Chapter 35

MILA

The commute from Felix’s apartment to my restaurant space was easy–at most a five minute walk. There was a cute coffee shop along the way, so I had gotten used to the nice morning routine of grabbing a vanilla latte on my way in.

It was a wonder how much money you saved when you didn’t have to pay rent.

The restaurant was coming along nicely. There wasn’t a lot that needed to be done in terms of renovations–mostly just setting up the kitchen and making sure the dining area was all squared away. Thankfully, since it wasn’t a large building, it was not terribly difficult or expensive to complete.

The hardest part of setting up came after the renovations–the cleaning.

There was sawdust and dirt everywhere from the construction workers, and I knew that it would take me weeks to clean by myself. So I poked around online and found a lovely cleaning service. I thought a few extra hands would make the task easier.

I arrived at the space 15 minutes early, and laid out some small pastries and tea for the cleaning crew.

Twenty minutes passed. I looked at my phone–they were five minutes late.

Another twenty minutes passed. I frowned and checked to see if I’d missed any texts or emails saying they were delayed. There was nothing.

The team finally showed up forty-five minutes late. I tried to hide my annoyance when they immediately sat down to eat the pastries, moving (it seemed) as slow as possible. They had been at the restaurant for two hours and had yet to do any work before I finally decided to speak to the project manager.

“When do you imagine you will be able to start working?” I asked as politely as I could manage.

She looked at me blankly, then said something back in rapid-fast Fresonian. I had gotten better at the local language with the help of Felix, but I was having a difficult time deciphering what she was saying.

“Um,” I said, “Do you think we could communicate in English? Or maybe I can have a translator?”

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes at me. She said something over her shoulder to the crew that was still lounging around and drinking tea. They stood up slowly, shooting me dirty looks.

My heart sank. Had I done something wrong? I had never meant to offend them.

They were slow with their work–barely getting through the first layer of grime. When I had hired them, they had assured me the cleaning process would take, at most, two days. At the rate they were going, I’d be lucky if they were done in two weeks.

I did not have the money to pay them for two weeks. My stomach started to churn.

At the end of the day (or, rather, forty-five minutes before the end of the day), the project manager approached me.

“Done for the day,” she announced. “You can pay us now. $500, as we agreed upon. This is big project. It will take us at least ten days.”

Great. I really could not afford this. I looked at the time. “We agreed for $500 for eight hours of work a day for two days,” I said, carefully. “You all only worked for three hours today.”

“Are you calling us lazy?” the manager demanded. My face flushed.

“Of course not!” I exclaimed. “I’m just saying that if this is your work pace, I think we need to adjust the pay.”

“Stupid foreigner,” the manager muttered. “Thinks she can storm in to a new city and bully the hardworking people of a country that’s not hers. We do not negotiate prices here in Fresonia. We will see you tomorrow at 9.”

“9, exactly?” I asked. I was afraid I knew the answer.

She glared at me. “We will get here when we get here.”

And with that, they were gone.

Alone in the dirty restaurant space, I sank to the floor. I couldn’t afford this, nor could I do this project by myself. And now, I had somehow offended the workers who were supposed to help me.

I didn’t understand what had gone wrong. The manager had been so amenable on the phone. It was a total 180.

I guessed I should’ve seen it coming. Things had been going so well for a minute there that it was only a matter of time before they started falling apart. Again.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and let out a deep sigh.

FELIX

It had been torturous to drag myself away from Mila. After our lovely little date night, I found it harder and harder to be away from her. But I could feel her joy and anticipation for the restaurant, and I knew I had to let her go.

I had far less enthusiasm for my own work day. Mila was right–I had been neglecting my princely duties to devote time to her. What she didn’t understand was that an awful lot of my meetings were terribly, terribly boring.

I concealed my yawn as I listened to one of the mayors of Fresonia give a presentation explaining the city’s need for a new traffic light. I did not understand why this was something the monarchy needed to be involved in. I knew my father liked to be hands-on, but this felt a little overkill.

My father shot me a warning glance: be nice.

Suddenly, I felt a weird twinge run through me. I sat up straight in my chair, horrified as waves of distress and frustration crashed over me. Mila was in a crisis.

I shifted in my chair, thinking through her schedule that day. I knew she had hired cleaners to help polish things up after the renovations were complete. Had something gone wrong with the cleaning crew?

I sat through the last half hour of the traffic light presentation, nodding in agreement when my father approved the project. As soon as the meeting was done, I raced out of the room, searching for one maid in particular.

I found Isla in the servant’s hallway near the kitchens. I knew that she had taken a liking to Mila during the competition, and that she had always been kind to the new maids. Best of all, the entire family knew her to be very discreet–a necessity for working in the royal household. She smiled as she saw me approach.

“Your Highness!” she said, dipping into a quick curtsy. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Good afternoon, Isla,” I said. “Do you perchance remember Mila? My consort?”

Isla’s face lit up at the mention of Mila’s name. “Of course! She’s lovely.”

“She’s working on opening a restaurant on Grand Avenue right now,” I explained. “I get the impression that she could use some help with cleaning after renovations, although she’ll never admit it. Do you think you could gather a small crew of your best maids and head on down to help her?”

Isla nodded, her eyes full of empathy. “Opening a restaurant is hard work. I’d be delighted to help Mila. When do you need us down there?”

“As soon as possible,” I informed her. She smiled before bouncing off down the hall.

I could only pray that it would be enough to soothe Mila’s sorrow.