Page 126 of Royal Icing
“Thank you,” he said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
He had never thought she would crumble this quickly. Emma’s plan had worked. Maybe public humiliation had been the right call, after all.
“Well,” she said, “you didn’t leave me much of a choice after you had half the country marching on the castle.” She waved a hand as if there were still protesters ready to boo her on the streets outside.
Leo pulled back and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry about the protest. I knew it would force your hand. I just needed you to see how important this project is. And the tremendous impact it could have on our citizens.”
“Well, you succeeded.” She turned away from the window. “I fear I was too hasty when I cut you off earlier. Your suite at the castle is still yours, if you want it. And your salary, of course. I know you usually use it to fix things around the village, but I’d implore you to consider putting it toward your future. Whatever that looks like.”
Leo paused. Having access to that money again would be life-changing. He could help the village again, make sure Emma had everything she needed. But for some reason, it didn’t feel right.
“I think collecting a royal salary could be a conflict of interest if I’m working for parliament,” he said carefully.
The queen nodded. “Very well. I’ll just have it funneled to the charity fund. I’m off to parliament. Make sure your resume isshipshape. And don’t wear those pants to your interview. In fact, you should probably burn them.”
She strode to the door, then paused and turned around. “You would have made a great king, you know.”
His cheeks grew hot. “Well, it’s too bad I was born second.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
The door closed behind her, and Leo was left standing in the middle of his studio apartment, body vibrating with energy like he had just slammed forty espressos.
He looked at the box in his hand and tucked it into a drawer. He didn’t have the mental energy to process what that meant right now.
There were a thousand things to do, and he had to share the good news with Emma.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
EMMA
“So, what do you think?”The realtor with the artificially white smile tapped the stainless steel counter of the commissary kitchen. “A new shift will be available in June. It’s the twelve a.m. to six-thirty slot. We could lock you in for a year. Hopefully by then, a day shift will open up.”
Emma hesitated, gripping the handles of her mother’s wheelchair. Days had passed, and everything had changed. Leo’s project had been approved against all odds, and through some miracle of nepotism, he had gotten a new job as minister of charitable giving. Her unspoken dream of him living in New York was officially dead.
Emma had been slamming through freelance project after freelance project, willing the endless cascade of tasks to distract her from the aching absence that followed her like a ghost. No matter how busy he was, Leo had called her every night before he went to bed. The calls were the best part of her day.
His dreams were full speed ahead, but hers were floundering. Maybe it was the fact that the sun hadn’t been out since she returned home, or the inherent unnerving nature of being on the verge of such a major change, but something felt wrong. Her business still didn’t have a name, and her zestfor elaborately decorated cakes had somehow evaporated. Her thoughts returned often to the soup kitchen in Lynoria and the townspeople who had been visibly grateful to sample her pastries.
What was the point of all this?
“What do you think, sweetheart?” her mother prompted.
Emma blinked. “Sorry.”
Get it together. This was the plan, the only path forward. The only way to make a better life for her mom. She wasn’t about to change it for a boy she had just met.
“Uh, the shift isn’t ideal,” she said. “Sometimes a decorating shift alone takes eight hours. And what about storage? Or if the shift before me doesn’t clean adequately and I have to spend half of it cleaning and sanitizing?”
The realtor’s smile dimmed by several watts. “There is some storage space available for an extra fee. You won’t find a cheaper solution for your needs. We can look at turnkey units or private kitchen rentals, but that’s easily going to be three to four times more expensive, and they’re less likely to have the type of equipment you need. At this point in your business, a commissary is your best bet.”
Emma sighed and took in the steel surroundings. While it felt good to be back in a proper kitchen again, it wasn’t what she had imagined. A commissary was, theoretically, the perfect solution. It was only thirty minutes from her apartment. She didn’t need to buy her own equipment. The night shift, however, was problematic. Her mom regularly needed to use the restroom at night, and she had fallen the last time she attempted it on her own. And Emma would have to sleep during the day, which would double the amount of danger. Then there was the fact that her dad could stop by at any point the next time he was released from prison.
“I’ll need to think about it,” she blurted. She wasn’t in the correct headspace to make a year-long commitment.
“Okay, but the owners will need your answer before the new year or they’ll look for someone else to fill the shift.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
