Author's Note: ~ Notice: The update pace on this chapter is beyond shameful. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, but it is absolutely necessary before I go into events of the second film. Fear not! I'm determined to finish this story, readers!

However, I am about to go on a long trip which will leave me with little to no internet access, which will make updating pace even worse. However, I managed to bust this chapter out before I leave and before the upcoming hiatus. By the time I return, I hope to have it finished and ready to post in its entirety. I will have some spare time, just no internet to be able to update. :(

As I said, it should be finished by the time I return from the trip. Hope everyone sticks around to read the rest when I return and post like mad! Thank you, everyone, for reviewing and reading! It truly makes my day! ~ RK

~ Chapter Four ~

It was usually noisy in the kitchen, but it was not as common for one of the wait staff, the chef, and the line cook - specifically the one who served as the pâtissier – to be having a rather loud discussion right in the middle of the kitchen traffic while dishes needed preparing. Nicholas looked up with only his eyes, refusing to lift his head, as he was leaning over a particularly mouthwatering dessert on which he was putting the finishing touches. The very last thing to go on it was the raspberry-merlot reduction. This was a work of art, and like an apprentice under a master painter, Nicholas's proverbial brush strokes were growing more and more sure as he gained more and more practice. He was just about to finish the Blueberry-Raspberry Chocolate Mousse Tart dish when he heard his supervisor's voice directly to his left.

"Mon petit commis." The man was the chef de partie that was training him to become an accomplished pastry chef.

Nicholas had caught his attention when he had been on the other side of the kitchen doors as a customer and, after been disappointed in the dessert he'd been served, had demanded to see the chef and then proceeded to engage him in a verbal debate about the successes and pitfalls in the recipe. It was only when Nicholas had arrogantly declared, "I can make this better," that Guillaume DeCiel issued the challenge to the young student of Cambridge.

'If you can make a better version, you can be my little apprentice in my kitchen.' Nicholas accepted the challenge as formally as a man of ages past being slapped with a glove to the cheek. In only five days the young man did indeed produce a superior version of the dessert, and Guillaume fulfilled his end of his challenge. Nicholas very quickly became Guillaume's favorite student. It was only a little over one week into Nicholas's apprenticeship that they realized they got along quite well. And almost from the first several days of their tentative friendship, Guillaume always called Nicholas by the pet-name, "mon petit commis." My little apprentice.

However, the way Guillaume had just said this playful name to Nicholas was in a tone very different to that which he normally used. Nicholas stopped what he was doing, putting the raspberry-merlot reduction on hold for a moment as he actually looked at Guillaume. When he did, he noticed that the chef and the member of the wait staff stood just behind his supervisor. Suddenly, a dull feeling of dread filled Nicholas.

"Messieurs," he nodded at them, darting his eyes from one to the other. "Chef."

"A customer has demanded to see the chef."

Nicholas was confused and he knew his face clearly indicated it. "But," he began, focusing his attention on the chef himself. "You are the chef, not me."

Guillaume smirked at Nicholas. "This particular customer is as persistent as you and knows what the request usually means. She wants to see the person who actually cooked the dish she received."

Nicholas knew that Guillaume was referring to his demand to see him. Even then, he knew how the request was usually handled. The chef – the head chef – would be the face of responsibility for all things in the kitchen. Each success was his, and so was each failure. It was not common – in fact, it was rare – for the customer to meet the member of the kitchen that actually prepared the dish on which they wished to comment.

But it seemed protocol was being tossed right out like a bad soufflé!

"I understand, monsieur." Nicholas had never gotten this demand. He straightened and set his reduction aside. He took a deep breath, and began to wipe his hands. He hesitated and then went to fully wash his hands. Best be prepared in case the customer had something good to say and tried to shake his hand. It would be less than ideal if he were to shake this person's hand while it was not exactly clean.

"What was the dish?" asked Guillaume.

It was the waiter that responded. "The Mango-Lime Tart with Caramel Rum Sauce."

Guillaume made a noise that Nicholas couldn't quite place – but he thought it could be delight. It was, after all, one of the desserts Nicholas had improved with Guillaume since he began training under the man. He walked back to the group of men as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. He looked at Guillaume, wondering what he should be doing.

The chef spoke first. "Come with me, young man." Then, he pivoted sharply and began to follow the waiter back onto the floor.

Nicholas must have hesitated too long, because he found himself propelled forward by a forceful shove to his back. He glanced behind him and saw Guillaume smirking at him as he took up the reduction intending to finish the Blueberry-Raspberry Chocolate Mousse Tart. "Go on!"

Nicholas jogged only until the kitchen doors before he slowed to a dignified walk. Whether he was to receive praise or cutting remarks, he would face it with dignity and grace.

His resolve shifted only a little as he saw the table that had summoned him. He recognized one of the three women at the table, and their…relationship was a little strained. Her name was Teresa Golden, and she was his former flatmate's sister.

"Henry," Nicholas shouted in his excitement as he burst through the door. Living in England with a fellow Genovian certainly made some things easier. There were no cultural boundaries to work around. They both spoke the same language – both figuratively and literally. "You won't believe it! I start training as a commis in two days! I made a better dish than the chef! Remember how I accepted that challenge? I did it better, so they've agreed to train me. Isn't that—"

He stopped short as he saw Lord Henry Golden cradling a cup of tea from his place in the armchair with an expression that rooted him to his place just as effectively as a glare from his uncle. "You're right, I don't believe it."

With a little more force than necessary, Henry slammed the cup down onto the small table at the side of the armchair and stood, prowling angrily towards his flatmate. "Most people would think it's an honor to date my sister! But I guess you aren't most people, are you? You're a living stereotype of bad nobility!"

Nicholas couldn't deny what Henry was saying. Yes, he had just ended his relationship with Henry's sister, Teresa, almost five hours before returning to their flat. His hope was that she wouldn't come crying to her younger brother about the situation. But considering this now, he should have expected it. They were close after all. "Listen, there was no way that we were going to—"

"I have a title, Nick, and it's 'Lord.' You should use it sometime, Commis Nicholas!" Henry snarled at him.

Nicholas was very tempted to announce that he shared that title with his flatmate, but also knew that there was a more important subject. "Lord, then," he said with a sneer. "Teresa made it clear that she didn't want someone like me. She started to shape me into what she considered the perfect boyfriend and—"

"Don't turn this on her! Maybe if you weren't trying to," he smiled cruelly at Nicholas, "shape your perfect ridiculous dessert and spent a little more time with her then maybe she wouldn't have come to me crying. Because you know what? She said something different than you."

"Oh, really? And what was that?"

Henry's glare intensified. "She said that you told her that you didn't want her because she was a spoiled bitch, who cared more about whether she dated someone of noble birth and high rank than a guy who actually cared about her."

They engaged in a battle of wills silently for a long while.

Nicholas sighed. "I did care about her. But anyone who tells me that what I want to do in my life or what I love about my life is a waste and pointless…" He shrugged. "Then they aren't worth my time, no matter if I care about them or not. I can't date someone I don't respect and who doesn't respect me. And if you needed the real reason why I told your sister that I didn't want her anymore, then that's it."

Henry's expression turned sour. "Fine," he snapped out. "Then, go do your precious cooking. Go play with your food. But I want you to move out of this flat, you got it? I'm not going to have Teresa upset whenever she comes here. I'll give you three days, that's it."

Henry sighed then looked down, his expression almost torn. Nicholas realized that because of his friend's sister he was about to lose one of his best friends that he had here in England. On a different scale, he knew that he was about to lose a supporter in his uncle's plan to take the Genovian Throne. It was a good thing he never told either of them about that. Things could have fallen apart before they'd really got started. But it was still unfair that he was being forced to lose Henry Golden – Lord Golden – all because Nicholas didn't think his older sister would have been a good choice for him as his future Queen. The reason he gave him was very much true, and was the more important reason to him, personally, but he also had to think of his other future – the one that involved him in a throne room and not a kitchen. Whether it was her disapproval of his culinary interests or her unsuitability as Queen, Lady Teresa Golden was simply a poor choice in every way.

"Do—" Henry's voice stopped in his throat. He cleared his throat and then tried again. "You want me to help you find a place?"

"No, Lord Golden, I'm sure I'll be fine."

Henry's face then twisted. "Don't do this, man."

"I thought you wanted to use your title, Lord Golden." He stared at Henry feeling none of the anger he knew he forced his expression to contain. What he really felt was the loss of his friend and the sadness in the manner in which it was occurring. "I'll also have to quit the polo team. She won't have to see me playing on the same team as her brother. She'll move on faster."

"Nick, I'm not saying you have to get out of everything that we—"

"Anyway, I'll be in training for a lot of my time not in classes, so I guess the rugby team is not an option, either."

"Nick, come on. Don't—"

"So, Lord Golden, you can tell Teresa that she won't have to see me again in almost any way, unless it's on the campus. So, I'll get out of the place as fast as possible, even with the three days you so graciously gave me." Then, with a head bow, Nicholas walked toward his room in their flat and began to gather his things. He never saw the sad look that came over Henry Jerome's face as his friend and flatmate walked away.

Two days later, Nicholas knocked on a door he had never seen before, and began to speak as soon as it opened. "When you said, 'in my kitchen,' did…Did that include the one at your home, too?" He offered a hopeful and sad smile.

He was answered with a warm and kind smile. "Oui, mon petit commis. Entrez-vous." The door opened wider, and Nicholas stepped inside.

The three women didn't notice him yet. More importantly, Teresa didn't notice him yet. Each woman was young in years, and they made an interesting combination. A blonde sat in the center. The woman to the right had strawberry-blonde hair, and to the left was Teresa, with her red hair. They were all discussing something amongst themselves, the other girl gesturing enthusiastically before she speared a piece of the tart and eating it, an analytical look on her face. Teresa also hesitantly sampled some of it, a tiny smile appearing on her face as she tasted it. Lastly, the blonde batted their forks away and carefully and meticulously cut away a piece with the side of her fork, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration, before she lifted the small piece she'd cut away and gracefully slid it from her fork by closing her lips around it and pulling the utensil away. Her face was overcome with delight.

It was at that instant that Nicholas realized that what they were discussing between them was his dessert. Finally, their small group stopped at the table. The waiter, the chef, and Nicholas. The waiter announced their presence with a simple cough. "Ladies, the chef."

Teresa looked up and saw Nicholas. He gave her credit for not reacting with much more apparent emotions. However, he didn't miss the gaze flicker to the dessert and then to the fork. He also did not miss the sour look on her face as she reached for her napkin and…wiped her mouth in a way that did not disguise the fact that she did not swallow her last bite. It was as she began to take large sips of her drink that Nicholas's attention was drawn to the strawberry-blonde woman.

"Did you cook this, chef…" She trailed off, clearly asking the chef to supply his name.

"Chef Robert Oaks, miss."

"Chef Oaks," repeated the woman. "Did you cook this?" She nodded at the half-eaten dessert. Nicholas wasn't sure if her reaction was a good or bad one. He was growing more nervous by the moment.

"I developed the original dish, miss, but not the end product you see before you."

"I see," said the woman on the right. "Well, then, who did make this?"

Nicholas felt the gaze of the chef on him. He cleared his throat before speaking. "I did, miss."

The blonde girl's attention went from Chef Oaks to the waiter, and then shifted lastly to Nicholas before her eyes darted down to the dessert smiling shyly. "It's very good," she whispered to the tablecloth. Nicholas immediately found her endearing, and then wondered how she was friends with Teresa Golden.

The woman's voice brought his attention back to her. "Well! I need to say something about it!" Nicholas suddenly wasn't sure what she was about to say by the harsh tone with which she'd just spoken. He hoped she agreed with the blonde. "This was one of the best things I've ever eaten!"

Nicholas smiled. "Thank you."

Then she smiled at him, her white teeth showing that it was genuine. "I just had to meet the person who made this." Then, she turned to the blonde. "You were impressed, weren't you?"

The blonde began to blush fiercely. "Oh, Nyla, please." Her eyes flicked up to Nicholas, who was smiling at her, making her blush brighter. "It was extremely good. Thank you."

The other girl whispered, but making no effort to conceal it. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Then, she faced the group of men again. "She thought it was 'delicious' and then she said that she 'wanted to see the person who made it,' only she's far too shy to do it herself."

Nicholas looked to his side and saw Chef Oaks and the waiter that had accompanied him to the table begin to turn away after quietly excusing themselves. He was alone out here. He looked back at the table's occupants, focusing on the blonde. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, miss…" He trailed off like Nyla had to Chef Oaks, hoping she would take the hint.

She did. "Lady Patterson."

Nicholas allowed surprise for only a moment, before he offered his hand. "Then, thank you, Lady Patterson, for your compliments."

She smiled as she placed her hand into his, her palm down. He knew the gesture very well. "And may I know the name of the chef?" she asked, seemingly embarrassed by taking initiative.

He continued to smile at her. "You already know the name of the chef. However, I'm simply an apprentice right now." He kissed the back of her hand. "My name is Nicholas."

They smiled at each other.

When he left their table, he heard Teresa begin to tell Lady Patterson what a horrible person he was, that he was flirting to try to get a good tip, that he wasn't genuine. By that time, though, he didn't care what she thought anymore. He didn't know how Lady Patterson could possibly be friends with Teresa, but he still found the shy blonde completely endearing.

Most importantly, she enjoyed his cooking.

As the restaurant was closing down and the cooks and wait staff were all leaving to go home, the same waiter that had accompanied him and Chef Oaks to the table approached him with a strange grin on his face. When they were face to face, the waiter held out a small slip of paper. "I think this was for you."

Nicholas took the paper and looked down at it. On it was a phone number, and a few words quickly written. 'Elissa Patterson. Too shy to do it. Helping her out. Call her. ~ Nyla'

Nicholas smiled as he pocketed the paper just before Guillaume came up beside him so they could go back to their flat.

In the end it took him a week to call Lady Elissa Patterson, claiming he was just as shy as she had been.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Nicholas was waiting for Elissa to arrive at the flat so that they could go to their weekly dinner. It was a time to catch each other up on their lives, what they were up to, what their hopes were, and what they enjoyed. They were still getting to know each other, and a restaurant outing was the safest, least threatening way to do just that. But Nicholas still hesitated in mentioning Genovia. He didn't want this friendship ruined by the worst part of him. And whenever Elissa confided anything personal to him, it almost slipped out. But he never told her. Genovia could wait. He simply wanted to be young man having a meal with a young woman. He knew she felt similarly. They both looked forward to their time together. It suited them both, and always put them in good moods.

Except right now, Nicholas was in a very bad mood.

"Uncle, what are you talking about?" He paced the room while holding the phone to his ear. He had gotten back from his last class of the day when his uncle called. He was certain the older man knew his schedule better than he did, if his precise calling times were any indication.

"The way is clear for you, Nicholas."

"What?"

"This morning, I read this! The girl was just left by her boyfriend from America. It was a disastrous and messy argument right in the middle of the streets near her school. He practically announced to all of Genovia that he didn't want to be tied to a life of royalty and not be allowed to do what he truly wanted! Delicious, really, how it all happened."

Nicholas sighed. He was getting tired of discussing Princess Mia with his uncle. The man was borderline obsessed with her. "And that means what to me?"

"After this event I did some investigating and I've found a little bit of information that is our bull's eye!" Nicholas could hear the man shaking in his excitement. "One Genovian Law that's been overlooked for…well, how long isn't important. What is important is that the law states that a princess must marry before she can assume the throne."

Nicholas stopped his pacing. That got his attention. "Are you telling me that—"

"You may not have to have a true fight for the throne. With this breakup, it's practically yours. Once you graduate in…how long now, Nicholas?"

"Three weeks."

"In three weeks when you return home, I'll begin to play this card of ours." Nicholas was about to respond when he heard a knock on the door. He was heading to the door when his uncle continued speaking. "Aren't you pleased by this, Nicholas?"

Nicholas looked out of the window next to the door and saw the identity of his guest. He smiled. "Uncle, I have to go. I'm going to dinner."

He was about to open the door but hesitated at his uncle's next sentence. "Good! If you are seeing someone this will be even better. Returning to Genovia already primed for the throne, marriage, and then an heir to your—"

"Uncle!" snapped Nicholas. "I'm not dating her. We're friends, that's all."

"Make sure it becomes more! Move quickly! You only have three weeks. When you take the crown you'll need a woman to be your queen. Make sure she's pretty, do you understand?"

Nicholas didn't bother responding. He hung up the phone just as he opened the door. "Elissa," he said, his face breaking into a smile, though it wasn't as bright as usual.

"Are you alright, Nicholas?" She tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah," he said. He put the phone down on the nearest surface. "You ready?"

Elissa smiled. "Always ready to try something new to eat. Is it your mission to introduce me to all kinds of new food?" The laugh was clear in her voice.

He could not help but respond to her mood. "Only the good food, Lady Elissa."

She smacked him in the chest with her clutch purse. "Stop it, Nicholas! You know I hate titles!"

He laughed as he offered his arm to her, which she accepted. Soon enough they were off to a new restaurant, new menu options, and another dinner in which they could learn more about each other.

However, during their dinner, Nicholas was lost in thought about what his uncle had said to him. He knew that he should come back to Genovia with someone on his arm, but he'd tried to prepare with Teresa, who was a Genovian and everything!

It was unsurprising to him when she never came to his restaurant after that day that Nyla had asked for Elissa to see the chef. Thankfully, it seemed that Teresa was the one ostracized, and not Elissa. Nyla still came to the restaurant with Elissa when he was working, especially when he told Elissa about a new dessert going on in the kitchen. He always received a little note at the end of the night from them both with their opinions on the latest creation.

Even the staff at the restaurant thought he was dating one of the women. Some thought both. Nicholas didn't bother wasting his time trying to stop the spread of his ladies' man reputation. He knew it would get out throughout the area through word of mouth, but it was simply not worth his effort to combat it. He had other concerns, the biggest was the very one of which he was thinking as he sat at dinner with Elissa that night. Genovia.

He looked at Elissa across from him at the table, who was enjoying her meal with a pleased and graceful manner. Yes, she was pretty. She was elegant. He knew that she was well-educated. She was passionate about her interests. She loved his cooking. She'd quickly become his best friend. She accepted everything about him.

Well, everything he told her, that is. Would she accept this? He looked at her for a long while. He was going to graduate soon, then return home. He couldn't stay in England forever, no matter who he would leave behind. And he did not want to lose Elissa. There was only one thing to do, and it was a terrible risk.

Genovia could not wait any longer.

Nicholas took a long sip from his drink. "Elissa," he began, waiting to continue until her attention was solely on him, hoping her smile would remain after this discussion. He took a deep breath. "Have you ever heard of Genovia?"

Chapter Notes: If my French is poor, please let me know in a PM, thanks. There are a bunch of characters in this chapter that are also in the second film – though I may have stolen their names from the credits list, especially their first names. Those characters aren't mine either. I'm playing with them. (Although the waiter, Chef Oaks, and Guillaume are mine.) Up next – but not until I return from my trip – will be all of the events of the second film.

Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Let me know your thoughts! (If I do not respond to your signed reviews, I have probably already left on my trip and am without internet, so my responses will be severely delayed.) Hang in there, this will be finished! Thank you for reading, everyone! ~ RK