Page 16 of Shades of Red

There’s a small ripple of laughter throughout the room, but Chef Matis remains stoic as usual. “You have eight hours. Begin.”

The minute Chef leaves the room, panic sets in. I can’t do this. The last challenge with pastry, I choked on my own lack of experience. Something as technical as croquembouche will be even worse. I’m fucked.

“Are you okay?” asks a familiar voice from beside me. It’s only then that I realize I’ve been clutching the handle of my chef’s knife and not moving an inch.

“Fuck off, Aurélie,” I bite out, still refusing to look at her.

“I can help if you need me to.”

“I saidfuck off. I don’t need you to save me. And even if Idid, I’d rather fail than accept help from a snake who’s more than likely to bite my hand when I extend it.”

“Fine,” she snaps, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder. “Fucking fail then.”

“What the hell is this?”Chef Matis asks, taking in the state of my croquembouche tower, which is hardly towering. My first batch of pâte à choux burned in the oven, so I didn’t have all the pastries I needed. The result was choosing to have a sparse, pencil thin tower or more of a small pyramid. I chose the latter.

“My interpretation of a croquembouche, chef,” I answer, hoping that my confidence will make it seem like I didn’t fuck up.

“Given your less than pleasing language skills, I would say interpretation isn’t your strongest suit, Nine.”

“Yes, chef,” I reply as I’m expected to. He could tell me that my croquembouche is a dumpster fire worthy of throwing into La Seine along with myself, and my response would still be the same.Yes, chef.

“Let’s hope your flavors are enough to keep you from being evicted from the premises. What’s your filling?”

“Velouté, chef.”

He chokes a little, his culinary French pride getting stuck in his throat. “You’ve made themsavory?”

“Yes, chef. It was my play on a Yorkshire pudding.” And the only saving grace I could think of to keep me from having to experiment with sweetness in the amount of time we were given. I don’t enjoy dessert. Making or eating it.

“This is aFrenchrestaurant, Nine. Keep the damn British out of it. You’ve got no business making a savory croquembouche. I sympathize with artistic creativity, but do not give me a cheeseburger and call it Châteaubriand.”

“Yes, chef.” I don’t mind the insult. I’ve not presented my best work, and I know it.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a tasting.” He waves his hand at my small tower. “Take the monstrosity back to your station.” His eyes sweep to the back of the room. “Ten,” he commands, his voice sharp like acid.

She keeps her eyes turned away from me as she passes with her own croquembouche tower. I think she’d like nothing more than to shove the whole sticky tower of pastries in my face if it wouldn’t mean she’d lose the challenge.

It’s beautiful, I admit with begrudging admiration. The most perfect tower I’ve seen in person. Her side of the kitchen was filled with the sweet scent of orange curd, and she even managed to find orange blossoms to weave in between the pastry for decoration. She dipped half of her pastries in caramel and crushed pistachios to add detail and texture to her tower and light wisps of spun sugar encircle the tower like clouds. She fucking nailed it.

“Ten,” Chef greets. “This looks like the most presentable tower we’ve seen all day.” It’s his own brand of praise. “Let’s see if you actually have the taste to match.” Chef Matis pops a whole puff into his mouth, his fingers getting sticky with caramel. Aurélie looks anxious as she shifts on her red heels awaiting his judgment.

“Delicious,” he announces after swallowing. “To my great surprise, you’ve won a challenge, Ten.” Aurélie doesn’t smile with excitement. In fact, she looks almost insulted with her brows furrowed.

“Thank you, chef,” she answers finally, her cherry lips pressed into a pout as she goes to pick up her croquembouche tower.

“Leave it,” he orders. “It can serve as an example.” He turns his eyes to address the rest of the kitchen. “Most of you have impressed me with your pastry skills today. Well done.” His eyes land on me, heavy and judging. “Nine, your pastry approach was abysmal. You need more skill in traditional French techniques. And because you haven’t had any formal training, you’ll have to learn in the kitchen.You will be staying late tonight to practice until you make a tower as perfect as this one.” He gestures toward Aurélie’s masterpiece, and I can’t help but scoff. Fat fucking chance.

Aurélie’s bright blue eyes fix on me with smug satisfaction, her pretty lips twisted into a haughty smile. She loves seeing me flayed in public. It makes me want to take a blade to her skin and see if the blood in her veins matches the color of her lips.

“Ten,” he calls, and her tart smile is instantly replaced with demure respect as she looks at him. “You will stay late and help him.”

She gasps at the command. “Why amIbeing punished? I won the challenge.” Her little nose is scrunched up in distaste at the thought of having to train me.

“Not all sins come due when they should, Ten. Maybe it’sdestin,” he replies, and his smile can only be described as cruel. “Well done everyone. Enjoy the rest of your day, and I will see you bright and early in the morning.”

I sulk with my arms crossed over my chest, refusing to acknowledge the impending torture.

“Nine come here.”

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