I’m not going to panic. I have nothing to defend. Nothing to feel guilty about.
I put in the hours. I fought my way through some of the most demanding kitchens in the country to get here. I earned my place on this brigade.
I lift my head. Square my shoulders. Draw in a steady breath.
I know my worth. I’ve worked too hard to get here.
I raise my chin, decision made to take control of the moment. “James and I are married.”
This time, there’s pin-drop silence. For a few seconds, the team stares at me. Some of them seem not quite able to digest what I said.
Then as realization dawns, the expressions on their faces shift from incomprehension to surprise, to some of them wearing smirks.
"As of today, Harper is my wife. She’s also my sous chef. She has more than earned her spot. If any of you treat her with disrespect, you’re off the team."
He glances around the room, intent on his face. His jaw is set. His eyes are flinty. No one’s going to mess with what he says. At least, notwhen he’s in the restaurant. And when he isn’t? I’m strong enough to stand up for myself.
There’s silence again. And speculation on most faces. I can almost hear them thinking out loud about what this means for the team. Once again, I decide to take the lead.
"As many of you are aware, James is looking to recruit a head chef for his new restaurant in London."
I look around the team, making sure to meet their eyes.
"My marrying him does not mean he’s going to give that position to me. I wish it were that easy, but it’s not.”
I glance at Mark.
“I’ll compete for the position with external talent. As James’ wife, I expect to be tested twice as hard.”
A couple of people chuckle.
I take a step forward, and James releases me. He must realize I need to face the kitchen on my own terms. I need to redraw the lines yet keep them the same. It’s the only way to keep my dynamic with the team.
"If I get that position, it will be because I outcooked everyone in this room, including the man I married."
Nervous laughter. Then, Mark walks over to us. He holds out his hand. "Congratulations."
I walk into James’penthouse at Hyde Park. It’s my new home.
I’m so exhausted, I can barely put one foot in front of the other. That service, combined with the stress of having to break the news of our marriage to the kitchen—plus, it's my wedding day!— did me in. He ordered us a car to get here, and I half-napped on my way over.
It’s a huge, luxurious space.
For a moment, my curiosity pushes aside the exhaustion that’s been sitting in my bones all day. I step farther inside and slowly turn in a circle, trying to take it all in.
There’sno missing the monochrome severity of the place. Or the size.
It’s massive. At least five times the size of the apartment I technically still share with Briar and Freya.
The scale of it makes me feel oddly small.
Back home, every corner was filled with something familiar. Freya’s books stacked in untidy piles, Briar’s mugs cluttering the counter, the couch that sagged in the middle because we all curled up there too many times.
Here, the air feels different. Still. Quiet.
Too quiet.
Instead of the warm, lived-in comfort of our apartment, James’s place feels almost clinical. Severe. Like the man himself.
