Page 80 of Royal Icing

Hours passed while Emma decorated and he washed and dried dishes, minded the timer on the mixer for the royal icing, and gave ample hand massages. He also snuck out for provisions, including snacks and a Bluetooth speaker to play Christmas music.

They worked mostly in silence except for occasional instructions, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Her lines were machine-straight. She hand-painted edible beads, piped red-and-green wreaths and garlands, accented each faux brick. Macarons made a dazzling roof for the turrets. She airbrushed, dusted with icing sugar, cut, and adjusted.

It was amazing to watch her work. She was so focused, and every movement seemed so natural. Like she was a human 3D printer, reaching inside herself for some cosmic directions to sculpt the most perfect gingerbread castle. It looked like it had taken years to make, not a week.

Finally, she set the piping bag down and surveyed her work. The sun was starting to creep up outside the window, sending a rosy hue into the midnight blue sky.

“I should go,” he said, furrowing his brow. The staff would be up any minute to prepare breakfast. “How can I help?”

Emma shook her head. “Maya and some staff are supposed to come help me move the gingerbread pieces to the ballroom. I just have to work on the croquembouche in my apartment. Thank you. Seriously.”

She grabbed him by the lapel to kiss him, then released him. “Now go. Before you get us both in trouble.”

All of a sudden, time seemed very fleeting. Tomorrow morning, Emma would be on a plane to New York. She would be gone. And Lynoria would suddenly feel very empty.

It was best that he keep himself busy today. But he would see her tonight, even if he had to skip out early from the community kitchen.

It could be the last time he ever saw her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EMMA

Emma checkedher hair surreptitiously in a gilded mirror by the gingerbread table in the ballroom. A string quartet in the corner was tuning, and smells of a magnificent feast were in the air. Round tables with golden charger plates and dramatic rose centerpieces were clustered toward the back.

The castle was exquisitely festive.

But if she were being honest, no part of the ball was as regal as the gingerbread castle. Against all odds and in a kitchen that ran on Celsius, the castle had come together. Nothing crumbled or collapsed. And it was—by far—the most magnificent thing she had ever made. All the castle staff had oohed and aahed over it as they helped Emma transport it to the ballroom.

Tarts, pastries, and cupcakes made up the grounds. And with the addition of the croquembouche Christmas tree in the nonpareil courtyard, it was as close to perfect as she could make it.

Guests would be arriving any moment. The royal family had provided her and Maya with black-and-gold chef’s coats to wear, but Maya had disappeared in hers. She had looked teary-eyed all morning, so apparently things were not going to end well with Prince John. It figured.

The doors opened, and Emma straightened up. It was the queen.

Her anxiety spiked to eleven, and she held her breath as the queen approached.

Emma curtsied, and the queen greeted her with a casual “Miss Clark.”

Slowly, the woman circled Emma’s creation. She bent to inspect the tiny petals on an apple tart and the macaron-dotted pathway down to the greenhouse made of candy glass.

An eternity passed as she examined every part of it—pausing extra long on the stained glass solarium dome. Would it meet her expectations?

Finally, she clasped her hands in front of her.

“This is lovely. Beatrice will see that you receive the second half of your payment.”

Relief flooded Emma so instantaneously that her knees almost collapsed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. This project was fun. Stressful, but fun.”

The queen looked surprised at her description, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Perhaps we’ll collaborate again someday.”

Emma nodded and curtsied again as the queen walked away.