Page 15 of The Cinderella Prince

“You called for me, Mama Viv?” Millie asked.

“Millie, darling, this is Cedric. Can you make sure there’s a locker for him by—” She looked at me, then, “—shall we say four o’clock?”

I inhaled a deep breath of air and held it for what felt like an eternity. I was really doing this, wasn’t I? I suppose life could have been worse. I could have been picking flower arrangements for my royal wedding. As I exhaled, I nodded. “Four o’clock sounds perfect.”

“And what will Cedric be doing that he needs a locker, Mama Viv?” Millie asked, unmistakably bristling.

“He’ll do whatever you need him to do, Millie, darling,” Mama Viv replied, one hand moving elaborately to encompass the entirety of the bar and the activities one might be paid to do around here. Then she looked at me again, a challenge in her eyes. “Let’s see what you’re made of, Cedric.”

My smile was locked on my face, frozen and icy, and I nodded. I was ready to play my part. I’d never been allowed anything like this at the palace. “I’m made of harder stuff than it appears, Mama Viv,” I promised her, although I failed to convince myself.

In fact, several hours later, I discovered just how soft thestuff I was made of really was. There were many places on the planet that could test your adaptability and endurance, and many jobs could push you to the limit of your sanity, but none other came to mind when you were caught in the hellish twister of your local restaurant’s kitchen.

CHAPTER 5

Mama Viv’s Burger Bash

Tristan

My knife slicedand diced and minced on the cutting board. I was lost in the moment and the movement, like a leaf in a river. It carried me to a happy place as inspiration filled my body and everything else dimmed around me. I was cooking. That was all I needed to be happy. The Culinary Horizons Evening School represented three hours a day in my otherwise empty and directionless life. This was where I felt like I had something to move toward, something to strive for.

And when it was over, I did my cleaning and chatted with other students. A couple of them were respected chefs from the city, perfecting their craft in foreign cuisines. Most were, like me, amateurs with nothing more than a love for culinary skills.

I was about to propose grabbing drinks after the class when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Slipping it out, I wondered what Mama Viv needed. She rarely called unlessit was an emergency, normally choosing to type out long, emoji-riddled messages no matter how challenging it was with the long nails clued to her fingers.

“Hello?” I answered cheerfully.

“Tristan, oh thank God, you are my last resort, darling,” Mama Viv blurted, clearly upset and out of breath. “It’s Millie, darling.”

My heart clenched with terror. “What about Millie? What happened to her?” Images of things I never wanted to see again flashed before my eyes. I didn’t even know it, but I was moving toward the exit, my stride letting everyone know that I was heading out, even if I had to trample someone to get there. Cold water closed on me and tried to crush me, but a hand around my wrist made my heart leap with joy that maybe this wasn’t how I ended. That sneaky, treacherous joy. I had spent a lifetime running away from the fact that I had beenhappyto be pulled out of the wreckage. “Is she alright?” I demanded.

“She’ll be fine, darling,” Mama Viv said hurriedly, removing the worst of my anxiety. “She was showing this…ah, never mind. She cut her finger. It wasn’t much. She didn’t even make a sound. I hurried to bring her a napkin to stop the bleeding, but she just turned pale, and the next thing I knew, she was on the floor as good as dead.”

I grumbled at Mama Viv’s choice of words.

“Millie’s getting an IV, darling, but I don’t have my chef for Burger Bash,” Mama Viv said, voice quivering.

“Of course you have a chef,” I said. “I can be there in twenty.”

Mama Viv had been floating the idea of employing me permanently in her kitchen, but I had never felt readyto take the leap. Instead, I helped Millie out when there were bigger crowds, practiced when I could, and tried to learn from the best. Millie had a command of the kitchen, but apparently, she had a weakness for something that was all too common when you worked with knives all day long.

I considered getting a cab, but the fleeting thought disappeared as soon as I remembered that my pockets were mostly empty and it was my turn to replenish the kitchen cupboards this week. Another bold of anxiety rushed to fill me, but I used it to fuel my run, halving my time from the culinary school to Neon Nights.

Mama Viv nearly collapsed with joy at the sight of me. She clapped her hands before hugging me.

“I’m sweaty as hell, Mama Viv,” I protested.

“You are beautiful,” she said. “You beautiful thing. I’ll be paying you extra for emergency work.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, pulling away from her. “Let me just wash my face, and I’ll get on it.”

“Don’t tell me what to worry about, darling,” Mama Viv said, but the words didn’t have an edge to them. She had made up her mind. However much I hated special treatment when others could do all the things I could do—and they probably did them twice as well—at least I didn’t have to worry about spending the last of my money on coffee filters.

I slipped into the staff bathroom to wash my hands and face, then walked down the white-tiled hallway to where the small locker room hosted employees’ things. I took off my black T-shirt and tossed it inside a spare locker that already had some of my things there, kicked off myshoes, stepped out of my pants, and rummaged through the clean clothes I could work in.

The locker room was positioned at the end of a hall that contained all of the bar’s inventory that we could possibly need, from spare tableware to packages of herbs and spices to bottles of sauces. There were fridges stacked with fresh produce and meat, freezers brimming with frozen goods, and a row of beer kegs hooked to tubes leading to the taps at the bar. There was no privacy in a place like this. People scurrying over to unhook an empty keg or to fetch items the kitchen ran low on was a constant thing. Truly, there was never a moment to breathe or think when you managed a kitchen. And Neon Nights wasn’t a typical restaurant equipped to handle constant volumes of food orders. Its kitchen was modest and compact, so people needed to move in very precise ways, always sticking to their right side to avoid colliding with one another. They also needed to watch their step and be perpetually aware of their place in the space we were all given.

It was something a newcomer wouldn’t know.

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