Page 2 of That Prince is Mine
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her godmother sniffed loudly, understanding Emma’s unspoken words. “But since you are basically my daughter, the Crones are whispering in people’s ears that they can’t trust a matchmaker who has a spinster daughter.”
“A spinster?” Emma sputtered. Focused on building her business, she hadn’t given relationships much thought. Besides, she had no reason to waste time on something as unreliable as dating, since she’d always assumed her godmother would arrange a good match for her when the time came. But a spinster? “What are we? Living in a Jane Austen novel? No, wait. Are they telling people I’m on the shelf?”
“Be serious, Emma.”
“I am, Imo. My eyes are filled to the brim with seriousness. I’m only twenty-eight.” She threw her hand up, pacing back and forth in her kitchen. The Crones were making her feel like a canned good about to expire. “I’m not close to being a spinster.”
“Of course, my dear,” Auntie Soo readily agreed. “You still have months until you turn twenty-nine.”
She shouldn’t even ask. “What happens when I turn twenty-nine?”
“Then I will have a spinster daughter.”
“Imo,” Emma shrieked, smacking her palm down on the counter. It was just a number. What made twenty-nine so special? Why not thirty-five? Or twenty-seven? Or eighty? What if there were no random number at all to label women as this or that? Was that too much to ask?
“Oh, my poor ear.” Her godmother clicked her tongue. “In my line of work, reputation is everything. Something as inconsequential as having an unwed, twenty-nine-year-old goddaughter could be spun into a personal failure.”
“What about Jeremy oppa?” Emma was breathing so hard she probably looked like a charging bull. And she sure wanted to ram into something. “Your son is thirty-two years old and still single. Why isn’t he your personal failure?”
“Jeremy is busy building his practice—”
“Well, I’m busy building my culinary school,” Emma snapped, then closed her eyes. There was no point in berating her godmother. She wasn’t responsible for the inequities of society, where a woman’s worth hinged on her youth and beauty. “Just say it.”
“And he’s a man,” Auntie Soo said with a resigned sigh. “He has at least two more years until he’s considered an aging bachelor—probably longer since he has an MD.”
“Ugh. Just ugh.” Fuck patriarchy. Emma massaged her temple. “It’s all so ridiculous. The Crones are just going to make themselves look foolish.”
“The problem is I deal mostly with my clients’ mothers, and they tend to have thin ears.”
“Thin ears?” Emma returned the spice jars to their original positions, too agitated to keep still.
“It’s a Korean saying,” her godmother explained. “People with thin ears are easily swayed by what others tell them. They confuse gossip at the grocery store with gospel.”
“So they’ll question your competence just because the Crones say so?” Emma stopped puttering around the kitchen and headed for the stairs. She needed to continue this conversation in private. Her dad was out in the garden for now, but she didn’t want him to come in and overhear something that might cause him to worry.
“I’m afraid they will.” Auntie Soo sighed. “If I lose clients over this, you’ll lose clients as well.”
Emma trudged into her pale sage bedroom, her knees feeling weak. She plopped down on the neatly made bed and smoothed her hand over its simple cream bedding with a mountain of artfully arranged pillows.
She was so close to achieving her dream. If business continued like this for a few more months, she would have enough money saved up for a down payment on a commercial kitchen. She had something special to share with the world. She could help people create moments of warmth, joy, and beauty in their lives.
The house had felt so dark and cold after her mom left, but the simple grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup she had made for dinner had brought a smile to her dad’s face—a smile that had felt like sunshine and hope. Food had the power to do that. She had the power to do that. Her hands curled into fists on her thighs. She wasn’t about to let a group of petty, spiteful women take that away from her.
“Madame Ddu.” She shot to her feet and jutted her chin. She didn’t particularly feel ready, but she’d always intended on having an arranged marriage. Why not now, when it could be so helpful to her and her godmother? Emma had worked too hard to delay her dream any longer. “It’s time for you to make my match.”
CHAPTER TWO
“I don’t understand why you insist on staying at a hotel.” Gabriel glanced around the hotel café, then shrugged his reluctant approval. “Charming café notwithstanding.”
Michel took a sip of his excellent coffee. The hotel was something of a historical monument, built more than a hundred years ago, with rich wood panels, sparkling chandeliers, and a grand double staircase. But the airy, sunlit café that sat beneath the vaulted ceilings of the lobby was the main perk of staying at this hotel.
The café was the perfect place to prepare for his lectures—and put out the occasional fires with the ministers back home—while indulging in some people watching. The hotel bustled with a variety of clientele, from tourists dressed head to toe in Mickey Mouse paraphernalia to businesspeople in somber, dark suits. Michel relished the luxury of being the one to observe others for once.
“There are many things about me you will never understand, my dear cousin,” he drawled.
“Ah, yes,” Gabriel said in a voice that made the Sahara Desert sound humid. “The crown prince of Rouleme is an enigma no one can decipher.”
“Can you say that a little louder in case anyone missed it?” Sarcasm was a talent at which they both excelled, but Michel did feel a trickle of unease as he scanned his vicinity. If his true identity became public knowledge, then he might as well return to his country—to a reality he could not accept. He could bear the weight of the crown, but he wanted someone he loved by his side. Just as his father had his mother… even for a short while.
