Page 42 of Princesses & Pastries
She winces. "Don't try to imitate people, you're not good at it."
"Sorry," I murmur as I help myself to the chicken Chef Martina prepared. "You'll like the lamb," I say to Veronica.
"Thank you." She helps herself to some of it, adding some side dishes with absolutely no attention to how the things might mix on her plate. "So, why is it my fault you're not baking tonight with Nate?"
"It's not really," I admit. "But I guess I'm overthinking everything now. And I don't want him to think that the only thing I care about in our friendship is baking."
"I think that was already fairly obvious when the two of you talked for hours the other afternoon. You weren't baking then," she points out. "What do you talk about?"
"Everything. How I feel about my job, the things he's seen in the kingdoms he's worked in, food, things we want to make. I don't really know. When I talk to him, it feels like time doesn't matter."
"Sounds like love to me."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I murmur, focusing more intently on my chicken than I really need to.
"Why are you afraid of being in love with him?"
"Because he's leaving," I say. "So what if I'm in love with him? Last time he left, it took five years for him to come back, and it's only for a week. If I tell him that I love him, what then? He'll go, and I'll be stuck knowing that I love him, but there's nothing I can do about seeing him except hope that he comes with a visiting delegation again. Or I somehow persuade Father that it's safe to send me to Wafeland for this banquet next year."
Veronica gives me what looks like a reassuring smile and puts a hand on my arm. "I'd go with you. He'd approve both of us going."
"I appreciate it, but it's still not going to help the situation."
"Maybe not," she agrees.
"So I'm just going to make the most of the next few days and go from there."
"I'm sorry, Evie."
"Not your fault," I respond. "Unless you're the one stopping there from being a position in the kitchens for him?"
"You know I don't have any control over the staff," she counters. "You're right, the lamb is really good." She gestures to her almost empty plate.
"Of course I'm right," I point out. "I know food."
"I hope that means you persuaded Nate to make something interesting for dessert," she responds as she finishes what's on her plate.
"I think you'll like it," I respond.
"I think you could tell him."
"Tell him what?" Keeping up with her is exhausting sometimes.
"How you feel," she says. "I think he'd want to know."
I shake my head. "I can't do that to him. I don't want to make things uncomfortable between us."
She takes a deep breath, one that I can almost hear my name sighed in exasperation. "It's going to make things uncomfortable if you keep this a secret too."
Even though I don't want to admit it, I know she's telling the truth. I just don't really know what to do to change that.
I finish my food and look around the room. I don't particularly enjoy focusing on what everyone else is doing, especially when it means that their chatter and the general noise that they make is louder than normal, and harder for me to deal with as a consequence.
There are lots of happy faces around the room, and lots of empty dishes. The leftovers will be sent back to the kitchens, some of them to be made into pies and other dishes for over the next few days, and some of it will be eaten by the staff themselves. I hope they enjoy the feast as much as we have.
Serving staff begin to clear the food away, and before long, the desserts are being brought out. My cousin's wife, the Gravin Van Bergdal, looks particularly pleased when she sees one of Nate's slagroomtaarts coming her way.
"It just doesn't compare," Veronica says.
