Page 36 of Royal Icing

A ski slope made of cake and macarons.

A crispy-rice-and-marshmallow portrait of the king and queen.

Stupid. Useless. None of these ideas were showstoppers fit for a royal ball.

Her gaze fell on the garland that was wrapped around a shelf, and she gasped.

The librarian and Leo looked at her, but she didn’t care.

There it was. The perfect idea. She would recreate the most powerful symbol of the monarchy: the castle. And she would do it in festive, elaborately decorated gingerbread. In fact, she was certain she had once made cardamom rose gingersnaps for a past client. She could recreate all of the castle grounds—the gardens, the lake, the craggy peaks of the mountains, the turrets and spires. Everything captured in delicious miniature.

Possibilities flooded her mind. It would be insane. An almost impossible task. But if she did nothing else but plan and bake for the next seven days, it might work.

She slammed all the books shut and hefted them onto a return cart. Then she slid her notebook into her purse and ran out of the library without a backward glance.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LEO

Leo stormeddown the castle hallway, mood as black as the night sky.

Sal had texted him late last night with a string of questions about Emma, none of which had real answers.

He shouldn’t be bothered by the fact that Emma left the library without so much as a hello. She was perfectly free to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t owe him anything. But even an acquaintance whose name he barely knew would greet him on sight.

Maybe it was an American thing. Or maybe she had seen that paparazzi article and shied away.

The night before, there had been an undeniable connection between them. It couldn’t have been one-sided. Had he really misread the situation?

Maybe it was for the best. She lived on a different continent. While his brother was the king of one-night stands, Leo struggled to separate feelings from physicality. It was better to focus on his project.

The end of the year was approaching, and the presentation he was preparing was proving to be challenging.

He had to find a way to stroke his parents’ egos to get their approval. Perhaps he could name the new complex after them? Maybe a statue of them in the community garden? Would it be enough?

He froze outside the door to the kitchen. That was Emma’s voice beyond the door. What was she saying? He leaned closer.

“For the last time, it was not a date,” Emma said.

“Uh-huh,” an unfamiliar female voice said on the phone.

“I asked him to come in to eat with me after the paparazzi chased us, and he said no. He’s not into me. And even if he was, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Leo jerked back. His heart beat in his ears.

“I disagree,” said the other voice. “You can bone his brains out and let your boring married friend live vicariously through you.”

He pressed his lips together and suppressed a laugh.

He should leave. This was a private conversation. But he leaned closer.

“Whoa. First of all, I can’t afford to be thrown in a foreign dungeon for sexually harassing a prince. And second of all, I don’t have time to worry about romance.”

“Not even a week-long fling? For me?”

“Do I need to explain consent to you again, Lo?”

“No, no. Fine. But if anything happens, you have to tell me immediately. Im-mee-dee-at-lee. Am I clear?”