Page 1 of Frosted Fakes

Chapter One

Most people love their mothers, some hate them. Julia Richardson worked for hers. Or at least she did until three o'clock one Wednesday afternoon.

"Julia! Where is my Himalayan pink salt? This is a disaster!"

Julia winced and checked the time on her phone. Two fifty-eight. So close. She'd almost made it through another day without a full-scale meltdown.

"It's in the pantry, Mum. Third shelf, behind the—"

"I needed it five minutes ago! Do you have any idea what happens to a reduction when it sits too long?"

Julia did, actually. She'd heard this particular lecture approximately four hundred times. She could probably recite it in her sleep, along with the one about proper knife technique and the one about how the French would never let their sauces suffer like this.

She found the salt exactly where it always was and delivered it to her mother's outstretched hand with the speed of a surgical nurse passing a scalpel. Which, in Julia's fantasy life, was exactly what she'd be doing instead of tracking down artisanal seasonings. She'd be wearing scrubs, not an apron. She'd be saving lives, not salvaging sauces. But that was a dream she kept folded up small and hidden away, like a love letter she was too embarrassed to throw out.

Gabby Richardson stood at the center of her gleaming test kitchen, a diva getting ready to sing her aria. She was fifty-six, and still striking, with dark hair swept back dramatically, cheekbones that could injure anyone that got too close, and an expression that suggested she found the entire world mildly disappointing. Her cookbooks had sold millions. Her television show had run for twelve seasons. Her three children had been raised to continue her culinary dynasty.

Or at least, some of them had.

Two out of three wasn't bad, Julia supposed.

She hadn’t even inherited the cheekbones.

"Your brother rang," Gabby announced, whisking something that smelled incredible. "He's been nominated for another James Beard Award."

"That's wonderful." Julia meant it. Wolfgang was genuinely talented, even if his molecular gastronomy creations looked like science experiments gone wrong. Last Christmas, he'd served them a "deconstructed roast dinner" that had involved foam, gel, and something that smoked ominously when you poked it with a fork.

"And Marcella's new restaurant got its second Michelin star."

"I saw on Insta. I sent her flowers."

"Did you?" Gabby's tone suggested that sending flowers was what people did when they couldn’t think of anything more creative. "How nice."

Julia's phone buzzed in her pocket. A notification from the nursing education channel she followed on YouTube. She'd been halfway through a video about emergency triage procedures when the salt crisis had erupted. Under the counter, she sneaked a glance at the screen. The algorithm had recommended a new video: "Trauma Assessment: The First Five Minutes." Her heart gave a little flutter of longing.

"What are you looking at?"

Julia's hand jerked, nearly fumbling the phone into the soup pot. "Nothing. Just checking your schedule."

Gabby's eyes narrowed. She had a sixth sense for lies, especially her youngest daughter’s lies, which admittedly weren't very good. "You're watching those medical programs again, aren't you?"

"It's educational."

"It's morbid." Gabby turned back to her reduction with a dismissive wave. "And a complete waste of your potential. You were born to work with food, Julia. It's in your blood. Three generations of Richardsons have—"

"—built a culinary empire, I know." Julia had heard this one even more times than the sauce lecture.

"Don't interrupt." Gabby tasted her reduction and made a face that signaled satisfaction. "Speaking of your potential, I've made a decision."

Something cold settled in Julia's stomach. Her mother's "decisions" were rarely good news. The last one had resulted in Julia being volunteered to run a charity gala for three hundred people, during which she'd managed to set fire to an ice sculpture. She still wasn’t entirely sure how that had happened. Something about flambé gone wrong. The insurance company had used words like "unprecedented" and "impressively catastrophic."

"Oh?" She kept her voice carefully neutral.

"You're fired."

Julia’s heart stopped. She blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Fired. From your position as my assistant. Effective immediately." Gabby didn't look up from her whisking. "Don't be dramatic, darling. It's tough love."