Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars by Samantha Vérant

Author:Samantha Vérant [Vérant, Samantha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-10-19T00:00:00+00:00

The ribbon on the box fell to the floor as I untied it. Although I was going to be working with Séb, I didn’t know this team from Adam. Or Eve, for that matter. Admittedly, the enclosed papers were beautiful and reminiscent of a wedding invitation, not a private party. Set in silver tissue, midnight-blue cards with elegant silver lettering listed the date and the title of the gala, Sous les étoiles, along with the names of the chefs, including mine, and the dishes we’d prepare, complete with an RSVP with boxes to check for the meal choices.

My throat tightened. Amélie’s plat principal of filet of daurade seemed oddly familiar to one I’d created—the one putting me on the map, the one Eric had stolen from under me. I shrugged off the paranoia. She was a three-starred chef and didn’t need to poach recipes from the likes of me. Her dish had to be different. Still, why had Nicolas really chosen me? He’d said it was because he wanted more representation from female chefs making their mark in the culinary world. But he’d peppered this note with a threat, with pressure. I thought coming to Paris was an opportunity, a chance to escape. Something deep in my gut told me I was dead wrong.

I hung up the beautiful green dress Jane had designed, smoothing out the flowing fabric, followed by my chef’s coat. After unpacking, I explored the room, noting the photos on the dresser, including a picture of my mother when she was young, vibrant, and full of life. My grand-mère hadn’t displayed any photos of my mom at the château, the only ones hidden away in her journal. I wondered why she kept them out here. Maybe because she didn’t spend much time in Paris? I hugged the photo to my chest, my heartbeat slowing down and feeling in tune with my mother’s spirit when she was happy.

One day, she’d told me that I was her everything. I’d tucked her into bed after preparing one of my meals to nourish her soul. I now knew what she’d said was true—even on her bad days, when her eyes glazed over from popping too many pills. Before I lost it, I set the photo down, examining the others, some of Rémi and me, our lips stained with the juice of cherries.

My heart sparked. It dawned on me: I missed him. I missed the way he looked at me under those long lashes of his. I missed his caveman-like mentality. I missed his warm body curled up against mine. The way he made me laugh. The fear of failure—not life at the château, I realized—still wrapped its chains around my mind, and I needed to set myself free, trust in other people, and believe in myself and my decisions.

A cough came from the doorway, and I turned to find Séb shuffling his feet.

“Sorry, Chef, I hope I’m not interrupting, but my stomach is speaking to me in hunger Morse code,” said Séb.

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