Chapter 16

MILA

I barely slept that night.

I tossed and turned in that little bed, hyper-aware of Fiona sleeping soundly a few feet away. I knew she didn’t buy my story about going for a walk, but I knew better than to pick a fight with her. I already had enough enemies as it was with Lady Isabella.

And then there was Felix–sweet, strong, gentle Felix, who had almost taken my mask off. My identity would have been revealed, and I would have likely been thrown into the castle dungeons for deception.

But a small part of me wanted him to take off my mask. I was tired of hiding.

There were more important things to worry about now. The banquet, for one.

I was in the royal kitchens before the sun rose. The place was already bustling with royal servants and hired chefs alike preparing for the banquet. Even in the chaos of yesterday, I was struck by how organized the entire royal kitchen system was. Everyone had a place. The people were kind and welcoming.

As I set up my station for the prickly pear lemon pies, I made mental notes of how this kitchen was run. I could learn a thing or two.

The entire kitchen was thrumming with excitement over the night’s festivities. I managed to block out the noise as I prepared the pies, putting all of my own nervous energy into baking and whisking.

As the banquet approached, we all donned our nicest serving wear–crisp white linens and shiny black shoes. I made sure to have someone (definitely not Fiona) watch my station every time I had to step away, in hopes of avoiding a repeat of yesterday’s disaster. Thankfully, my work station remained decidedly not-sabotaged.

I crept into the dining hall to set up a small drink station in the corner, feeling very conscious of the gathered dignitaries and royals. There were officers and ambassadors from all over the world, and the hall filled with a mix of languages.

Felix held court in the center of the hall, dressed in classical Fresonian finery. Even from afar, he was dazzling. Everyone was drawn to him, and he was easily charming each and every guest.

At his side, Lady Isabella was adorned in yet another stunning dress. Her hair was swept into an elegant updo and she chatted effortlessly with the guests. She appeared to be in a better mood than last night.

And more mature, I thought bitterly to myself. I was still angry about the teapot incident.

As if sensing my gaze, Isabella glanced my way. We made eye contact, and she haughtily lifted her chin in my direction. Her face was full of pride and disdain. Her message was clear: we are not in the same class.

For a second, I fantasized what it would be like to be a beautiful dress like that, hanging on Felix’s arm, watching the look on Isabella’s face as he escorted me into the ballroom. It would be magnificent, a triumph.

I shook my head. I couldn’t think about things like that. Not when I had too many things to do in the kitchen. I had never been a daydreamer, and I certainly wasn’t going to start now.

I held my spot by the dessert station in the kitchen, delighted to see the plates coming back from the dining hall empty. André, one of the sous chefs from Samara’s, even gave me a thumbs-up as he walked in. The guests were loving the food. Over by the entrance to the kitchens, Samara was beaming with pride.

Mrs. Barker approached me as the entrée course started to wrap up.

“Prince Felix has specifically requested that you come out to introduce the dessert,” she said.

My stomach churned. I hated public speaking, and the thought of having to explain prickly pear zest to a bunch of world leaders sounded a bit like my worst nightmare.

Mrs. Barker must have sensed my distress, as she set a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“He wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t believe in you,” she said. I looked up at her.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered.

“You can,” she promised, giving my shoulder a squeeze before sending me out.

I made my way into the formal dining hall, acutely aware of all the eyes on me.

“Miya!” Felix smiled warmly as I entered the room. “Miya is here to introduce the dessert, and then she will be on standby for any questions. She’s one of the most promising up-and-coming chefs from Samara’s Place.”

On standby for any questions? My stomach had resorted to backflips, despite the compliments.

I managed a brief introduction about the prickly pear lemon pie before scraping the zest onto Felix’s plate myself in a demonstration. There was polite applause from the gathered crowd, and I was thankful to stand near a wall and attempt to blend in for the time being.

That is, until a familiar face at the end of the table caught my eye.

A few years ago, there was a large political conference held in my hometown back in America. There was a period of a few weeks where my restaurant had been full of Senators, Ambassadors, Governors, and Representatives. It was the busiest my little restaurant had ever been, and a great opportunity to try out new fusion dishes for all my important guests.

One man in particular–Edward Nicholas, former Senator, soon-to-be American Ambassador to Fresonia–loved the food and kept coming back. I found it a little odd, especially since he didn’t live particularly close to the area, but he tipped well, so I said nothing.

At first he had been kind, sparking up conversations with me wherever the opportunity arose. I thought he was nice enough, but there was always something slimy under that smooth exterior that made me keep him at arm’s length.

Sure enough, Edward became a regular at my restaurant, even after the conference ended. He claimed he wanted some good old-fashioned comfort food before he started his ambassadorship.

I found out the real reason he kept returning on the day he asked me to be his mistress.

“Please, Mila,” he whined, holding my arm in a tight grip.

I squirmed under his grasp. “Mr. Edward, sir, I am flattered, but I really am not interested–”

“Be my mistress,” he repeated, his grip tightening. “Cook for me every day and warm my bed every night. I can give you a handsome allowance.”

I managed to yank my arm away and lock myself in the kitchen for the rest of the day. When my waitress, Diane, asked me if I was okay, I told her not to let Edward in the restaurant anymore. I was terrified of what he could do–this powerful man who now had a vendetta against me.

Of all the places I never expected to see him, it was here. I supposed it made sense–as the American Ambassador, I’m sure he and Felix would have met on numerous occasions. I looked away, praying he hadn’t seen me.

It was too late. I could see the recognition spark in Edward’s eyes as he saw me. A large, cat-like smile broke out on his face as he gestured me over. Filled with dread, I walked to his seat.

“This pie is delicious,” Edward said. I averted my eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, keeping my voice soft.

“It reminds me of this delicious prickly pear tart I once had, back in America.” He had his voice at full volume now. I tried not to shudder. “The taste is just… so familiar.”

“A lot of people love prickly pear,” I squeaked. His eyebrows raised. A predator going in for the kill.

“Miya, did you say?” he asked, his voice a suave purr. “I always thought it was Mila. Mila Benson? From America?”

His voice carried all the way down the table. A hush fell over the room. I could feel Felix’s eyes on me as I froze in fear.

“What are you doing here, Mila?” Edward continued. “And why are you wearing that ridiculous mask?”