Page 195 of Boss of the Year

Kate and I returned to the main hall, a great reception room floored with terracotta under a vaulted ceiling split by ancient beams. I’d divided the room between a small welcoming area infront of the stone fireplace and a larger dining room near the kitchen that would act as a buffet during the morning hours.

The five dining room tables were draped in cream linens with mismatched plates and vintage silver that Louis had thrifted for me in Paris. Arrangements of winter greenery—pine boughs, white roses, and silver branches—created elegant centerpieces around pillar candles that would glow when the sky turned dark.

“What’s left out here to do?” The tables looked good to me, but I was depending on Kate and Louis to handle the details.

Kate pushed her thick glasses up her nose. “We need to finish a few of the last place settings, bring flowers in from the outer cottage, and set up for the trio on the patio. But everything else is pretty much done. How about in the kitchen?”

I picked up one of the menus printed for each place setting and looked it over for the hundredth time that day.

Mini Chestnut Gougères with Plantain Miso Butter & Manchego Crisps

Deconstructed Sunchoke & Leek Soup with Cilantro Oil & Tostone Crumble

Miso-Glazed Trout en Papillote with Citrus Beurre Blanc & Roasted Fennel

Coq au Vin with Guava-Red Wine Glaze, Spiced Farofa & Winter Gremolata

Persimmon & Rum Tarte Tatin with Cardamom Crème Fraîche and Balsamic Reduction

To say I was nervous was an understatement. The menu was a blend of traditional French dishes, twisted with elements of all the cuisines that had touched my life. Italian, Puerto Rican, and other Caribbean elements from my family heritage and growingup in the Bronx. Flavors I’d accumulated during my travels to Brazil, Japan, and England, and from the people I’d met along the way. Foundational elements from the mentors I’d had, like Ondine, the teachers at the Institute, and even Xavier.

It all came together in five courses that were indelibly me. The real question was whether or not people would like my worldly take on French cuisine enough to come to the Sunday dinners I planned to serve on top of the breakfasts for overnight guests. I still had the idea of providing a space to nurture up and coming chefs, but for now, I’d have to nurture myself.

“Thegougèresgo in the oven last, but they are ready to go,” I said, ticking off items on my list. “Nonna already blended and strained the sunchoke puree for the soup, and the tostone crumble will just need to be heated before service. The trout is prepped, and the coq au vin, we finished two days ago.” I went down the rest of my list. “Just finished the reduction. I think we’re good.”

Kate smiled. “You’re the bomb, lady. I can’t believe you’ve been able to turn it all around in just a few months.”

I grinned as I looked around the room. “I couldn’t have done it without a lot of help.”

It was true. Many of the new friends I’d made in the village had come with recommendations for people to help me refurbish the parts of the chateau that needed immediate work. This primarily included some of the masonry, painting the interior stucco walls, and updating some of the landscaping before winter set in. But the rest of it—furnishing, gardening, and most of all, testing recipes for my menus—had been labors of love.

“I’m going to get ready,” I said, already removing my apron. “You and Louis should do the same when you can.”

“Take your time, Mama,” Kate called as she fiddled with one of the centerpieces. “It’s your night. You want to look your best.”

My favorite partof the chateau, even more than my kitchen, had to be the private suite of rooms on the top floor that I had designated for myself. After the main work had been completed downstairs, I was shocked to find I had enough cash reserves to finish the attic of themaisoninto a primary suite consisting of a bedroom, bathroom, nursery, and a sitting room simply for my personal use.

The suite looked up toward the abbey, keeping watch over the village, and I could hear the rush of the Dordogne River through open windows on nice days. Wide rustic beams ran the length of the room, which had been finished with creamy stucco walls, warm oak furniture, and a bed that was far too big for just me. That, combined with the walk-in closet and the bathroom that looked out to a small orchard, meant I had more space in this one area than I’d ever been afforded in my entire life.

This wasn’t a girl’s corner of a tiny bedroom.

It was a grown woman’s place to call her own.

I slipped out of my clothes and into the shower. The steam curled around me, quieting the aches in my lower back that had gotten a bit more pronounced as I entered my second trimester.

Fourteen weeks.

And still no word from him.

Not that there should be. I hadn’t told him, despite my family’s consistent bids that I absolutely must, if only to receive appropriate financial support.

I would tell him eventually. I would. But only when I was ready for the reality that while Lucas Lyons would, without a doubt, do right by his child, he didn’t want to be in my life forme.

I had told him to go, and he had obeyed.

Why that bothered me so much, I still couldn’t say.

I got out of the shower and dried off in front of the full-length mirror, taking a moment, as I often did, to examine the changes happening in my body. The added fullness to my already ample chest. The slight rounding of my belly was just beginning to show beneath my navel. Was there a glow to my skin the way people said? I honestly couldn’t tell, but my hair was growing like crazy.