Page 54 of The Wedding Menu

Still, he was fresh out of high school. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. “And that’s when the prince swore off marriage?” I ask in a tentative voice. I just assumed he was playing around as usual when he started with the whole fairy-tale thing, but maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it’s just hard for him to talk about these experiences as his own.

“Thatiswhat the prince did. He decided he would never trust another woman, or have another relationship, and, most of all, he would nevereverget married.”

My eyes widen. “Well, that’s hardly fair to women. Or to the prince. He could be missing out on a lot by swearing off the gentler sex.”

“Oh, trust me, the prince did not swear off any type of sex.”

“Funny,” I say flatly.

After a pleased chuckle, he inhales deeply. “You’re right. It was quite drastic. A little overdramatic, maybe. The prince was young.”

“But the prince hasn’t changed his mind. Has he?”

“He has not. But the story isn’t over yet.”

“Aw, that’s nice.” I stand and clean up the table. Frank will figure out where to seat Uncle Tony. “You’re right. The story isn’t over. You’ve got many more chapters to write, and I’m sure you’ll find your princess.”

“What?” He laughs. “No, that’s not what I meant. The story isn’t over because I’m not done speaking.”

“Oh? There’s more?”

“There’s more. But I’ll tell you after the commercials. It’s your turn.”

Abandoning my position at the coffee table, I enter the kitchen and take out the lasagna from the fridge. “Fine. The promotion. I’ve been groomed to take over my dad’s position since before I left school, and he’s decided he’s retiring. But despite what some of my colleagues think, he’s not a nepotist.”

“So you have to prove you deserve it.”

My lips pinch as I set the oven timer, my mind roaming to all the extra shifts and courses and hours of practice I’ve put into becoming a chef my father would be proud of.

Once the oven is set, I lean against the countertop. “Basically, yes.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who’d want a hand-me-down.”

“I’m not,” I confirm, drumming my fingers on my arm. I don’t know exactly how to put this into words, but here goes my best attempt. “I don’t mind working hard. And though I’ve already proved myself plenty, I don’t mind doing it again every day.”

“Okay.”

“It’s the stupidest thing, but… what if I want to beofferedthe position but I don’t want the position itself?”

He hums. “Didn’t you say you work with your father?”

“I do.”

“Yikes.”

Yeah, yikes. He’s right. If he did offer me the position and I refused it, it’d probably break his… well, it would give him an upset stomach, at least.

“Sounds like you want your dad to recognize your efforts,” Ian says, while munching on something. I swear the man’s always snacking. “And based on your long-ass, late-night shifts, it sounds like he should.”

“Well, he hasn’t yet.” And he probably never will either. All hecares about is this stupid fight with William Roberts. Which reminds me, I’m still waiting for the Marguerite’s tweet. “Anyway, commercial’s over.” Sitting down at the kitchen table, I rest my chin on my knuckles and wait.

“Fine. Where were we? Oh, right. I swore off love and marriage forever.” He clears his voice. “Then my mom got sick.”

My hand lets go, my arm slowly falling on the table as my brows pinch together.

“The woman was… a bomb. My dad says I’m just like her, but imagine this much energy and these few fucks to give as a woman. She was”—he snorts—“fucking fierce. A hurricane. A complete nutjob.”

I both smile and frown, my thoughts returning to my mom, a whole world away and so terrifyingly absent throughout most of my life.

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