“Thin ears?” Emma returned the spice jars to their original positions, too agitated to keep still.

“It’s a Korean saying,” her godmother explained. “People with thin ears are easily swayed by what others tell them. They confuse gossip at the grocery store with gospel.”

“So they’ll question your competence just because the Crones say so?” Emma stopped puttering around the kitchen and headed for the stairs. She needed to continue this conversation in private. Her dad was out in the garden for now, but she didn’t want him to come in and overhear something that might cause him to worry.

“I’m afraid they will.” Auntie Soo sighed. “If I lose clients over this, you’ll lose clients as well.”

Emma trudged into her pale sage bedroom, her knees feeling weak. She plopped down on the neatly made bed and smoothed her hand over its simple cream bedding with a mountain of artfully arranged pillows.

She was so close to achieving her dream. If business continued like this for a few more months, she would have enough money saved up for a down payment on a commercial kitchen. She had something special to share with the world. She could help people create moments of warmth, joy, and beauty in their lives.

The house had felt so dark and cold after her mom left, but the simple grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup she had made for dinner had brought a smile to her dad’s face—a smile that had felt like sunshine and hope. Food had the power to do that. She had the power to do that. Her hands curled into fists on her thighs. She wasn’t about to let a group of petty, spiteful women take that away from her.

“Madame Ddu.” She shot to her feet and jutted her chin. She didn’t particularly feel ready, but she’d always intended on having an arranged marriage. Why not now, when it could be so helpful to her and her godmother? Emma had worked too hard to delay her dream any longer. “It’s time for you to make my match.”