Page 1 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

CHAPTER 1

Ada

People talked about mating ceremonies like they were enchanted. Glimmering lights, pheromones in the air, soft music, and softer smiles. They imagined something effortless, romantic.

I saw a logistical nightmare.

“Table nine needs another round of truffle risotto,” someone hissed into their earpiece as I passed the courtyard.

I didn’t slow down. My dress—midnight green, floor-length, slit just high enough to say yes, I’m technically a guest too—brushed the marble tiles as I moved. I offered a tight smile to a passing elder from the Laurent side. No idea who he was, but he looked like someone whose opinion came with a donation check.

The kitchen door was tucked behind the ballroom, and I slipped through it like a ghost. The second I stepped inside, the scent of charred herbs, seared meat, and melting sugar hit me in the face. The temperature rose ten degrees instantly.

“Mila?” I called, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the kitchen noise.

She appeared like magic, a glass of champagne in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Her sleek ponytail was still perfectly in place, despite the chaos I knew she’d wrangled all day.

“You look like you’re two seconds away from snapping a tray in half,” she said, handing me the champagne without missing a beat.

“I’m considering it,” I muttered, taking a long sip. Dry. Cold. Necessary. “Anyone in particular.”

She grinned. “Hopefully not me. I’ve actually been productive. Finished all six chef interviews this week.”

My brows rose. “All six? On your own?”

“Like a pro,” she said smugly. “And I already know who the winner is.”

“That confident?”

“More like certain. I sent him the offer this morning. He already signed and can start as soon as possible.” Mila’s smile widened. “I adore him. Adore. Okay, yes, he doesn’t have a ton of hands-on kitchen experience, but the man trained at L’Oustau de Baumanière and Le Cordon Bleu. And he has that... presence, you know? The team will respect him. Or fear him. Either works.”

“Impressive,” I said, genuinely intrigued. “But why would someone like that want to work for a small company like ours?”

Mila shrugged, still smiling. “He moved here recently, and let’s face it—we’re the best in the area. Where else would he go?”

“Please tell me this isn’t about a pretty face.”

She gasped, clutching her clipboard to her chest. “I would never.”

I just raised a brow.

She relented with a sigh. “Okay, he’s gorgeous. But he’s also sharp, articulate, and clearly passionate about the work. Cooked a test dish for Stuart and me—some wild, citrus-cured sea bass with toasted pistachio cream and baby arugula. I nearly proposed on the spot.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. You know how I run this place better than anyone. If you’re this excited about him. I trust you. If he can impress you, he’s earned his shot.”

Mila beamed. “You’re not gonna regret it. He’s going to fit right in.”

Before either of us could say more, a junior server burst in, red-faced and breathless. “We’re short one server for the east garden tables. Someone called out sick.”

Mila turned without missing a beat. “Take Harper off drinks and put her on that section. Tell her I said so.”

And just like that, we were back in motion. Controlled chaos. My kind of rhythm.

He nodded and disappeared back through the swinging doors.

She turned to me with a pointed look. “Go enjoy the ceremony. Mingle. Smile. Let people see the woman behind the magic.”

I snorted. “Magic involves fewer spreadsheets and meat thermometers.”

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