Page 17 of Royal Icing
The silence was almost deafening in his absence. Holy shit. In another lifetime, she would have obsessed about this encounter for weeks and dissected every moment with Lola. But she wasn’t the carefree and optimistic girl she once was. There was so much at stake, and she did not need any distractions. Especially ones that came in the form of hunky maintenance men named Leo who lived five thousand miles away.
CHAPTER SIX
LEO
Leo trudgedinto the blue room, body feeling as battered as if he’d just had a session with his personal trainer. Early morning sunshine streamed in between the thick velvet curtains.
Why had his mother insisted on a family breakfast meeting? He had gone to bed entirely too late the previous night, poring over the architect’s plans in his workshop until nearly dawn. As much as he wanted to bring up the project, it wasn’t the right time. He could practically feel the tension simmering in the room.
His mother wouldn’t be able to focus on anything until the ball was over and done with. With any luck, it would fulfill her every dream, and she would be in such a good mood the next day that she and Father would greenlight his plans. In the meantime, all he could do was prepare.
“Good morning,” he said to his father, who was reading a newspaper while sipping a cup of tea.
“Leo,” he said, raising his gaze from the paper. “Did you catch the match last night?”
Did all the men in this country care solely about sports?
“What, the football? No, I was working on something.”
The king tutted. “Busy, busy. How is it that you’re busier than the king?”
Leo smiled. He opened his mouth to say something about his near-death by pastry, but he stopped himself. His parents would probably find him weak if they knew an errant tart had almost permanently impacted the royal bloodline.
His thoughts returned to the baker. Emma. Finding her in the kitchen had felt like fate. Although it had nearly caused his death, her raspberry tart had been a vision. Maybe his sister was right to insist on this bakery, even if it meant not supporting a local business.
The odds were very good that he would run into her again. His stomach twisted. He had sort of lied to her when she asked him if he worked at the castle. Technically, he did. He just also happened to live here.
It had been a long time since he’d run into a woman who had no idea who he was—maybe even since university. It was almost intoxicating. Would she be upset when she learned the truth?
He poured a cup of coffee, and the warm, buttery scent lifted his mood. He was the only one in the family who drank it—one of his many failures of character—but the cooks always kindly brewed a pot for him. The first sip burned his throat, and he involuntarily flashed back to the night before.
He could have died in that kitchen. His throat still ached from the lodged pastry, a constant reminder of his near-death experience. But Emma had saved him. And she didn’t even know who he really was.
His mother bustled into the room, followed by a bleary-eyed Ruby. John trudged in last, a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes even though he was indoors. Apparently Leo wasn’t the only one who was up late.
John collapsed into a chair. A servant descended with a plate already made up. His brother had probably never made up his own plate in his entire life.
“Why did we have to have a breakfast meeting? I was sleeping,” Ruby complained.
“It’s important for families to eat together,” the queen said as she sat at the far end of the long, polished table. A servant pushed her chair in for her and immediately poured a cup of tea. It was almost irritating, a performative dance that went on and on for decades. Could no one in this family do anything for themselves?
“Besides,” the queen added, “we’re sampling the pastries from the bakery you insisted we fly across the world. I could use your help in deciding what we want featured at the ball.”
Bollocks.
Ruby immediately sat up in her chair. “Fine, I forgive you. When?”
The double doors opened, and two women walked in carrying trays. The first one he didn’t recognize, but if he had to guess, he would say she was American. Rail-thin, heavy makeup for eight in the morning, and blue eyes that immediately settled on John. Behind her, Emma carried a two-layer cake decorated in purple-and-gold—the colors of Lynoria. His heart rate kicked up a notch. She looked very professional in a crisp black chef’s outfit, but it didn’t hide the fact that she mustn’t have slept at all.
Was she going to be upset?
The first woman curtsied almost comedically deep. “Good morning, Your Majesties. Your Highnesses,” she said with a second curtsy and her eyes still set on John.
Emma scanned the room and stopped in her tracks when she saw Leo. Her polite smile froze.
Uh-oh. Her mouth had dropped open, and she didn’t look pleased. He smiled at her, and color rushed into her cheeks.Then her jaw clenched. She averted her gaze and instead looked at his mother.
“Good morning,” she mumbled with a much shallower curtsy.
