Chapter 3: The Sister Who Stole the Spotlight
The Atlanta Grand Baking Championship was being held at the historic Fairmont Hotel.
By the time I arrived, the lobby was crowded with contestants, photographers, television crews, and guests.
I carried my cake inside a large temperature-controlled box.
My hands were shaking.
Not because I was afraid of the competition.
Because I knew my mother and sister were somewhere inside.
I checked in at the registration desk.
A young assistant looked at my name.
"You're Aaliyah Johnson?""
"Yes.""
She glanced at my cake box.
"I thought your entry had been withdrawn.""
"So did someone else.""
Her expression changed.
"One moment.""
She disappeared behind a partition.
Three minutes later, Camille Brooks appeared.
She was in her late fifties, with silver-streaked hair and a dark blue suit.
The moment she saw me, she smiled.
"You came.""
"I almost didn't.""
Camille placed both hands on my shoulders.
"Your grandmother would be proud.""
My eyes stung.
"Did you really know her?""
"I knew Eleanor better than almost anyone in the baking world. She was stubborn, brilliant, and absolutely incapable of following a recipe exactly.""
I laughed.
"That sounds familiar.""
Camille looked at my cake box.
"May I?""
I opened it.
She leaned forward.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she slowly straightened.
"Good heavens.""
I swallowed.
"Is it okay?""
Camille looked at me.
"Okay? Aaliyah, this is the first time I've seen Eleanor's chocolate garden in almost thirty years.""
She studied the delicate sugar flowers.
"She used to make these by hand.""
"I used her recipe.""
Camille nodded.
"Then make sure you tell the judges that. Your grandmother deserves to have her work remembered.""
A voice interrupted us.
"Well, look who's here.""
I turned.
Tessa stood behind me.
She wore a cream-colored dress, expensive heels, and a white apron embroidered with her name.
My mother stood beside her.
Gloria looked furious.
"What are you doing here?"" she demanded.
"Competing.""
Tessa laughed.
"With that little box?""
I looked at her.
"At least I brought something I made.""
Her smile disappeared.
Gloria stepped closer.
"Aaliyah, we discussed this.""
"No. You informed me that I wasn't allowed to compete.""
"Don't embarrass your sister.""
I glanced at Tessa.
"She seems perfectly capable of embarrassing herself.""
Tessa's face reddened.
Camille cleared her throat.
"Mrs. Johnson, your daughter is a registered contestant. She has every right to participate.""
Gloria turned.
"Do you know what she's doing? She's trying to sabotage her own sister.""
Camille remained calm.
"Actually, I'm interested in hearing how Tessa developed her submitted cake.""
Tessa smiled quickly.
"Of course.""
Camille gestured toward the five-tier masterpiece being wheeled into the display area.
"Tell me about the chocolate roses.""
Tessa brightened.
"I created those using a special molding technique.""
"Interesting. What temperature did you temper the chocolate at?""
Tessa blinked.
"Sorry?""
"The chocolate. What temperature did you use?""
"Well, I don't remember the exact number.""
Camille nodded.
"And the sugar pearls?""
"I bought those.""
"Of course. And the hand-painted gold leaves?""
Tessa looked toward my mother.
Gloria immediately stepped in.
"My daughter has been working very hard. She's nervous.""
Camille didn't look away from Tessa.
"I understand. I'll ask again during the technical interview.""
Then she turned to me.
"Your station is number fourteen.""
I nodded.
"Thank you.""
Tessa grabbed my arm.
"Wait.""
I looked down at her fingers.
She released me.
"You can't do this.""
"Do what?""
"Make me look bad.""
I stared at her.
"I didn't make you steal my cake.""
She lowered her voice.
"Mom said you agreed.""
"Mom lied.""
Tessa glanced around.
"Can we talk privately?""
I almost laughed.
For the first time in years, my sister wanted to talk to me without an audience.
We moved toward a quiet hallway.
She crossed her arms.
"Look, Aaliyah. I know you're upset.""
"That's a start.""
"But you have to understand something. I've already posted the cake. Thousands of people have seen it.""
"Congratulations.""
"If I lose now, everyone will know.""
"Then you should have thought about that before claiming my work.""
She rolled her eyes.
"You always do this.""
"Do what?""
"Make everything about yourself.""
I stared at her.
Then I asked a question I'd never asked before.
"Do you actually think you're better than me?""
Tessa looked offended.
"Of course not.""
"Then why are you pretending you made my cake?""
She looked down.
For a moment, I thought she might apologize.
Instead, she whispered, "Because people listen to me.""
I frowned.
"What?""
"People pay attention when I talk. They like me. They remember me. You can make the most beautiful thing in the world, but nobody cares if you're standing in the background.""
I felt something shift inside me.
There it was.
The truth.
Tessa didn't just want the prize.
She wanted to be the person everyone admired.
Even if she had to take something from me to become that person.
"You could have entered your own cake," I said.
She laughed bitterly.
"I tried.""
My eyebrows rose.
"What?""
"I tried making something. It collapsed.""
I said nothing.
Tessa looked at me.
"I don't have your hands, Aaliyah. I don't have your patience. I don't know how to do what you do.""
For one second, I felt sorry for her.
Then she continued.
"So you should understand why I needed this.""
The sympathy vanished.
"You didn't need my cake. You wanted my achievement without doing the work.""
Tessa's eyes narrowed.
"You're going to destroy my future over a dessert?""
"No.""
I stepped back.
"You're going to destroy your future with your own choices.""
She grabbed my wrist.
"Listen to me. If you tell them the truth, Mom will never forgive you.""
I gently pulled away.
"Then maybe she should learn what forgiveness means.""
I returned to the competition hall.
My station was ready.
A stainless-steel counter.
A refrigerator.
A small induction cooker.
A digital scale.
I carefully unpacked the chocolate garden.
The centerpiece looked beautiful beneath the overhead lights.
I arranged the blackberry decorations and adjusted the sugar flowers.
Then a familiar voice spoke behind me.
"Aaliyah?""
I turned.
A man in a charcoal suit stood beside the station.
He was tall, with warm brown eyes and a small scar near his left eyebrow.
I recognized him immediately.
Daniel Reed.
He was the owner of Reed & Rose Patisserie, one of Atlanta's most respected boutique bakery groups.
He was also the person Camille had mentioned when she called the previous night.
"Mr. Reed?""
He smiled.
"Daniel is fine.""
I shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you.""
"I've been looking forward to this.""
I glanced at my cake.
"Have you seen it?""
"Not yet. But Camille told me Eleanor Johnson's granddaughter was competing.""
I smiled faintly.
"She remembered Grandma.""
Daniel nodded.
"Everyone who worked with her remembers her.""
He studied my station.
"Tell me something, Aaliyah. What do you want to do if you win?""
I looked toward the empty space where my future bakery existed in my imagination.
"Open my own shop.""
"Where?""
"Somewhere in Atlanta.""
"What would you call it?""
"Aaliyah's Sugar House.""
Daniel smiled.
"Good name.""
Then his expression became serious.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you aware that your sister has already approached my company?""
My stomach tightened.
"About what?""
"She told my assistant she was the creator of the five-tier cake and asked whether we would consider representing her.""
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
Daniel lowered his voice.
"There's one more thing. She offered to sell us the rights to the design.""
I stared at him.
"She can't.""
"That's what I told her.""
He glanced toward the stage.
"However, she became very upset when I asked for proof of authorship.""
Before I could answer, a loudspeaker crackled.
"All contestants, please take your positions. The preliminary judging will begin in fifteen minutes.""
Daniel stepped back.
"Good luck, Aaliyah.""
Then he paused.
"And whatever happens today, don't let anyone convince you that your talent belongs to somebody else.""
I watched him walk away.
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from an unfamiliar number.
You need to see what your mother just submitted to the championship organizers.
Attached was a photograph of a signed document.
At the bottom, beneath my mother's signature, was a statement claiming that I had voluntarily gifted my cake design and all associated rights to Tessa.
But the document contained something even worse.
May you like
It included my signature.
And I had never signed it.
