Page 38 of Royal Icing
He nodded. It was better that she wasn’t wasting energy on what was sure to miss the mark.
“I could use a laugh. What did your boss come up with?”
The tension in her shoulders disappeared, and a smile appeared. “A ten-layer cake, which would collapse under its own weight and require us to find customized pans. A map of Lynoria made out of brownies. And an eight-foot macaron tower in the likeness of your brother.”
Leo chuckled and then covered the sound with a cough. “Well. Those are all certainly ideas. Now tell me about yours.”
She bit her lip. “It’s insane.”
“The best ideas usually are.”
“Okay, so your mom is all about reminding everyone that the monarchy exists, right?”
He nodded.
She pulled a piece of paper out of her stack and showed him a drawing dusted with flour. “I want to capture the festive spirit and make a model of the castle and grounds out of gingerbread. All the landscape will be edible—macarons and tarts and cookies and Lynorian candies. A croquembouche tower for the Christmas tree in the courtyard.”
He could picture it in his mind’s eye.
“I think it’s amazing. She’d love it—in her own way. So what’s the problem?”
She threw her hands up. The stress was back in her eyes. “I’m not a damn architect, that’s the problem. I don’t have any idea how to go about breaking down the castle architecture into something even remotely replicable.”
“I know someone who can help with that.”
“Do they accept payment in gingerbread, by chance?”
“My mother didn’t set a budget. This consult falls under the budget purview.”
She perked up. “Really?”
“Definitely. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
Emma threw herself on him.
He went rigid for a moment, while his nose filled with the scent of rose hips and vanilla. She pulled back to look at him. “Thank you so much. Oh, shit.” Her expression changed, and she leapt back. “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t be hugging you. That’s a thing, right? Don’t touch a royal unless they touch you first? I read it on Wikipedia.”
Leo raised his arms to his side. “Consider this blanket, state-sanctioned permission to touch me.”
Whoops. That sounded more sexual than he meant it. Or was it?
She smiled, and her gaze dipped for a second. Was she imagining touching him? He hardened at the thought.
Emma was beautiful in the muted light of the kitchen. His earlier annoyances were almost forgotten. Almost.
“You ignored me in the library today,” he accused, leaning against the kitchen island.
She seemed to debate silently for a minute, then busied herself by shuffling papers into a neat stack. “I did. I was annoyed that you turned me down for dinner last night. So was Cooper.”
Aha. So she was annoyed.
“I’ll make it up to you. Let me plan something.”
She grunted and turned back to the sheet of gingerbread in front of her, and her shoulders tensed. “I don’t have time. This project is going to be my entire life for the next week.”
He frowned. That wasn’t exactly a yes. But now wasn’t the right time to press her.
“Why don’t you just make a super-simplified version for now? She’ll get the idea and get to taste it.”
