Page 71 of Royal Icing

“Okay.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

EMMA

Emma stood in her kitchenette,eyeing the gatehouse apartment. Her back ached. Her hands were chapped from endless hand washing. And she was running out of room.

Cheesecakes and tarts were all but spilling out of her tiny refrigerator. Every inch of free space that was out of Cooper’s reach was covered in containers of cookies, croissants, and breads.

Maya had reluctantly answered Emma’s thirteenth phone call, and her apartment and refrigerator were also now full of baked goods.

Tomorrow night, Lynoria’s elite would flood the halls of the castle and sample her desserts. Not to mention the critic fromFood Magazine. This was her make-or-break moment.

She was pouring every ounce of her stress into this bake. Maybe it would help distract her from impending heartbreak. She had a date with Leo in less than an hour. It was a mistake. A reckless decision. But she couldn’t deny the part of herself that deeply wanted one more night with him.

He wasn’t going to the ball. He said he would spend it the same way he spent most Saturday nights—volunteering at the community kitchen. And even if he was going to the ball,she’d be manning the dessert table all night. Tonight was their last opportunity for a stolen moment. She may never see him again. And for some reason, that was outweighing the voice that screamed in her head about her future.

It didn’t have to be a rational decision. It was just a few hours, and then she’d likely be up all night in the castle kitchen. While most of the pieces of the gingerbread castle had been painstakingly baked, measured, and cut, they still had to be decorated. That was going to be backbreaking, hand-cramping labor that would ruin her for a straight week. It was a good thing she’d brought along ibuprofen.

Tomorrow would be spent on the things that absolutely had to be prepared at the last minute—the croquembouche Christmas tree, preparing the tarts so they didn’t become soggy, and assembling the massive beast of a gingerbread castle.

She had poured every ounce of her expertise into this project, pulling out methods she hadn’t used since baking school. She’d shaped pieces of the castle’s turret by cooling gingerbread sheets over wine bottles. At home, she would have had an entire team helping her. Someone on pastries, someone on cake, one on candy, another for assembly and final decor. But here, she was alone and exhausted. When this marathon sprint was over, she was going to sleep for a week.

Someone knocked at the door, and Cooper let out a low woof. A quick inspection through the peephole revealed someone who looked a lot like Leo, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief. If it had been another one of the queen’s cronies checking to evaluate her state of preparedness, they would surely report her for her insane storage method.

She opened the door, and Leo rushed inside and closed the door. He paused, pressing his ear to the crack.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. “And why are you wearing a fake mustache and glasses?”

Cooper came over and licked his hand, whining until he pulled away from the door and committed to petting him.

“Just making sure I wasn’t followed. My mother has spies everywhere.”

“You live a super weird life,” Emma said thoughtfully.

He grunted noncommittally.

“Sorry for all the subterfuge. Are you sure you have a couple hours? You must be exhausted.” His gaze moved around the room, where baked goods were stacked haphazardly almost up to the ceiling.

She shrugged. “When am I ever going to have the opportunity to do this again? I can handle a few days of being tired.”

“Oh, here.” He handed over a box.

She stared at him, then opened it. A brown wig and a large pair of sunglasses fell out. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting role-play.”

“We’re going to have to split up,” he explained. “So I can make sure the coast is clear. This way, if anyone does see you, they won’t recognize you and report you to my mom.”

She piled her hair on top of her head and slid the wig on. “So just to be clear, no one on the staff is going to be alarmed by the sudden appearance of Liza Minnelli in the royal family’s personal living quarters?”

“You don’t have to wear it,” he said defensively. “I just wanted to keep your identity?—”

“I’m just joking,” she said quickly. “Yes, I’ll wear it.”

Whatever it took.

“Okay,” he said, looking significantly calmer. “I’m going to leave first. Wait two minutes for my text, then follow me to that doorway Ruby showed you before…you know.”

“Before I almost died? Got it.”