Page 88 of The Gambler's Prize
Florian
Afew days later I’m hurrying into work, already a few minutes late. Grimes was very persuasive in keeping me back with kisses and sweet talk, and then panicky and apologetic as he realized he was making me run late. I’ve been working at a restaurant since we moved to Obal. It’s one of the finest in the city. I started off as kitchen assistant, and worked my way up just as I promised Grimes I could. A few days ago I got promotedto sous-chef. I’m so proud of myself. Grimes is even prouder. When I told him the news about the promotion he lifted me off the ground, so overexcited he almost clunked my head off the ceiling.
Now I speed in the back door to the kitchen, taking off my jacket.
“Sorry, I’m late, Chef,” I say to Carissa, the head chef.
“Just don’t let it happen again,” she says, and turns back to her pot.
It takes some getting used to, being treated like any other worker. No one here knows how much power my father has in Rhennes, which is the way I like it.
“Yes, Chef,” I say.
I pull on my chef’s whites, chest swelling with pride. I can barely believe that my cooking is good enough for this place. Just like Grimes promised: he wasn’t just being nice. This isn’t the kind of place where they employ anyone out of pity. The patrons are exacting, just as likely to complain as to praise. Grimes is working on me to try to realize my other dream, too. He keeps suggesting that I try out for some of the city theaters. I haven’t gotten the courage yet, but I will some day with his help. We’re working on Grimes’ dream, too: the boxing gym. We’re still saving up to build one. Real estate is more expensive here than in Galbrava, so it’s taking a while. He refuses to spar with me, saying he’ll only ever lay hands on me with a loving touch. But he’s seen me spar with others in my own weight class, and says I’m good enough to help him teach students. It’ll be our gym, not just his.
At the end of the long shift, I hang up my chef’s whites with a tired but satisfied sigh. Then I check the pocket of my jacket to make sure the jewelry box is still there. As my hand closes around it, my heart jumps with excitement and more than a little terror.
“Hello.” Someone covers my eyes from behind, making my heart jolt with panic. But it’s a loving, familiar voice. Grimes is sticking his arms through the swing door into the kitchen to grab me. I let him pull me out into the restaurant.
“You’re not allowed in the kitchen,” I hiss.
“I wasn’t in the kitchen.” He grins at me. “Just my arms.”
“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I say.
“Sorry. I wouldn’t do that.” He looks suitably chastened, so I give him a peck on the lips to cheer him up. Then I run my hands over his shaved head, caressing him, and his handsome face lights up with a smile. He wears his hood down most days now. His prison tattoo doesn’t draw as many stares as he expected here, so far from Rhennes, and the ones that come are easier to ignore with me by his side. At least, that’s what he says.
Carissa comes out of the swing doors, her eyes landing on me. “Florian, there you are. Before you go home, could you soak some flying rice for tomorrow? I told one of the assistants to do it, but they’ve disappeared to who knows where.” She scowls, rivaling Grimes’ grumpiness.
“Yes, Chef,” I say.
“And I need you here a little early tomorrow.”
“Of course, Chef,” I say, dipping my head respectfully.
She retreats back into the bustle of the kitchen, ignoring Grimes entirely. I go back into the kitchen to finish my last task. Then I join Grimes out in the street, which is chilly after the furnace-like kitchen. I huddle inside my jacket, and Grimes’ arm instinctively wraps around my shoulder, just like always when he notices that I’m cold. But he’s quiet, a little scowl on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Come on. You’re sulking about something.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Let me decide that.”
“Okay. Well.” He takes a breath. “I’m… I’m just not used to hearing you follow someone else’s orders.”
“You… you’re jealous that I just saidyes Chef?” I say, incredulous.
“It was a little too close toyes, Boss,” he mutters, staring at the ground. “I thought that was our thing.”
I laugh out loud. He’s ridiculous. So jealous. As needy as I am, in his own way.
“Told you it was stupid,” he says.
“It’s my job. I have to do what Carissa says.”
