The Anatomy of Jane by Amelia Lefay Page B

had to get into culinary school, and if you think secondary schools have bullies, wow, culinary people were cutthroat. If you even touched another student’s knives, there were fights. People sabotaging other people’s dishes, people sleeping with instructors, men or women, they didn’t care. It was just to get by. I didn’t understand at first. Then I remembered I was in fucking France. The country is renowned for its food. They don’t just let anyone be a chef. You need to be cocky, ruthless, and bold. In other words, you truly need to believe you were a god in the kitchen in order to make it.”
    “You are cocky, ruthless, and bold. Okay, cocky and bold I can see, but ruthless?” She giggled, drinking some more.
    “You’ve never stepped into my kitchen. I make Maxwell look like a little puppy.” I winked at her and took a sip of wine.
    “So you made it,” she said, sounding so proud of me that I felt even prouder of myself.
    “Yeah, I made it. I wanted to be a chef. I wanted to be in Chef Dieudonné’s kitchen. When you find a passion for something, it’s amazing how tough you can be. I think back to all those beatings I took, and I realized I never fought back as hard as I could have because I didn’t care enough to. School wasn’t my passion. I enjoyed reading fiction but that was about it. The people there meant nothing to me. I visited home, hugged my mums, and then joined the culinary school. Two and a half years later, I graduated and had offers to join kitchens all over the country.”
    “So you got to go to Chef Dieudonné?”
    “I wish. He died the second year I was there. He left me his knives though. It’s a huge honor. Even I didn’t know why, but his sous-chef told me that the chef had seen me when I had started. He said Chef Dieudonné told him I’d be a chef to look out for one day. I never looked back after that.”
    “You are lucky,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ears. “I wish I could find a passion like that.”
    “I’m sure you’re good at something and just don’t realize it,” I said, moving closer to her.
    We were silent for a while and I watched as her hazel eyes looked over each of the tattoos on my chest. Taking her hand, I put it on the side of my ribs where there was another tattoo.
    “This”—I let her hands glide down the Chinese lettering—“means ‘be who you really are’, or at least I hope it does. I was drunk when I got it.”
    She giggled and it was a melodic sound. Moving her hand to my chest, I took a deep breath. “This is for Charlie.” I moved her hand to my shoulder. “This is because my mum, Brenda, would always put a dream catcher over my bed, and it made me feel better.
    Gliding her hand down my arm, I stopped at the constellation. “This is for the first man I ever truly loved: Maxwell. A hot-blooded Aries.”
    She looked up at me. Her eyes were full of amusement, and I had no idea why until she said, “ I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good? ”
    “In my defense, I was a nerd who grew up in England. Loving Harry Potter is a given.”
    I loved hearing her laugh. Reaching up, I brushed her hair back, my thumb softly rubbing her cheek.
    “Don’t look at me, I’m ugly.”
    That hurt. How? How can she think that?
    “I’ve seen ugly people. I’ve seen pretty people who think they aren’t ugly. Jane Chapman, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”
    “You can’t like two people equally,” she whispered as I leaned into her.
    “Watch me.” I wanted to kiss her lips, and I was sure she wanted me to, but instead I kissed her forehead.
    “Door open,” said the automated door, and we both turned and watched as Maxwell came inside. His blue eyes looked between the both of us.
    In a flash, she was on her feet, giving him a quick ‘hi’ before running up the stairs and back into her room.
    He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he walked into the kitchen. “I think she just might like you more than she likes