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“Fame,” Diana repeated softly, still sitting on Ryan’s lap.
It occurred to her that this was a fairy tale, one she’d never expected for herself. She’d dreamed of prestigious kitchens; she’d dreamed of back-breaking work. She’d dreamed of preparation, and fingers scalded from hot water, and knees that ached.
But being a television chef involved a far different approach. And she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into the experience and become better than she’d ever been with Ryan by her side.
That was the kicker, she thought now. The minute Ryan signed the contract, he was bound to her. Their love would become public. And he couldn’t run away, even if he wanted to.
The look in his eyes made her think their love would last forever, anyway. She didn’t have to worry.
Chapter Thirteen
Present Day
It was the first Monday of May. Diana woke up before dawn and went to the basement to run on the treadmill and do thirty-five minutes of Pilates while she listened to podcasts about meditation and emotional healing. All their wisdom went in one ear and out the other. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t felt frantic. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked in the mirror and actually liked—and appreciated—what she saw. (Despite endless dieting and exercising to “look the part” for television.)
But there was only about a month left of filming. The pain would be over soon. And then, she would be forced to deal with the wreckage of what she’d done back in California.
In a sense, she was hiding out right now. She was “finding herself.” She was stitching her broken heart back together.
Breakfast was simple: eggs, vegetables, and a small protein shake. She put no energy or love into the food, so it tasted like nothing. Nothing but fuel for the day ahead.
For a very long time, Diana had prided herself on putting just a touch of love in everything she made. “You have to make time for it,” she and Ryan had always reminded one another. “You have to remind yourself of life's beautiful, tiny moments. Otherwise, what’s it all for? Money? Ha!”
They’d been naive.
Diana got to the restaurant at eight that morning to find Frank, the restaurant owner, and the producer, Henry, chatting at the bar over cups of coffee.
“There’s our star,” Henry said, clapping her on the shoulder as she passed. “We have some news for you.”
Diana had been around the block enough to know that news wasn’t always a good thing. “Oh?”
“Channing Tatum and his fiancée are coming in tonight,” he explained. “They can’t wait to taste Diana March’s tremendous cuisine!”
Diana tried not to roll her eyes. Bringing in celebrities was the oldest trick in the book regarding television ratings. But more than that, having celebrities around made the kitchen jittery and apt to make mistakes. It would be a difficult day.
“That’s great,” she said because she had to go along with everything Henry wanted. “When are they getting here?”
“Their reservation is at eight,” Frank said. “Channing said he’s dined with Ryan before.”
Diana couldn’t remember. Enough celebrities had sought Ryan out over the years. They’d been drawn to his charisma and his clear intellect. They couldn’t know that Diana was the real creative in the kitchen. They couldn’t know that Ryan had stolen ninety percent of her ideas, pretending they were his own—reminding her that he was the charismatic one, the one to “Trojan Horse” her ideas in a better package. It had been for the good of the show and their ratings. And because Diana had loved him (and still did, in so many ways), she’d believed him. She’d thought every decision he’d made over the years had been right.
And she’d broken her own heart in the process. Over and over again.
As Diana headed toward her office, she found Rachelle already at the counter, slicing mushrooms and humming to herself. Rachelle was a professional, quick and precise and always on time. Diana thanked her lucky stars that Rachelle was here in this kitchen rather than running around the world, trying to squeeze as much as she could from her career. Diana needed her.
“Morning, Rachelle.”
Rachelle started and turned around to give Diana an enormous smile. Diana did a double take. Something about her eyes was off, as though Rachelle was elsewhere this morning.
“Morning, Diana! How was your Sunday?”
Diana thought back to yesterday when she’d walked the beach and listened to podcasts and eaten yogurt while she’d read. She hadn’t said a single word to anyone but herself.
“It was very relaxing. And yours?”
Rachelle practically melted. “It was so good. Amazing, actually.”
Diana frowned, trying to read Rachelle’s expression. She recognized something in it. Something that reminded her of something. But it was as though she was speaking a language Diana no longer fully understood.
