I had parties to fall back on and a long list of contacts willing to help me forget what it was like to have someone care about me, someone who liked me because I was me.
I picked up my cache of personalities and dove back into a dark, depressing world that would show me the real meaning of rock bottom. Glitz and glam and money and parties and all the other beautiful nothings that filled up those years of my life came with a price—a price I had to pay with my soul.
I thought I was broken before… I had no clue. I thought I was wrecked and ruined and lost… I learned quickly that those words had sharp, lethal teeth and when aptly applied, sunk into flesh until they found bone. And then they did not let go. They left me bloody and broken and… alone.
Eventually Ezra came back, only this time he brought cooking with him. Not just food and good meals, but the art of it. The business of it.
And he saved me a second time.
I’d stolen more of him then. Out of necessity this time. Out of the need to cushion my survival and paint a picture of my reality that was something other than the truth.
I’d been desperate for purpose by this point. Greedy for anything that wouldn’t make me feel so… empty. So very wrong.
Violated.
When Ezra introduced me to cooking—real, heartfelt, blood and guts cooking—I absorbed everything he offered. It wasn’t mine to begin with, but somehow, surrounded by fire and heat and spice, I found myself.
In the middle of a kitchen, covered in sweat and grease, I discovered who I was.
It was the greatest gift Ezra could have ever given to me. It was a gift I couldn’t even explain to him without confessing the mismatched, messed up rest of me, and even then he would only ever see the surface. Of me. He would only ever see my mistakes. He would stop seeing the pretty sister he loved so dearly and find the ugly, distorted train wreck instead.
I kept those puzzle pieces hidden, even while I let cooking refine my soul—even while the heat healed me and the fire fed life back into my battered body. And I adopted one last personality to soften all the other hard edges. I became the girl that pretended everything was always fine and fun and wonderful. I created a second skin that seemed normal. And I decided to wear it for the rest of my life.
Ezra owned restaurants, so I got a culinary degree to work for him. It seemed consistent with this new personality. I knew it made logical sense to him. I knew I would never be able to explain all the intricate reasons for falling in love with food, but I also knew I wouldn’t have to. I came from a food family. Food was my present. Food would always be my future.
And most of the time, I loved working for my brother.
But he’d gone too far this time.
Way too fucking far.
“This is too much,” I whispered, struggling to breathe through the panic. My made-up personality was already slipping, but I was too flabbergasted to care.
My brother smiled at me from across the host stand of his most notorious restaurant, Bianca. “Happy birthday, Dillon.”
“You’re not serious.” I whispered the words, hoping he would mistake them for surprise instead of the hissing viper I felt rising inside me. My birthday was two weeks ago. We’d already celebrated number twenty-seven. He’d given me a Joule sous vide for my apartment. This had to be a joke.
His grin widened—a rare and unusual sight to see him so happy. “I am. Serious.”
“Ezra, I can’t possibly—”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he rushed to say. “But you’re a perfect fit for this kitchen. And the staff here has been running the place on their own for over a year. They’re here to help you make the transition.”
“I’m barely out of school. I haven’t even been at Lilou for two years yet.” The growly edge of my voice didn’t dissuade him at all. If anything, his eyes got that glint in them that told me he wasn’t going to back down. Not now. Not ever. I swallowed the lump in my throat put there by dread, frustration, and large amounts of fear. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about running this restaurant. I thought you wanted to save her? Not run her into the ground!”
“You’re not going to run her into the ground,” he countered patiently.
“Fine. I’ll do something worse. Set her on fire. Blow her up. Send her to the freaking moon.” Hysteria clawed up my throat and jumped out of my mouth. “Ezra, I’m not qualified for this restaurant! Are you crazy?”
His smile finally fell, revealing his signature frown. “Dillon, are you? This is an opportunity of a lifetime.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah, an opportunity to watch my career go up in flames. And I’ll never forgive you if you fire me. Which is bound to happen, since I’m not qualified for this job. And then we’ll be estranged. Do you want to be estranged?”
“You’ll do fine—”
“I’m not a good enough chef for Bianca, Ezra. I don’t want her. At least not yet.”
His eyebrows scrunched together in defeat. “I can’t wait any longer. Bianca needs a leader. And I want you. If I give her to someone else, they won’t only stand-in. I’ll find the best chef I can get my hands on. If you don’t take her now, she might never be yours.”
