Page 90 of That Prince is Mine
“Oh, fine. He said…” She snorted. “He said yup.”
“What?” Michel frowned as his cousin and his friend dissolved into laughter. “Yup is adorable.”
And they laughed harder. He didn’t join in this time. He wasn’t that drunk. Maybe he should remedy that. He grabbed the bottle and slugged a mouthful before it was roughly snatched out of his hand. A trail of bourbon dribbled down his chin. How undignified. He withdrew his handkerchief and dabbed at his chin with precise, dignified movements.
“I’m going to text Emma and tell her that you won’t be able to see her tonight,” Sophie announced.
“Don’t tell her I’m dru… drunk.” He shook his finger at his friend.
“What should I tell her, then?” She was already texting, which made him nervous.
“Tell her… tell her that Gabby drugged me.” He nodded at his brilliant idea.
“Gabby?” Gabriel sputtered.
“You’re okay with me saying that you drugged him, though?” Sophie cocked her head to the side.
Gabriel shrugged. “Better than being called Gabby.”
“Let’s compromise. I’ll just tell her the truth.” She read off her text to Emma: “‘Hi, Emma. This is Sophie. Michel won’t be able to see you tonight. Gabriel thought it would be a great idea to pour bourbon down his throat at three in the afternoon.’”
“Okay.” Gabriel shrugged. “That’s fair.”
“Not fair.” Michel pouted. “I want to see Emma tonight.”
“You’ll thank me tomorrow, Your Highness.” Sophie lowered him back into his chair.
“Uh-oh,” Michel whispered to Gabriel. “She called me Your Highness. That means I’m in trouble.”
“God, he really is a mess. Isn’t he?” his cousin said to Sophie, rudely ignoring Michel.
“He is.” She shrugged. “But to be honest, he’s in better shape than he was before you came.”
“Poor chap.” Gabriel affectionately ruffled Michel’s hair, but Michel was too sleepy to slap his hand away. “He’s really torn up about Emma.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to do whatever it takes to hold on to her”—Gabriel hesitated for a moment—“or else he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.”
Sophie was quiet for a very long time. Michel was halfway asleep when she said, “If you regret anything, you should regret not asking me what I wanted instead of deciding what was best for me all by your egotistical self.”
Gabriel sucked in a sharp breath. “Sophie…”
Michel didn’t hear anything else except for the click of the door closing. He had a feeling that there was something very important for him to understand—something Sophie had said. But sleep claimed him before he could understand a thing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The commercial kitchen space was pretty much perfect. Twelve pristine cooking stations with the master station at the head of the class. State-of-the-art flat-screens between every two cooking stations to show any detailed demonstrations. They would come in handy when Emma had to teach her students how to peel and slice dried jujubes, for example—fiddly little suckers.
Opening up her own cooking school had been her dream for as long as she could remember. And it was about to finally come true. Then what was this cold, hollow ache in her chest all about?
“This is wonderful, Mr. Goo.” Her smile felt forced. “I love it.”
“Don’t tell him that,” her dad said, ribbing his friend. “It’s kind of like buying a used car. You can’t tell him you love it.”
“This is why you could never match wits with me, Jae.” Mr. Goo grinned. “The special rate I’m offering Emma is actually a bribe. She’ll owe me one, so she’ll have to agree to open that gungjung yori restaurant with me someday.”
“Still, I wouldn’t sign anything until you’ve had a test run.” Her dad rubbed his jaw. “Let her use the kitchen for a night, Byoung. Maybe she could hold a group class here. What do you think, my dear?”
