Page 122 of Prelude To You

When Meg left, the apartment was really quiet. I waited for the madeleines to bake and tried to make peace with the concept of this stranger coming into my life, changing everything as I knew it, and then making a hasty exit, never to be seen again. Could I look back on it one day without feeling my heart was going to explode?

Just as I pulled the madeleines from the oven, my phone dinged with a text. It was Marguerite, screaming for help.

Marguerite:This dumb cook in pastry doesn’t know how to make St. Honoré. Vous pouvez m’aider, s’il vous plait!!!!!!?

I tried not to smile. Marguerite never held back, and her patience was always in short supply, especially with someone incompetent. I texted back, glad for the distraction.

Me:Do you need me to come over?

Marguerite:Oui, Cherie, oui!!!!!

Me:15 min.

Marguerite:Merci.

It was pathetic how happy I was to be sidetracked from my heartbreak. Uber was there in a few minutes, and exactly twentyminutes later I entered the kitchen at Le Petit Chateau. In my haste, I’d put on my old coat.

Patrick handed me an apron and a glass of wine. “My darling, I have never been happier to see you. I don’t even care about that ugly coat right now. Drink up, the first course has started. You have an hour and a half before dessert.”

Marguerite had taken over as head chef because the previous one left with Jean-Rene. She was in her element. The new manager didn’t even try to argue with her when I took over the shift from the frazzled pastry chef who didn’t know how to makeSt. Honore.

And I had never been so content with having so much pressure to turn out perfect pastries in such a short time, because I didn’t have a second to indulge in my despair.

By midnight the second service was done and we were all in the kitchen, drinking wine and eating snacks. Marguerite pulled me to the side. “So you’re back,oui?”

I was tempted to pick up where I left off at Le Petit Chateau. But so many things had happened in the meantime.

“Let me think about it,” I said. “But listen, I can help out for a few nights, and I could even train the next pastry chef if necessary.”

“Ugh Isabel, you’re impossible,” Marguerite protested. “Double the salary, apology from the owner, what more do you want?”

“You’re the one who got me the new job, Marguerite. I can’t just leave it.”

“Fuck that place,” Marguerite said. “I don’t care about them. I only know Albert a little bit. You need to come back here.”

I was tempted to say yes, but I couldn’t ignore the situation with Henry. “Tell you what, I’ll seriously think about it, okay?”

My Uber driver texted me; the car was waiting out front. Marguerite rolled her eyes dramatically. “Tomorrow night you help again,oui?”

I nodded with a calming smile. “Yes, I will.”

Marguerite hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks, the French way. “Tu es mon saveur, herie!”

I laughed. “Savior? I can’t even save myself, let alone someone else. But sure, see you tomorrow night.”

Patrick stopped me as I left, surreptitiously tucking a bottle of Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle in my bag. “I ordered extra. For some strange reason, the owner isn’t asking any questions at this point. I’m taking a couple of Don Perignon’s myself.”

My stomach dropped.Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle.A sudden and very vivid reminder of my night with Roman. “Thank you, Patrick. I’ll bet you’re happy Jean-Rene is gone.”

“I can’t even tell you. The new manager is a nervous little bird, but she’s competent andverysweet. It’s like a new world here. All that’s missing is you.”

33

ROMAN

Itook to the Chesterfield couch in my office instead of the bed upstairs. There was a certain comfort with Isabel’s image close at hand.

For approximately three hours, the sleeping pills did their job valiantly. That was before Isabel invaded my slumber, torturing me with that husky, breathless little laugh of hers and the sound of her sultry sighs and whimpers when my cock was buried inside her.

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