Beggars Can’t Be Choosers

Emma~

When a woman of this family turns eighteen, not only are they expected to take on more responsibility, but they are finally at an age where they are allowed to date.

I’d been counting the days until my birthday, wondering hopelessly what it would be like to have someone walk into my life and live up to the stories I’ve read about in my books. But here we are, five years later and I’m still none the wiser.

It’s hard not to lose hope. Almost all of the others my age in our family are married by now and with twenty-four right around the corner, I’m starting to give up hope. At first, every time we had a visitor from one of my father’s business deals or parties in the summer, I would jump at the chance, hoping to find someone that would sweep me off my feet, but it never happened.

My older brother, Owen, is more than happy with that fact, encouraging it even, and has gone as far as to start threatening anyone who shows interest in me of late. But he’s lucky the feeling never seems to be mutual.

Thank goodness it hasn’t happened recently though, the larger the suspense the more protective he gets and I don’t even think my book characters would be good enough for him.

But that’s not to say that I haven’t received one or two offers in the past, it’s just that we never seem to click. Maybe my expectations are too high, or maybe I don’t understand what it’s actually meant to be like, you know, meeting someone naturally. As all I do know for sure is that it wasn’t right and I couldn’t go through with it.

With so much spare time on my hands, I’ve been able to develop my skills in the kitchen and really invest in a culinary education. My father has been very supportive (probably because my late mother had a similar passion too) and has let me gradually take over the management of the kitchen the more confident I’ve become, which is no small feat when considering the mouths we have to feed.

I live at home with my family, and by family, I don’t just mean my blood. There’s a large group of us that live here, people that work alongside my father and those partnered with them. I can’t say that I know exactly what they do, but from the hushed voices in offices and long business trips without contact, I find that it’s best not to ask if I don’t want to ruffle feathers.

Every time I’ve dared in the past, I seem to have the same canned response thrown back at me in reply. “I’m a businessman, Emma, now run along will you?”

It’s the only time my father ever seems to get frustrated with me, and as I got older and started to realize the potential danger in all of the secrecy, I’ve eventually got too scared to know. After my mother died, losing anyone else is too much to even think about, so I bury my head in the sand, even if it’s the coward’s way out.

“Emma!” The voice of my father booms behind me and I jump up from the stove I was bent over.

I’m attempting to shape “Happy Birthday” in caramel ahead of a birthday next week as I know that this particular sweet treat is Trina’s all-time favorite.

“Yes, Papa?” I bow my head for a second in frustration before accepting the fact that I’ll need to start again now that my concentration is blown.

Caramel might not be rocket science, but I’d like to see NASA try and nail this in between batching meals for thirty hungry mouths all hours of the day.

“We have guests coming unexpectedly tomorrow, a potential client. I’d like to make a strong impression and expect nothing but the best, will you have enough time for fifteen?”

My mouth falls open. Dinner tomorrow night for a client and thirteen others? The last time he trusted me enough to have one visit I had two weeks’ notice and a test run, never mind the fact that Betty the housekeeper is currently ill and I’ve been helping out where I can.

“Yes, Papa. I will place an order right away and start preparing now.”

I mean, what else can I say? He’s my father and what he says goes. After all that he’s done to get me here, I’d sooner die than risk disappointing him.

“I’ll have the others come in to help with what you need.” He turns to go before pausing for a second as if needing to add something, and he does. “Oh and Emma? Spare no expense. It’s important we come across as strong tomorrow.”

He leaves as swiftly as he came and I’ve never seen him so anxious over a meal before, never mind so formal. He tends to come down here to sneak cake while chatting to me about my studies, not saying things like ‘expecting nothing but the best’. Who are these people to work him up so much?

I realize these thoughts aren’t very productive and shake them from my mind. I need all the time I can get to start sketching out this meal so that I can get my order in for what we don’t have in the pantry.

Spare no expense. Yeah, he really shouldn’t have said that. I’ve been dying for an excuse to add to my truffle oil stash for a while now and what screams ‘nothing but the best’ more than that? Caviar? It’s far too cliché and to be honest I’ve never really been a fan.

Given the opportunity to put on something special, I’m going to wow my diners with the crème de la crème of my capabilities. But what’s always frustrated me with high-end food is that you can go hungry right after eating it most of the time. My personal approach and the one I’ll be going with tomorrow is to keep up with high-end ingredients and presentation but to mix it with hearty foods as well. I want them to feel full, but in the seventh heaven all at the same time.

Now that I think I have some sort of plan, I can start my ritual of cleaning the whole kitchen. I need to start with a blank canvas when doing something like this as it’s easy for all the pots and pans to pile up on me as I go. It also gives me a chance to reflect on my meals and what equipment will be best to prepare it.

I just hope to all that is good in this world that I can actually pull this off.