Page 44 of Knot Your Sugar

"Yeah… I’ll try my best," I say, a bit more hesitant. "But I don’t know if I’ll even place top three. This kind of challenge is unfamiliar territory for me."

He pauses. The grin fades, and something steadier slips into his expression.

"You know you have the skills to beat me, right?" he replies. "Hell, you could probably make a handful of dirt taste good in a pie. You’re seriously talented, Elena."

That compliment, delivered without his usual theatrical flair, hits harder than any elaborate praise. Before I can formulate a response, he's back to his lighter self.

"Besides, if I hype you up, it’ll hurt less if I lose. Strategic ego management."

I laugh, as I head to my station, my heart feeling… lighter. Fuller.

Between Cole’s grounding presence last night, and James’s disarming honesty today, I’m beginning to wonder if the emotional walls I’ve spent years building are beginning to crack. Maybe faster than would be wise.

But for the first time in years, I'm not sure I mind.

Chapter twenty-two

James

I arrange the haul of wild berries on my station. Their deep purples, vibrant reds, and dusky blues are a stark, beautiful contrast against the cool metal. Their scent, earthy with a hint of pine from the woods, fills my space. A few stations across from mine, Elena is already head bent in concentration, that little furrow appearing between her brows that I’m starting to find ridiculously endearing.

Don't stare, James,I chastise myself, forcing my attention back to the task at hand.Focus. Make something great.

The thing is, Ican'tstop my mind from replaying moments from our foraging trip. Specifically, the stupidly intimate moment when she reached out and wiped that smudge of juice. Such a simple gesture. So innocent. And yet, it hit me harderthan any flirt has managed in years. There was something in her eyes in that instant. Like she saw past my swagger for a second.

I crush a handful of wild mint leaves between my fingers, their sharp, clean fragrance cutting through the sweetness of the berries. The plan is forming in my head: a rustic but elegant berry tart. A crisp, buttery shortcrust pastry, a luscious mint-infused pastry cream, and a vibrant mosaic of the berries we picked. And for the final flourish, a scattering of those delicate wild rose petals. Classic, yes, but with a wild, unexpected twist. A bit like Elena and I, maybe.

Us.When the hell did my brain start defaulting to ‘us’? This was supposed to be a temporary, mutually beneficial charade. Not… this. This confusing, distracting, yet surprisingly pleasant…thing.

My hands move on autopilot, the years of relentless training taking over as I begin to prepare the pastry dough. Roll, fold, chill. The familiar, rhythmic motions usually calm my mind, center me. But today, my thoughts are a chaotic jumble of Elena, conflicting desires, and a growing awareness that my initial game plan might be backfiring spectacularly.

I hear Elena laugh at something Judge Chen says as she makes her rounds, a bright, genuine sound that hits me right in the chest, like a perfectly aimed cream puff. Shehasbeen different today. More relaxed since that spa trip yesterday, more open. The guardedness I’d first encountered is still there, but it’s softer around the edges. I like to believe I'm reponsible for that, but I'm pretty sure Cole helped a lot, too.

The thoughtshouldmake me jealous. Competitive, even. He’s another alpha, after all. And Elena is… well, Elena is rapidly becoming someone I want in ways that have nothing to do with biology or winning a competition. But instead of jealousy, what I feel is a strange sense of relief. That she’s finding whatever it is she needs. Even if it’s not entirely from me.

I slide the tart shell into the oven and start on the filling. As I watch it slowly turn brown, my mind drifts to the way Elena said she enjoys being physical with me.

It’s more than I deserve, frankly, after how I strong-armed her into this whole fake relationship in the first place. Using her secret encounter with Dorian as leverage, planning to mess with her head while I chased my own pleasure…

When did winning become so all-consuming that basic decency took a backseat? When did I become the kind of guy who’d stoop to that level, just to stay on top?

Maybe it happened gradually. Years of trying to prove my father wrong, success becoming synonymous with survival. That's my mindset now, isn't it? If I'm not the best, I'm nothing. If I stop performing, people will stop caring, and I'll lose everything I've built.

But watching Elena now, seeing her genuine smile as she works, I realize I might have been chasing the wrong thing entirely. I can’t just be the sum of my father’s disapproval and my own insecurities. There has to be more to me than that.

The timer dings, yanking me back to reality. I pull out the golden-brown tart shell and begin assembling the components. Berries spiral outward in careful concentric circles, mint cream pipes in delicate swirls, rose petals scatter like confetti. Technically perfect. Visually stunning. But somehow... it feels incomplete.

On impulse, I reach for the wild strawberries Elena found earlier. Their shapes are uneven, their color imperfect. But nestled in the center, they bring something the tart was missing.

Something a little messy, yet real. Honest.

Like Elena herself... and maybe like who I was before I got caught in the relentless need to prove myself.

Chapter twenty-three

Elena

The feedback sessions are apparently designed to be as picturesque as the foraging trip.

---