She reached over and drank the last dregs of toddy.
“Speaking of. I believe we both need our beauty sleep if we’re planning on stunning the cameras tomorrow.”
They slid off their stools and left the dark bar.
Charlotte weaved her arm through London’s, leaning slightly on their shoulder as they walked toward the elevators.
“I just hope we all get through tomorrow without Julie assaulting anyone,” Charlotte said as she pressed the silver button on the wall. “You should see your sister when she watches you on this show. I swear, she has turnedChef’s Specialviewing into a full-contact sport.”
London laughed as they stepped inside the elevator, the jittery nerves that were gaining speed in their veins again marginally offset by a hazy warmth.
“Sounds like her.”
The elevator dinged at their mom’s floor.
London smashed her into their chest in a slightly awkward, half-drunken hug before she stepped away from them.
“London?”
Charlotte turned once she’d stepped into the hallway.
London looked down at her expectantly. She smiled.
“You got this, baby.”
And then the doors closed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The set was a mob scene.
Not in the suffocating staging area where London and Lizzie had been waiting for what felt like hours. London could do with some more chaos back here.
But they could see out onto the main floor from a crack in the temporary walls set up around them. Their pulse pounding in their ears, London watched everyone pour in.
The set had been transformed to make way for a live audience. All of the cooking stations had been removed, with the exception of two mega stations for London and Lizzie, which were situated directly across from each other. They’d made the judges’ table even higher and more grandiose, so all three could loom over the cooking process for the entire three-hour cooking period.
And behind the two mega stations, black risers had been installed to seat the family members and former contestants. London watched Ahmed walk in now, talking with Ayesha. With a pinch in their gut, they saw Cath. Jacob. Jeffrey.
London’s eyes scanned around the room. She had to be here soon.
They were ninety-eight percent positive she would be here soon.
Lizzie sat quietly in the opposite corner, as she had been all morning, studying notecards and apparently practicing some type of inner Zen.
Good for fucking her.
London scratched at their neck. The white chef’s jacket that was adorned by contestants only during the Final Face-Off was itchy as hell.
There.
London stopped breathing.
London’s family walked in with Dahlia. Dahlia was laughing with Julie until she saw Barbara, at which point she zoomed across the floor.
A flurry of expletives ran around London’s mind like foul-mouthed bunnies on speed. How was she laughing and smiling with Julie? When had they even been introduced to each other? Holy mother of pearl. She was here. She was smiling. She was wearing a black-and-white-striped top, off the shoulders, and this flouncy black tulle skirt with Chucks, and she looked so hot even from here that London felt like their skin was going to melt off.
With a loud, awkward gasp, air refilled London’s lungs. Lizzie looked up, a quizzical look on her face.
