The Black Wife Effect

Chapter 1

Olivia

The kitchen of Le Petit Chou is a whirlwind of activity. Pots clang, knives chop, and orders fly as fast as the plates leaving the pass. I'm in my element, but tonight's pushing my limits. After wiping the sweat off my forehead, I adjust my low bun, making sure every last curly strand is held back by the hair clip.

"Table seven's complaining about the coq au vin again," Jake, one of the servers, announces as he breezes by.

I grit my teeth. "What now?"

"Says it's too dry."

"Impossible," I mutter, wiping my station down with a rag. "I'll handle it." I turn to my sous chef, Marco. "Take over here. I need to deal with seven."

He nods, seamlessly sliding into my spot. I grab a spoon and head out to the dining room, my chef's coat a stark white against the warm, amber lighting.

As I approach table seven, I plaster on my most charming smile. "Good evening, I'm Chef Olivia. I understand there's an issue with your coq au vin?"

The man at the table, all pomp and self-importance in his tailored suit, barely looks up. "It's dry. Inedible, really."

I lean in, examining the dish. The sauce glistens, rich and velvety. "Sir, if I may?" 

I don't wait for permission, scooping up a bite. The flavors explode on my tongue - perfectly tender chicken, the wine sauce deep and complex.

"I assure you, the dish is prepared to our exacting standards. However, if it's not to your liking, I'd be happy to prepare something else for you."

He huffs, clearly not used to being contradicted. "Fine. I'll have the beef bourguignon."

"Excellent choice. I'll have that out to you shortly."

Back in the kitchen, I bark out orders, my team moving like a well-oiled machine. We push through the rest of service, a blur of sizzling pans and plated masterpieces.

As the last customer leaves, I slump against the prep table, exhaustion settling into my bones. "Great job, everyone. Let's clean up and get out of here."

An hour later, I'm fumbling with my keys outside my apartment door. Inside, the scent of old books and spices wraps around me like a familiar hug. Cookbooks line every available surface, post-it notes sticking out at odd angles. My tiny kitchen beckons, a siren call I can't resist even after a grueling shift.

I pull out a notebook, flipping to a fresh page. "Alright, Olivia," I mutter to myself. "Let's see what you've got."

I raid my fridge and pantry, pulling out an eclectic mix of ingredients. Lemongrass, gochujang, preserved lemons, and more.

I'm in the zone, whisking together the concoction when a familiar knock at the door breaks my concentration.

"It's open!" I yell, not bothering to look up from my bowl.

Sofia breezes in, her arms laden with bags. "Girl, you would not believe the day I've had. I swear, if one more customer asks me if our tacos are gluten-free, I'm gonna—" She stops short, sniffing the air. Then, she stares at me with a perked brow. "What in the world are you making?"

I grin, holding up my whisk. "No idea yet. Wanna be my guinea pig?"

"Always." She laughs, dropping her bags and joining me in the kitchen. "So, what's the inspiration this time?"

"Flavor Fusion," I say, my voice catching a little. "I keep thinking about it, you know? Like, what if I could actually make it happen?"

Sofia hops onto the counter, swiping a taste from my bowl. Her eyes widen. "Damn, Liv. This is... interesting. In a good way! It's like a punch to the taste buds, but make it fancy."

I can't help but beam at her reaction. "That's what I'm going for. Something unexpected, but still approachable."

We spend the next hour cooking and chatting, the kitchen filling with the aroma of spices and sizzling meat. As we sit down to eat, Sofia fixes me with a knowing look.

"Alright, spill. What's really going on in that chef brain of yours?"

I push my food around the plate, suddenly feeling less hungry. "It's just... opening a restaurant is such a huge risk. What if I'm not ready? What if people hate my food?"

Sofia reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "Hey, look at me. You're Olivia freaking Howard. Your food is amazing, and you know it. People are gonna love Flavor Fusion."

"But what if they don't?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. "What if I pour everything into this and it fails? I'd lose everything."

"Or," Sofia counters, holding up a finger. "You could be passing up the chance of a lifetime. You've got the talent, Liv. The rest? We'll figure it out together."

I'm about to respond when my eye catches a white envelope peeking out from under a stack of cookbooks. My stomach drops as I recognize the logo. "Shit," I mutter, reaching for it.

"What's wrong?" Sofia asks, concern etching her features.

I tear open the envelope, my eyes scanning the contents. "It's my student loan statement. The payments are going up again."

Sofia winces. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that Flavor Fusion might have to stay a dream for a while longer." I sigh, tossing the bill aside. "God, I wish I could just break free from Le Petit Chou, you know? Start fresh, on my own terms."

Sofia's eyes suddenly light up, like she's just had the most brilliant idea in the history of brilliant ideas. She grabs her phone, furiously scrolling through something.

"Liv, listen to this," she says, practically bouncing in her seat. "What if I told you there's a way to solve all your financial problems and potentially kickstart Flavor Fusion?"

I raise an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. "I'm listening."

"Okay, so get this." Sofia leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's this ad I stumbled upon. It's for a marriage of convenience."

I nearly choke on my drink. "A what now?"

"Just hear me out!" She waves her hands excitedly. "It's not just any marriage of convenience. The guy's a billionaire tech mogul!"

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn't come, I burst out laughing. "Sofia, you can't be serious. That's… that's insane!"

"Is it, though?" She counters, her expression dead serious. "Think about it. You marry this guy, get a sweet prenup, and boom! Instant financial security. You could open Flavor Fusion tomorrow if you wanted to."

I shake my head, still laughing. "And what does this mystery billionaire get out of it?"

Sofia shrugs. "Who knows? Tax breaks? Arm candy for fancy events? The point is, it could solve all your problems."

"All my problems except for being married to a complete stranger," I point out.

"Details, details." Sofia waves dismissively. "Come on, Liv. Where's your sense of adventure?"

I get up, pacing the small kitchen. "My sense of adventure doesn't extend to marrying random rich guys off the internet. I mean, what if he's a serial killer? You've been listening to all those true crime podcasts, haven't you? Isn't this just a huge red flag?"

Sofia follows me, phone in hand. "At least look at the ad. What have you got to lose?"

I sigh, knowing she won't let this go. "Fine. Show me."

She hands me the phone, and I start reading. Despite myself, I feel a flicker of curiosity. The ad is surprisingly well-written, almost... enticing? Lord help me, I’m really thinking it over.

"It does sound intriguing," I admit reluctantly.

Sofia grins triumphantly. "I knew you'd see it my way. Come on, what's the worst that could happen?"

I laugh, handing her back the phone. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I end up chopped into little pieces?"

"Always the optimist." Sofia rolls her eyes. "Seriously, though. Think about it. This could be your ticket out of Le Petit Chou and into your own restaurant."

I bite my lip, considering. I'm actually considering this shit. "…This is fucking insane."

Sofia claps her hands together. "That's the spirit! Now, let's draft your response."

"Whoa, slow down there." I hold up my hands. "I didn't say I was going to do it."

"But you're thinking about it." She grins, knowing she's got me. "Come on, Liv. Take a chance. What's the worst that could happen? And don't say serial killer shit."

I stare at the phone in Sofia's hand, my mind racing. The idea is absolutely ridiculous in every single way. I mean, come on. A billionaire tech mogul needing a wife?

But then again, so was the idea of becoming a chef when everyone told me to pursue a 'real' career.

"You know what? Screw it," I say, snatching the phone from Sofia. "Let's do this."

Sofia's eyes widen. "Wait, seriously? You're actually going to respond?"

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart hammers in my chest. "Why not? Like you said, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, I mean, there's identity theft, organ harvesting, human trafficking..." Sofia ticks off on her fingers.

I shoot her a look. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence. Weren't you the one pushing me to do this?"

She grins, unabashed. "Just keeping you on your toes, girl. Now, let's craft a response that'll knock this billionaire's socks off."

We huddle over the phone, brainstorming ideas. After several drafts—and a glass of wine each—we finally have something we're both happy with.

"Okay, here goes nothing," I say, my finger hovering over the send button. "Last chance to talk me out of this insanity."

Sofia mimes zipping her lips. "Not a word from me. This is all you, Liv."

I take a deep breath and hit send. The message whooshes away. Swallowing hard, I start to wonder whether I just made a big mistake… or if I'm actually taking a step to change the trajectory of my life.

Who knows? Not me, that's for damn sure. But at least the wine is making me feel a bit better about the whole thing, as crazy as it is. Maybe I’ll forget about this whole thing in the morning.