Chapter 8

MILA

As Samara led me and Fiona out to the main dining room, I could feel my heart hammering in my throat. I could only pray that I wouldn’t have to say anything or look at the Prince. And that I didn’t just burst into tears on the spot.

Would Felix recognize me? I was quite literally carrying his missing property. I could only hope that my chef’s uniform and mask would conceal my identity–and what I was wearing around my neck.

Samara took us to a small private room just off the main section of the restaurant. Felix was dining with two other people, a man and a woman, both of whom were dressed elegantly in clothes that surely cost more than my yearly salary. When Felix saw me, he smiled.

That smile made my knees go weak against my will. Those were the same kind eyes that had gazed into mine only two days ago. With his charming air and expensive clothes, it was frankly a miracle I hadn’t realized he was the prince on the day we met. He was every bit a royal.

I couldn’t believe this was a man I had slept with. In my chef’s outfit, we looked like we were from two different worlds. It was a reminder, I told myself, that we did not belong together, no matter how kind or charming he might be.

Next to me, Fiona was gushing over the handsomeness of the Crown Prince.

“What an honor it is to serve you, my lord!” she exclaimed in Fresonian. It was one of the few phrases I’d been able to pick up. Felix looked her up and down, thoroughly unimpressed.

“It’s Your Highness,” he said in response.

Fiona bowed her head in shame. I stifled a laugh.

Samara shoved me forward. Thankfully, she used English. “And this is Miya, our newest employee. She is the one who made the pie.”

“Miya,” Felix said warmly. I tried to ignore the memories of our night together that were flashing through my mind at this very unfortunate time. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

I gulped. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” I managed.

Well, that was true, at least.

Felix didn’t seem to recognize me as he continued to smile at me. He seemed genuine.

My stomach tightened.

“The pie was amazing,” he said. “Where did you come up with the idea of using prickly pears?”

“Well,” I explained. “I wanted something to honor the traditions of Fresonia in a new way. I love prickly pear and lemon together, and–”

“You only speak English?” the other man at the table asked. He was studying me. I lowered my eyes. “Where are you from?”

“America, sir,” I said. The man nodded, as if making a mental note. I noticed Felix staring at my face intensely.

“You look familiar,” Felix murmured. “Have we met? And why are you wearing a mask?” I guess I wasn’t as incognito as I was hoping.

“This is our first meeting, I assure you. And I have some burn scars on my face, Your Highness,” I explained quietly. “I wear the mask because I do not want to show my face to the world. It is–frightening. I do not want to make the customers feel uncomfortable.”

Next to me, Fiona giggled. But Felix merely nodded his head and smiled. “I’m sure you are very beautiful indeed, in spite of those scars.”

I tried not to let his words affect me.

“Still, your choices are understandable. You are very talented, indeed,” he said. “I look forward to working with you.”

Samara cocked her head. “Oh?”

Felix stood and kissed her cheek in a sign of respect. “I would like to invite your team to participate in a royal tasting next week. I think you are just what we are looking for in our kitchens. I’ll have Joseph here send you the details.”

The man at the table nodded in her direction and made a note on his phone.

“We would be honored!” Samara squealed. I couldn’t stop the rush of joy that went through my body, too. Serving the royal family was the highest honor I had ever had in my life. If I could leverage this honor as well, to start my own restaurant, then it was even better.

I felt like I was floating on air for the rest of my shift.

After we closed for the night, I found myself leaving the restaurant alongside Fiona. As soon as we were out of earshot of Samara, Fiona grabbed my arm.

“One night of success doesn’t mean anything,” she hissed. “You’ll never replace me.” I yanked my arm back. “I have no intention of replacing you.”

It was true. I did not want to show up Fiona in any way. I just wanted to do my job and leave.

“Miya! Fiona!” Samara was calling our names. I turned to see her flagging us down enthusiastically.

“Congratulations again on a triumph tonight,” Samara said. “I’m proud of you. Especially Miya, what you did with that pie was truly inspired. I’m taking you off your probationary period and promoting you to sous chef. Fiona, you will no longer be her supervisor, but her equal.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fiona’s jaw drop.

“And Miya, I’d like you to continue to experiment with a few of our menu items,” Samara continued, ignoring Fiona’s shock.

“Perhaps I could come in early tomorrow?” I suggested. Samara clapped her hands in excitement.

“Of course! And the entire staff will be excited to help you. This is a team effort, after all,” she said.

I thanked Samara again before heading back to my little room. As I walked away, I could feel Fiona’s angry gaze on my back.

FIONA

It had only been a week since that little brat Miya had started working, and already she was taking over.

I stared at the new menu in my hands. Samara had just distributed them to the entire kitchen staff, loudly praising Miya’s new ideas. Miya had the audacity to look bashful when Samara started singing her praises. Bashful! As if she wasn’t trying to take control.

The new menu had all sorts of adjustments–pesto where there had once been vodka sauce, mushrooms where there had once been green beans, and of course, her stupid prickly pear pie. My blood boiled at the sight of it.

I had been working at Samara’s Place for years, and only recently had I gotten promoted. Miya had been there for only two days before she was suddenly everyone’s favorite chef and had the approval of the prince. It just wasn’t fair.

Samara had made it clear that she thought Miya’s ideas were what would win us a spot for the royal banquet. As much as I wanted the restaurant to succeed, I didn’t want it to be at the hands of Miya. There had to be another way. There had to be some way to spin this so I came out on top.

Maybe if all of Miya’s ideas were bad..

A plan started forming in my head. A wicked little plan. If I could sabotage her new recipes, perhaps everyone would see her for the fraud she was.

I started to smile at the thought of it.