Page 13 of That Prince is Mine
Emma stared at her empty cup as though she could read the tea leaves. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the gift of divination, so she had no idea what the tea leaves were telling her to do. What was she still doing in the café? Why couldn’t she make herself leave? She couldn’t risk Auntie Soo’s chances of signing the YogurtBerry family. And think about how good it would feel to put a down payment on a commercial kitchen space. But even her imagined elation—not to mention her very real guilt—couldn’t force her to her feet.
She’d been late to her matseon because she couldn’t decide what to wear. Then her hair wouldn’t cooperate, and the perfect shade of lip gloss kept evading her. She told herself she was fussing over her appearance because she’d promised Auntie Soo that she would be on her best behavior—not because she’d hoped to see Michel.
She had made up her mind. She’d made the smart choice to not see Michel again. The problem was she did see him—the moment she stepped into the café—and it took an alarming amount of willpower for her to turn away and walk over to her prospective husband candidate, Paul Lim, instead.
While she didn’t feel an immediate connection to Paul—like the connection she’d felt with Michel—Emma tried her hardest to give him and their matseon a real chance. And she was glad she did, because he turned out to be a really nice guy. His very square nails were hardly a distraction. She couldn’t care less about his slightly high-pitched laugh making her ears ring. No. Big. Deal. What mattered was how much they had in common—which turned out to be a lot. Around 60 percent of their conversation consisted of You, too? Me, too!
Then why did she decline his dinner invitation, making excuses about preparing for tomorrow’s lessons? Why was she sitting in the café practicing tasseography? Because… She tilted her cup this way and that, watching the tea dregs shift at the bottom.
Because she should at least tell Michel that she couldn’t see him again. He was the wrong man for the sensible and stable future she envisioned for herself. She could already tell they would hardly have any common background. With Auntie Soo’s reputation and her culinary school on the line, now was not the time to explore their unexpected attraction.
But she owed him an explanation. They were virtual strangers, but it still felt like the right thing to do. And Emma almost always tried to do the right thing.
“May I join you?”
She knew who had spoken even before she raised her head. That voice. That accent. Heavenly butter and sugar.
“Please,” she whispered.
Please? Why couldn’t she have said yes, you may? Or sure? Even yup yup would’ve been better than her breathy please. She’d been avoiding this moment—or had she been looking for reasons to justify it?—but seeing him again felt so good. Which was not good. It was bad how good it felt… how happy it made her.
Michel gracefully lowered himself onto the chair across from her and gave her a breathtaking smile. “I was hoping we’d meet again.”
“Yup yup,” she said. Yeah, she was wrong. Please definitely sounded much better than yup yup.
Emma squeezed her eyes shut. It was her heart. There was something wrong with it. It was doing this weird hiccupping thing—like it did when she watched a rom-com with the perfect ending. Her arteries must be clogged from all the madeleines she’d consumed in the last couple of days. All that sugar and butter could not be healthy for her.
“I’m looking for a husband,” she blurted.
Michel sat up in his chair and stared at her with his mouth hanging open. He caught himself and promptly closed it, but something bright—like hope—lit up his eyes. Hope? She had to be misreading his expression. Why would he look hopeful about her looking for a husband?
“You’re…” He pressed a fist to his lips, but a bark of laughter burst from him. “You’re looking for a husband?”
“Yes.” Mortification washed over her. He wasn’t hopeful. He was amused. What did she think? That he hoped he could be her husband? She felt ashamed of her brief burst of elation. How ridiculous. She would never marry some random man she met at a hotel café. It belied everything the Madame Ddu Method stood for. A common background was the key to a stable relationship. She raised her chin. “What I mean is that I won’t be seeing you again.”
All traces of laughter left his face, and a smooth, impassive mask fell into place. Emma wished he would go back to laughing at her. This polite stranger felt too much like a… stranger. And Michel had never felt like a stranger to her. From the moment he ordered those madeleines for her, his warmth and kindness had drawn her to him. Clearing her dry throat, she raised her cup to her lips, but lowered it remembering it was empty.
Michel’s gaze dropped to her cup. Even though his expression remained stoic, he immediately turned to catch the server’s attention. “Anne.”
She hurried to their table. “What can I get for you folks?”
“Would you like another cup of tea, Emma?” His voice and accent remained exquisite, but it no longer reminded her of sugar and butter. Now it sounded like ice cream that was too frozen to dig a spoon into.
“Yes, please,” she croaked.
“Green tea, right?” The server smiled at Emma’s nod and turned to Michel. “Anything for you?”
His eyes flicked to Emma before he began to shake his head. He wasn’t staying. Of course not. But she wasn’t ready to see him go, so she blurted, “He’ll have the same.”
A slight arch of his brow was the only sign of his surprise as he faced her again. He sat stiffly with his back pressed against his chair as though to create distance between them. At least he didn’t leave.
“Android Hyun Bin chastised me for having a caffeinated drink late in the afternoon.” Emma said the first thing that popped into her head to fill the silence. Even after her refusal to see him again, Michel was considerate and respectful of her needs, unlike said android.
“There’s an android version of the Korean actor?” A confused frown broke through his indifferent mask.
“You know who Hyun Bin is?” Emma blinked like an astounded owl. She hadn’t expected Michel to understand the reference.
“My friend Isabelle is a huge fan of his.” A hint of warmth returned to his eyes.
