10
ELOISE
“What the hell are you doing?” Lauren asks as she comes downstairs, rubbing her eyes and trying to disperse her sleep. “Have you been baking all night?” Her eyes are focused on the mess I’ve made.
“Um, yeah,” I say, looking up at her.
“What’s going on? You haven’t had one of these manic baking sessions in ages. Why are you so stressed?”
She’s right, I haven’t had a manic baking session since running into my parents at an event last year, and they pretended they didn’t know who I was. That led me to bake hundreds of cupcakes and pastries, not that anyone at work was complaining.
“I wanted to try some new recipes, that’s all,” I lie.
Lauren’s eyes narrow on me. The problem is she’s known me long enough to realize when I’m bullshitting. And I’m definitely bullshitting right now.
“Really?” she questions, arching her brow as her voice raises unnaturally high.
“Yeah, I’ve made Prosecco and Margherita cupcakes, lavender, honey, and dark chocolate chili macarons, double choc fudge brownies, bread and butter pudding with whiskey, and a few other things I can’t remember,” I tell her.
Lauren’s eyes widen as she looks at the baked goods laid out before me. I’ve loved baking my entire life, ever since Chef Marie taught me one school holiday while my parents were abroad. They left me with the nanny and the people who worked for us to take care of me while they were off galivanting at some gorgeous holiday destination.
My mother was always on a diet when I was growing up. She was obsessed with looking good for my father, making sure she looked her best at all times for him. I hated it because it meant I was never allowed to have any dessert or anything sweet as a child. My mother would pinch what she would deem fat on my body, telling me that if I didn’t look after myself, they would never find me a husband from a well-to-do family if I looked anything less than what they said was perfection.
Thankfully, Chef Marie hated that my mother deprived me of dessert, and she would stash a few goodies in the kitchen, so I could come down in the middle of the night and enjoy a few delicacies. I would hide away in the pantry and eat my dessert with the biggest smile on my face.
As I got older, I took a vested interest in baking desserts, and the older I got, the more my parents would leave me at home by myself, which suited me fine. So, Chef Marie taught me everything she knew about baking desserts, which was a lot seeing as she was a Le Cordon Bleu-trained French chef, and as a French person, being deprived of happiness through sugar and butter was a sin. And that’s the reason I’ve been working so hard ever since the day I turned eighteen when my family kicked me out of their home and cut off my trust fund because I wanted to become a model, while I saved every dime to one day be able to purchase my own bakery. I didn’t care where it was as long as it was all mine, and no one couldevertake it from me.
“You know I never say no to your sweets. But tell me … what’s bothering you?” Lauren asks while grabbing a macaron and taking a bite, then humming with delight. It’s stupid, really, and I’ve been baking all night to try to forget abouthim, but I can’t.
“Mr. King hasn’t been into the club since that night at Minx.” I huff the words out as I nervously start packing the treats away into takeout containers so I can bring them to work. I told him he could request me, and I thought he would have by now.
Lauren’s brows raise high at my confession.
“Why the hell has this man gotten under my skin so easily?” I ask.
“I feel ya, babe. That’s what it’s like with me and Mr. Fox.” She sighs.
I get it now, her obsession with a man she can’t have.
“He demanded things from me that night that I wanted to give him, but …”
“You’ve come so far, Elle. You’re so close to making your dreams come true, girl. One more year, and you will have everything you have ever dreamed of. And maybe if Mr. King is still single when you get back from the island, maybe you’ll run into each other in the rain … becausehello, London… and he realizes in that moment how much he’s missed you, and he demands you to never leave him ever again. Then he whisks you off your feet, and you live happily ever after,” Lauren says.
I stare at my friend, who I’ve always thought of as the least romantic woman I know, and slowly blink at her sentimental, idealistic fairy-tale image.
“What?” she asks, questioning me as she pops the other half of the macaron into her mouth. “Don’t tell me that isn’t what you’ve thought about?” She grins, eyeing off a cupcake.
“Is that whatyouthink about?” I question.
Lauren stills, and her blue eyes narrow on me. “You can have a crush on someone and not wish for a happily ever after with that person, Elle,” she tells me seriously.
I raise my brows in surprise at her tone.
Have I hit a nerve with her?
“Mr. Fox is a bit of fun. There are some guests you just gel with, and that’s him,” she explains.
“I wasn’t implying anything, Lauren,” I add quickly.