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I was a toddler.
Staring at my parents, I wonder how many of those moments were burned into my subconscious. How many years have I spent trying to be good enough for them? How much joy did I give up because they didn’t approve?
Now that they look at me with real pride—or just plain satisfaction—in their gazes, it feels…empty.
I want Fallon’s warmth. I want his breath on my neck as he squeezes me tight. I want his generous laugh and twinkling eyes.
It would mean more to me than the trophy. More than this empty, haughty pride.
“We were just talking to Mr. Franco about your next steps,” my father says, drawing my attention to him.
I frown. “Next steps?”
“Well, officially, the prize is cash,” Bernard says. “Unofficially, I’d like to tell you how impressed I was by your work.” He takes a step closer to me, his eyes burning with intensity.
I resist the urge to take a step back, my eyes darting to the door. Where the hell is Fallon?
“Jen, I was hoping you and I could talk.” Bernard takes my hand, squeezing it meaningfully.
“Talk?”
“Maybe outside?” He nods to the door. “Alone?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Jennifer, darling, don’t be rude.” My mother’s lips pinch, her lipstick gathering in the creases.
I nod, gesturing to the exit.
Bernard keeps a hold on my hand as he drags me outside, then turns to face me. His bright eyes are intent, and he’s standing too close. I take half a step back. “Your parents are remarkable people,” he starts.
“That’s a common opinion,” I answer noncommittally.
“And they have a remarkable daughter.” He closes the distance between us.
If I back up any more, I’ll be up against the wall. Instead, I just clear my throat and glance to the door. “What did you want to talk about?”
Bernard lets out a breath. “Jen, I’ve watched you flourish in this competition, and I wanted to tell you how impressed I was with your work. You have real, raw talent.”
The same words Guillaume used earlier—as if raw talent is something to be plucked from the ground by one of them.
“Thank you.” I nod, fists clenched. He’s standing too close.
“I know you’ve felt something between us.”
My eyes snap to him. “What?”
“We’ve shared moments, Jen.”
“Moments?” What the hell is he talking about?
“Dinners when we spoke about your recipes. The whole room fell away and it was just you and me talking pastry.” He reaches for my hand again as my heart thumps in my ears.
Discussing my recipes with Bernard at dinner? I vaguely remember doing that, but I was more focused on the heat of Fallon’s thigh against mine.
“And you can’t tell me you weren’t giving me looks every time I came to your station during filming.”
“Looks?” I shake my head. “I wasn’t giving you looks.”
