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Chapter Fourteen
“It’s not real,” said Jan. “We’re faking it.”
“Yeah, right.” Esme was grinning so hard she reminded Jan of the cartoon Grinch’s smile when he was plotting how to steal Christmas from the Whovillians. Or, better yet, the Cheshire Cat’s faceless grin when he was about to make mischief for an unsuspecting Alice.
For the last half hour, Jan had been trying to convince Esme of the truth of the relationship between her and Alex. Unfortunately, her BFF wouldn’t believe it. Really, it was worse. Esme, who’d been fixated on fairytales and myths her whole life, was weaving more to the plot than there was present.
“Essie, we’re doing it so he can get investors for the restaurant we want to build together.”
“Oh, my gosh.” Esme’s eyes practically rolled into the back of her head. She pressed her hands over her heart and sighed. “If that isn’t the basis for a romantic comedy, I don’t know what is.”
Esme had long since OD’d on Disney princesses and John Hughes heroines at a young age. The effects had ruined her in adulthood. Now that she was marrying a king and living in a castle, she was a lost cause.
“This is not a romantic comedy,” said Jan. “It’s not a Hallmark movie. It’s not even an after school special. It’s business. In fact, the only show we should be on is Shark Tank.”
Unfortunately, Esme didn’t hear Jan’s pitch. “Alex is rich. He doesn’t need investors. And if he did, he could just ask Leo.”
Actually, that made a lot of sense. Why hadn’t Alex simply asked his brother for the money? Why go through this farce of an engagement?
“Well …” Jan tried to think back to the reasons Alex gave her. “He said he wants to do it all on his own. Without his family’s money.”
“So he chooses investors, who have the condition of his inheritance, which can only be accessed after he’s married?”
“Well …”
“And he goes a step further to choose an unknown pie maker as his star chef?”
“Hey!” Jan tossed one of the ornate pillows at Esme. The thing landed with a thunk right in her chest. It served her friend right. “I’m a pretty good chef.”
“No.” Esme tossed the pillow aside. “You are an amazing chef.”
“And I’m not entirely unknown. I won Cordoba’s pie making competition last month.”
“Which was well deserved. You crushed the competition.”
Jan lost the thread of the argument with Esme agreeing with each of her statements.
“Do you realize that you’re also the only woman Alex has ever brought home?” She held up two fingers. “Twice.”
“In a domestic capacity as a chef.”
“Now you’re engaged.” Esme held up her hands in mock protest. “For pretend.”
The queen-to-be leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin on her knuckles. The posture reminded Jan of Esme’s former profession as a kindergarten teacher. This was exactly how she’d look at the kids in her care when they told a tall tale.
Jan opened her mouth. Then closed it. This conversation was hopeless. No matter how many facts she put forth, how much reason she detailed, Esme would always prefer a fairytale retelling over the hard, cold truth every day. So Jan changed tactics.
“How are things with you??
? Jan asked.
Esme’s chin dropped to her chest. Her hands dropped to her lap. She flopped back in her chair and sighed.
“There’s so much to do. I have to choose ladies-in-waiting. Did you realize there’s still such a thing in the modern age? That’s who was in here before you came. I was interviewing grown women—”
“To what?” asked Jan. “Wait on you? Dress you?”
“No, they’re more like personal assistants because being a queen is an actual business, not just a fairytale.”
