Chapter Three - The De Laurentis Invitation

Wiping her eyes, Amelia stood and walked to the window. She flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed" one last time, her hand lingering on the cool glass. "Thank you," she whispered to the empty bakery. "For everything." As she locked the door behind her, Amelia felt a mix of sadness and excitement. She was leaving behind the familiar comfort of her small-town life, stepping into a world of luxury and high expectations. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and bittersweet all at once. But as she walked down the quiet street, her steps grew more confident. Amelia Hartwell, small-town baker, was about to become Amelia Hartwell, head chef to one of the most influential families in the city. It wasn't the path she had expected, but she was ready to rise to the challenge. With one last glance at "Sweet Escape," Amelia squared her shoulders and looked ahead. A new chapter was beginning, and she was determined to make it just as sweet as the last. Amelia stood before the imposing gates of the De Laurentis mansion, her heart pounding in her chest. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn, and a cool breeze carried the scent of jasmine. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her crisp chef's whites. "You can do this," she whispered to herself, clutching her knife roll tightly. As if sensing her presence, the gates swung open silently. Amelia made her way up the winding driveway, each step bringing her closer to her new life. The mansion loomed before her, its grandeur both inspiring and intimidating. At the entrance, she was met by James, the head butler. His stern face and impeccable posture made Amelia feel instantly self-conscious. "Ms. Hartwell," he said, his voice clipped. "You're early. Good. Follow me to the kitchen." Amelia trailed behind James, trying to take in her surroundings without gawking. The halls were adorned with priceless artwork and antiques, a far cry from the cheerful, mismatched decor of her bakery. As they approached the kitchen, the familiar sounds of clanging pots and sizzling pans reached Amelia's ears. For a moment, she felt a surge of confidence. This, at least, was familiar territory. That confidence wavered as James pushed open the kitchen doors. The space that greeted her was unlike anything she had ever seen. Gleaming stainless steel surfaces stretched as far as the eye could see. State-of-the-art appliances hummed quietly, their displays blinking with information she couldn't begin to decipher. "This is... impressive," Amelia managed, her eyes wide. James raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. I trust you'll find everything to your liking, Ms. Hartwell. The staff has been informed of your arrival. I suggest you begin by familiarizing yourself with the kitchen and the day's menu. Mrs. De Laurentis expects breakfast to be served promptly at 8:30." With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Amelia alone in the cavernous kitchen. She took a deep breath, set down her knife roll, and turned to face her new domain. The kitchen staff, busy with their morning preparations, paused to look at her. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to skepticism, and Amelia felt the weight of their expectations settle on her shoulders. "Good morning, everyone," she said, trying to inject confidence into her voice. "I'm Amelia Hartwell, your new head chef. I'm looking forward to working with all of you." A tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped forward. "Welcome, Chef Hartwell. I'm sous chef Pierre. We've been briefed on your arrival." His tone was polite but reserved. Amelia smiled, grateful for the small courtesy. "Thank you, Pierre. I'd love to get up to speed on the breakfast menu. Could you walk me through what you have planned?" As Pierre began to explain, Amelia's eyes widened. The De Laurentis family's breakfast was more elaborate than most restaurants' dinner service. Fresh-baked croissants, made from scratch each morning. A selection of artisanal jams and preserves. Eggs prepared to each family member's exacting specifications. And that was just the beginning. "Right," Amelia said, her mind racing. "Let's get started." She moved to the nearest workstation, ready to begin on the croissants. But as she reached for what she thought was the mixer, she found herself face-to-face with a machine she'd never seen before. "That's the thermomix, Chef," a young kitchen assistant said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "For the croissant dough, you'll want the Hobart over there." Amelia felt her cheeks flush. "Of course. Thank you." As she made her way to the correct mixer, she could feel the eyes of the staff on her. Their whispers weren't quite quiet enough to escape her notice. "Can you believe Mrs. De Laurentis hired her from a bakery?" "I heard it was just a tiny shop in some backwater town." "How long do you think she'll last?" Gritting her teeth, Amelia focused on the task at hand. The familiar process of making croissant dough helped calm her nerves, even if the scale was much larger than she was used to. As the morning progressed, Amelia found herself constantly out of her depth. The kitchen moved with a precision and speed she struggled to match. Every time she thought she had found her footing, a new challenge arose.