Chapter Fourteen: Frosting and Furies

Anastasia Greene Johnson

“You look dreadful, you know that?” Brynn muttered as she took the pizza dough from me and slid it into the oven.

I didn’t need reminding. One look in the mirror that morning had nearly frightened the life out of me. Bloodshot eyes, swollen face, red nose—I looked like I’d spent the night losing a fight with grief.

And, in a way, I had.

Ruslan, my only reason for keeping one foot in this world, was angry with me. He hadn’t spoken to me since yesterday. He hadn’t even let me kiss him goodbye before getting on the school bus.

All because of that ghost of a father.

The thought only fed the fear gnawing away at me. Ruslan was pulling away, exactly as Ethan wanted. Slowly, deliberately, he was driving a wedge between my son and me, stripping away the last bit of stability I had until I was left with nowhere to turn but back to him.

Why Ruslan?

If he’s determined to see me on my knees, ‘he’ can do practically anything to me. So why is he dragging my son into it?

Brynn’s hand landed on my shoulder, pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts. She studied me with a sympathetic frown.

“Ana, I told you yesterday. You need to tell Ruslan now. I know he’s young, but if you keep quiet, that bastard will twist the story before you get the chance. He’ll turn your own son against you. Do you still not see that?”

I sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I know it’s going to be hard. It will be,” Brynn admitted. “But you have to do it, Ana. Otherwise, one day you’ll wake up and it’ll be too late. You don’t want to lose Ruslan too, do you?”

My hands curled into fists.

No. I can’t lose him.

I’ll tell him today. No more excuses. He’s clever. He’ll understand.

I straightened.

“Fine. I’ll tell him.”

Brynn smiled.

“Good. Once things are settled between you two, let me know. I’ll take you to the solicitor.”

I nodded.

“But before that, I need a favour.”

“Anything, babe.”

“Ruslan’s school fees have gone up, and the bills are ridiculous this month. I’ve been thinking about doing overtime for a while, but after Ethan showed up, I dropped the idea. I was scared he’d take Ruslan while I was working.” I hesitated. “But I can’t ignore the money problem. I spoke to Mrs. Stanfield this morning. I’m working late tonight and for the next few days. Could you collect Ruslan from school and stay with him until I finish?”

Brynn stared at me as though I’d just announced I was joining a cult. Then she looked offended.

“Are you serious, Ana? You call that a favour? Have you forgotten I practically babysat Ruslan when you couldn’t find childcare?”

I smiled faintly.

“Well, I thought—”

“Oh, stop. You’re actually offending me now. You’ve started acting like you’re some stranger who needs to make an appointment before asking me for help.”

“No, Brynn, it’s not that. I just didn’t want to interfere with your plans.”

“What plans? Nick isn’t coming until next week. I’m practically rattling around that house by myself. Staying with Ruslan will cure my loneliness, if anything. You should’ve asked sooner.”

I laughed and slipped an arm around her.

“Well, then, you can have him all week.”

She hugged me back with a grin.

“But you’re telling him tonight, right?”

I hesitated.

“I will… if he actually listens.”

__________________________________________________________________________

Brynn had left early in the afternoon to fetch Ruslan as I’d asked. She’d called me a while ago, saying that she was playing cards with him and he was quite happy unlike he was with me yesterday. It hurt me a little but at least he was happy and enjoying the evening even if I wasn’t included in it.

By six in the evening, the restaurant was heaving, as it always was around dinner. In the kitchen, we were constantly darting about with plates, trays and ingredients, barely stopping long enough to breathe.

A particularly lively group of university students had booked a birthday celebration, which had kept everyone on their toes.

When their birthday cake was finally ready—a carefully prepared three-tiered masterpiece made without any allergens that might affect the birthday girl—I felt a flicker of relief. Because the students had been asking about it every five minutes, and I was desperate to get it out before they staged a kitchen rebellion.

Naturally, fate had other ideas.

The cake was enormous, blocking most of my view as I carried it towards the dining area. I was moving as carefully as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, the man walking towards me was paying precisely zero attention. His eyes were glued to his phone.

And he walked straight into me.

I lurched forward, desperately trying to keep the cake upright. Instead, I collided with him, and the universe promptly decided to make matters worse. A silent curse flashed through my mind. I was already bracing myself for the inevitable lecture when I looked up.

And froze.

Alexander Robertson.

Again.

Snow-white frosting was smeared across his face. His sunglasses hung crookedly from his nose, and his mask dangled uselessly from one ear.

He looked like Santa Claus who’d just had the worst day of his life.

Oh, for God’s sake.

What the hell is he doing in the kitchen? Does he not realize we’re constantly running around back here?

There goes any chance of a pay rise. And goodbye to my overtime money.

Please, Mrs. Stanfield, just don’t fire me because of your careless nephew.

Alexander slowly removed his sunglasses, his head bowed as he surveyed himself.

“You…” He seemed momentarily incapable of forming a sentence.

Then he looked at me.

“YOU BLOODY MORON!” His voice thundered through the kitchen.

Every conversation stopped. Every head turned.

I shrank behind the remains of the cake, mortified beneath his glare, while some ridiculous part of me was still worrying about the ruined dessert.

Honestly, Ana. The cake? That’s what you’re worried about?

“Um… I—I’m sorry?” I stammered, fully aware that my apology was about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

I pointed towards the counter.

“There are tissues over there if you want some.”

“Ha!”

His laugh was pure contempt.

“Not even a shred of remorse!” He gestured furiously at his frosting-covered face. “Look at me! Look what you’ve done! Who even hired you if you can’t manage a simple task like carrying a cake?”

That did it.

I stared at him.

This man had walked into me while staring at his phone, ruined a cake we’d spent hours preparing, doubled our workload and somehow decided I was the villain. I’d been prepared to apologize despite it not being my fault.

But now?

Oh, screw this. Celebrity or not, he’s getting a piece of my mind.

I set the cake aside and faced him.

“Well, with all due respect, sir, as far as I remember, you were the one wandering around with your nose buried in your phone. Yet somehow, I’m taking responsibility for the mess you caused. Who exactly do you think is going to remake this cake?”

His expression twisted as though I’d just announced the Queen was baking it herself. Then he gave a disbelieving laugh.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me perfectly, Mr. Celebrity.” I folded my arms. “If you have a problem, speak to Mrs. Stanfield. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I brushed past him, picked up the damaged cake and carried it to the waiting students. I placed it carefully on the table.

“Sorry about the little dent on one side. Someone rather irresponsibly walked into me. I can redo the frosting if you’d like.”

I glanced at the birthday girl.

“And happy birthday, Marcy.”

“Uh… thanks.”

She looked bewildered. So did the rest of them. None of them looked particularly thrilled about the cake anymore. In fact, every pair of eyes seemed fixed on me as though I’d grown a second head.

“Oh… you’re upset about the cake, aren’t you?” I said awkwardly. “My mistake. I’ll grab some fresh frosting and a scraper.”

I hurried back towards the kitchen. Only to nearly collide with Alexander again. This time, he had his friend with him who looked suspiciously close to bursting into laughter.

What are these people doing back here? Is the kitchen suddenly a tourist attraction?

I ignored them, grabbed what I needed and returned to the table.

After smoothing out the frosting, I noticed Alexander and his friend were still hovering nearby, his face remaining an impressive shade of confectionery white.

I grabbed a stack of napkins and walked over.

“Why haven’t you cleaned your face yet? And why are you still back here? You can clearly see we’re busy.”

I held the napkins out to him.

He seemed far too wound up to answer.

“W-well…” His friend stepped in, struggling to suppress a grin. “He was looking for his aunt.”

“Oh. Right.” I nodded. “Mrs. Stanfield doesn’t come into the kitchen much. She’s probably in her office or outside in the courtyard.”

“Oh, well, then. Alex, let’s—”

“Just wait until my aunt hears about this,” Alexander hissed.

The words were delivered like daggers.

Honestly, does he think I’m trembling in my boots?

Everyone had seen the whole thing. And I was pretty sure Mrs. Stanfield wasn’t about to fire me because her celebrity nephew walked into a cake by his own mistake.

If anything, every encounter with Alexander was steadily destroying the decent impression I’d once had of him. Brynn had been right about him.

“I already told you to speak to her if you have a problem, didn’t I?”

I walked past him again to continue my work. But before I could get two steps away, his hand shot out.

He seized my wrist and spun me around with startling force.

Under different circumstances, I might have blushed at my celebrity crush grabbing my hand.

Right now, however, the heat in my face came entirely from anger. His grip was painfully tight, like an iron clamp around my wrist.

“What the heck are you doing?!” I snapped, trying to pull free. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t. Oddly, he’d gone completely silent. His eyes were fixed on my hand with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Then his gaze travelled slowly upwards until it met mine.

There was something strange in his expression. Something almost haunted.

Just as I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, he spoke. His voice had dropped to an unnervingly sombre murmur—

“Who are you?”

• • •