Tristan nodded. No shock there. Even Dorian himself looked like it was fated to happen that way. It probably wasn’t going to be one of their more exciting episodes of the season. Not unless the editors put in some real work.
When the accolades died down, the three judges stepped in front of the table.Not good.They clearly had something to say, and Tristan wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear it. There was no way in hell the three of them breaking the flow of the show could begoodnews.At least they’re making things easier on the editors.
Dexter was the one to speak up first. “Before we finish this out, we need to address something that was brought to our attention by one of the competitors.” His voice had no lift or lightness to it; instead it was severe, each syllable landing like a cinderblock. “We wanted to address it now, so that everyone would know what was going on. In case this wasn’t made clear when you all agreed to appear on the show.”
What happened? Someone must have violated some rule.Tristan tried his best to pull up everything they’d been warned off doing, everything that had been in the contract he’d signed before flying out. But without context, his rushing thoughts were a cloud of worries with nothing he could cling to, no anchor.
After what felt like an eternal pause, Dexter continued. “This is a competition to find the best of the bakers and pastry chefs in the United States. We want everyone here competing on their own merits. Some camaraderie and advice is one thing, and it’s admirable. But there’s a point where we have to begin to question whether the work presented is your own, or if it’s more of a collaboration.” He glanced to Rita and Eli on either side of him. “A situation like that, it muddies the waters. Receiving that level of assistance is not the spirit of this competition.”
Do they know about me and Henry? How could they possibly know? Do they have cameras in the hotels? We haven’t been helping each other... but what else could they be talking about?Tristan’s stomach tightened. The judges thought he and Henry weren’t competing fairly. This relationship of theirs, however new and burgeoning it was, had put Tristan’s money at risk.
And without the money to support him and Lucia, would she go back to Robert?
“It’s an unfortunate thing. The person we’ve decided to send home today wasnotthe weakest baker among you today, nor have they been in prior weeks. But this isn’t the sort of issue that we can ignore.” He sighed, shaking his head.
It took everything in Tristan not to glance at Henry. Nothing untoward had happened between them, but who would believe that? If anyone knew he and Henry had been sharing a hotel room, they’d assume the worst.
But goddamn it, somethinghadhappened. Tristan’s mind flicked to the recipe he’d shared. His stomach threatening to launch out of his mouth, but he choked it down and stood as stoic as he could manage.
Dexter nodded once, as though steeling himself, then spoke gently again. “This week, we’ve chosen to send Bertha home. We have fair reason to believe that the recipes you used for your rolls and for the cinnamon raisin loaf weren’t entirely your own.”
Bertha.Tristan’s body slackened as the tension wicked out.Not either of us. Bertha.
She stood at her station, somehow paler and more drawn than usual.
Rita finally spoke up, her face soft as she looked to Bertha. “Do you want to... dispute that?”
She can dispute it. Good. It’s not trial by accusation. We could defend ourselves... because being in a relationship wouldn’t sound bad at all.Tristan glanced finally to Henry, to see if he was panicking. He was staring across the way at Bertha, but that was the only sign that he was at allinterestedin what was happening, let alone concerned.
Bertha stepped up and all the cameras swung around to focus on her. “I—I got some help from... someone.” Her words stuttered off her tongue. “I don’t know if it was too much help, but I suppose I have to trust your judgment on this.”
The whole set was silent, not even a breath breaking the quiet. Bertha was willing to go without a fight. What had she done? Who’d helped her out that much? And who had turned her in?Who do we need to be watching out for?
After a few more beats of silence, Sylvia cleared her throat and waited for a couple of the cameras to focus on her before speaking. “Well... Bertha, I’m sorry, it looks like you’ll be heading home this week. We’re... we’re all sorry to see you go.”
With that, Jacob stepped onto the set. “Okay, then. That’s a wrap.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and slipped his headset off with the other. “Bertha, hate to be a bother, but you’re probably going to have to stay around another day or two. This is going to take some serious cutting and editing to get a good episode out of it.”
She nodded, and slowly the set crept back to life. There wasn’t the big show of cleaving her bread in half. It happened, but it wasn’t the affair it usually was, mingling with all the other action on set. People crowded over to Bertha, offered condolences. A few people came up to give congratulations to Dorian as well. But the whole of the set seemed shaken: the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and everyone in it. It was all a touch off-kilter after... that.
Tristan took off his mic pack, then stepped away from his station and headed toward the table loaded with the round’s offerings. Henry followed shortly behind. He grabbed one of Katherine’s potato rolls and tore into it. He put it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I’ll be damned, she got it to an edible place. They’re not terrible. I wouldn’t buy them myself, but they taste like what she said they were.”
How the hell was he not panicking? Tristan could barely hold himself together.
Henry offered the other half, and Tristan took it despite that less-than-stellar review. It was a soft, flaky bread, aromatic and sharp with garlic and thyme and a good dose of black pepper. Maybe too much for some people, but Tristan could handle twice as much heat as that. “Pretty good.” He wasn’t able to keep up the charade nearly as well as Henry was. “Aren’t you... Didn’t that freak you out? That whole situation with Bertha and competitors working together and—”
“You mean did I shit my pants when I thought they were talking about us? Absolutely.” He kept his voice to a sparse whisper, barely audible with Tristan standing right next to him. “But they weren’t, apparently, and the last thing we’re making time for in that hotel room is helping each other. With baking, anyway.” He smirked and cocked one eyebrow. “I know I didn’t do anything wrong, and I don’t think either of us can afford to focus on what might have happened if reality was different.”
“Well, you’re a hell of a lot calmer than I am.”Which is one more reason to keep him around.Still, Tristan’s whole body was tense and tight, and his brain wouldn’t quiet. Was spending time with him worth the risk?
Henry smiled and nudged Tristan in the side. “If we’re drinking, we should probably fill up on bread at least a little bit so we’re not getting too drunk.”
Were they still drinking? Suddenly it didn’t feel like the right call. Henry might have been cool and collected over the whole thing, but why? How?
Two desires pulled at Tristan. He had to help himself, and help Lucia, but he alsowantedHenry. He wanted to hold on to what had grown between the two of them, but without putting his sister at risk. He needed a path that could balance both options, and he needed it fast.
Only one real option presented itself. Tristan leaned close enough that he could whisper and be heard. “You can swing back up to my room. If you want. We can have our celebratory drinks up there. In private.” He had never gone to that extra step of inviting Henry. He always confirmed that it was okay when Henry asked. But an invitation would keep Henry around, and moving the drinking out of the public eye would hopefully add a layer of protection. It was the cleanest solution he could come up with. “If you want to. No pressure.”
Henry smiled, and the knots in Tristan’s stomach loosened. “I’ll stop by my room to get my cologne and... toothbrush?”
