Prologue

Katrina (Kat)

I LOOKED OUT OVER THE sea of pastel designer suitcases that stood erect like soldiers that have seen the cobblestones of Europe, the grass of South America, and the concrete walkways of Asia. Some wore the hint of battle scars more than others with scuff marks, scratches, and dents along their tough exteriors. While others were still brand new, still in its plastic wrap.

I must admit, I tend to obsess over collecting things that I like. My collection of suitcases, travel totes, backpacks, and cosmetics cases took up one entire closet in my large bedroom, which my parents were smart to retrofit for me when we bought the mansion from a tech founder.

My other closet was large enough to house a dresser island in the center with built-in shelves all over and a full-length mirror covering an entire wall. Rows of dresses, coats, tops, pants, and shoes filled the closet with a splash of color. Everything had been organized by color and function.

If I wasn’t my parents’ only child, obligated to go into the family business, I would have become a fashion designer. Who could blame me when my mother and relatives were so fashion obsessed. One look at us, people would think we were the cast straight out of Crazy Rich Asians , the film featuring the uber rich of Asia parading around in garish designer outfits all the time.

Where would I be without my favorite Kate Spade duffle bag and my Tumi backpack? I had traveled the world with my parents visiting our restaurants with them, trusting them to carry my laptop containing all my homework and assignments which I still had to finish while I traveled on business.

The last year of high school was stressful, as I combined school with learning the family business. The restaurant business which my father had turned into an empire, was the family business that extended all over the world.

But now, I was back home in San Francisco, and ready to move to my dorm at a famous culinary institute.

I sighed.

I was told to limit the number of suitcases I packed. There would be limited closet space, they said. So, I had three of them set up on my bed, open and waiting for more articles of clothing, not to mention shoes and personal items. Out of all my suitcases, I picked three. Only three, for the entire year living in a dorm where I will now begin an entirely new life.

“What do you think, Miffy?” I asked my six-year-old pure white Pomeranian. “Is it too much? Do you think I need to cut back?”

Miffy jumped onto the bedroom bench at the foot of my bed, scampered onto the bed and climbed into the largest of my suitcases. “Yap, yap!”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. “Three really is too much. After all, the culinary institute is only an hour away. I can always come back to switch out my wardrobe.”

I went through everything I’d packed and picked out my very favorite outfits, and of course, the shoes that went with each. Soon I was down to a reasonable two large suitcases.

“Thanks,” I said to Miffy. “You’ve talked some logic into me.” I picked her up and hugged her. “Too bad I can’t bring you with me to school.”

“Kat?” Mom called through my bedroom door. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Be right there.”

I looked around my room. Two years earlier, for my sixteenth birthday, I was given the right to completely redecorate my room to my liking. Gone were all the cuddly stuffed animals... well almost all of them. There was no way I was going to get rid of my pink kitty and my big orange tiger.

I’d also torn down the posters of those cute guys in the boy bands that I once loved so much. My walls were now adorned with classic artwork from French, Dutch and Italian artists, but also two works from Yan Pei-Ming, a Chinese/French artist who’d captured my attention with his impressive brush strokes.

Along with the Chinese art, I had a black lacquered pagoda design curio case, complete with steepled top and glass shelves that took up a corner of the sitting area of my room. It was a nod to my heritage. The curio case housed the first Asian figurine I’d bought as a child; a dog sitting on a little girl’s lap. And during my few trips to Singapore, I’d purchased blue and white porcelain vases to house fresh flowers Mom would cut from our garden every week.

I cherished them all; as if every piece held a secret to my past.

“I’m going to miss this room,” I told Miffy.

She yapped in response.

“Yes, yes. Of course I’m going to miss you, too.”

I knew the institute had impressive dorm rooms, but I knew that it would be nothing like this.

My bedroom was large with more than enough room to lounge, relax, do homework and, of course, sleep. Two large windows gave me a magnificent view of the bay with a peek at the Golden Gate Bridge if I leaned to the left and gazed toward the right.

I smiled as I looked around, flooded with warm memories. My room was classic elegance; the room of a mature young woman ready to go off to college... ready to take on the world.

“Katrina!” Mom called from the hall. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

“I just need to get dressed and I’ll be right down.”

I smiled at the sound of my mother’s displeased grunt as she walked away. She was a hard and, at times, harsh, woman. Stepping out of line was never permitted unless there was just cause.

Not wanting to displease her more, I hurried to my large walk-in closet to get dressed. Filled with classic and trendy designer clothes, it was a difficult decision to find the perfect outfit. The night before, I’d carefully picked out three potential outfits for my first day at I.I.C.A.A.; a cream-colored sweater dress, a pair of deep blue slacks paired with a pale-yellow blouse and a Chanel miniskirt and jacket in soft, powdery pink.

On the first day of school and I felt the need to make a good impression. I immediately put the slacks and blouse away; far too mature and sedate. The choice after that was obvious. Pink miniskirt it was.

I quickly got dressed, pulled my long black hair into a ponytail, and slipped into comfy three-inch pink suede boots. The final touch; a brush of pink lip gloss.

Finally ready, I headed down to the breakfast room. I took my time, breathing in every inch of the long hallway, listening carefully to every click of my heels on the wooden steps and reveling in the delicious smells and aroma that guided me to my breakfast.

“You know I don’t like it when you keep me waiting, Kat,” Mom said as I entered the breakfast room.

The early morning sun poured into the room that was already bright with its yellow walls and white furnishings.

“Sorry.” I sat down across from her. I smiled at the maid as she poured me coffee. “Thank you.”

“I know you must be nervous and excited about your first day in college, but that’s no reason to keep me waiting, dear.”

“You’re absolutely right, Mom.”

She smiled and reached for my hand. “That said, I completely understand your excitement, dear. I guess with your father away on business, I find myself having to deal with your departure all by myself.”

“I’ll only be an hour away, Mom.”

“No, sweetie. You will be one long hour away from me. You’ll no longer be here to have breakfast with me and, with your father on the other side of the planet, as he is now, I’ll have to have dinner alone.”

“Isn’t Dad supposed to come back in a day or two?”

She shrugged. “You know how things go when he goes off to ensure his restaurants are running as per his wishes... and you know how he loves Singapore. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if he called to tell me he wanted to extend his stay.”

I laughed at her exaggeration of the situation. No matter how much my father enjoyed Singapore, he would never dare stay longer than necessary.

“Miss Mona,” the cook said as she entered the breakfast room and came to stand by my mother. “This morning I’ve prepared a lovely and savory quiche as well as eggs Benedict, and on the sweet side, we have French toasts with raspberry jam, fluffy pancakes with real maple syrup and a fresh fruit cup.”

“Oh, Dana,” Mom said. “I’m starving and could really go for a big slice of that quiche.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” Dana said. “And for you Miss Katrina?”

“I think a fresh fruit cup is the only thing I can handle this morning.”

“Oh, honey,” Mom said. “You have a big day ahead of you. You really should have something that will fill you more than just fresh fruit.”

“Okay.” I looked up at the young cook who’d been with us for just over four years. With the ability to turn the simplest meal into something spectacular, she had a magic touch that was enviable. “I’ll have one little pancake.”

She nodded and smiled as she walked out.

“My little girl,” Mom said as she looked at me with that nostalgic look she’d been carrying the past few days. “I thought I was ready for this, after all, I’m the one who has always pressed you to go to college. And now that the time has come... well... I am so proud of you, honey, but I do hate to see you go.”

“The day after I leave, you’ll find something to fill your time, Mom. I won’t be too far away.”

“Thank God you chose to go to school nearby, instead of on the East Coast. That would be inconvenient,” Mom said.

“It’s the best culinary school in America,” I said. “And it happens to be closer to home.”

“You’re like your father,” Mom said, “very practical. I was lucky that my daughter was born with a good head on her shoulders.”

I turned to Mom, “Aww, Mom, I just have good genes, thanks to my parents.”

Mom laughed. “We taught you well.”

I laughed with her. It was true, my parents raised me to be respectful and to have social graces. That is the sign of a good upbringing in an Asian household.

A staff member I’d never seen before came in with our breakfasts and set the dishes on the table.

“Thank you,” we both said.

“Look at that quiche,” Mom said as she cut into it with her fork. “Perfect crust. Look at those eggs.” She took a bite. “And the way this girl seasons. Dana does have a way with seasoning.”

“Well,” I said. “You do have a flair for hiring great chefs. Remember when we opened our first restaurant in New Mexico. You found that great woman... what was her name...?”

“Carmen,” Mom said with a nod. “Yes. She did turn out to be quite the prize. Everyone from Santa Fe to Las Cruces was talking about her.”

I chuckled and spooned fresh fruit into my mouth. “So now we have restaurants from Sante Fe to Las Cruces and from Silver City to Ruidoso.”

“Everything to your liking, Mrs. Mona?” Dana said as she came to the table.

“Oh, Dana,” Mom said, putting an affection hand to the woman’s forearm. “It doesn’t get more perfect than that. It is sublime. If you brought me another piece, I dare say, I might just eat it all as well.”

Dana nodded. “It pleases me to hear that.” She looked at me.

“I thought these were peaches,” I said, holding up the spoon with a big orange chunk on it. “But this is mango, isn’t it. Lovely. Really nice with the bananas, pineapple, and coconut.”

“I was hoping to add papaya, but they were all out.”

“It’s perfect as it is. I seriously doubt that I’ll eat this good at the institute.”

“Oh,” Dana said with a chuckle. “I’m sure you exaggerate greatly, Miss Katrina. I hear that the food at the institute is always good. After all, it is the most exclusive culinary academy in the world. How can you go wrong with an academy that was founded by that great celebrity chef.”

“Yes... Chef Errol King.”

“That’s the one,” Dana chimed as she turned on her heel and headed out.

“Errol King?” Mom said after Dana left. “Didn’t you know a young King? Yes... yes... that boy you met at camp one summer. What was that lovely boy’s name?”

“Kobe King,” I said remembering that boy’s face. So adorable. So innocent. So charming with his sweet smile, big blue eyes, and jet-black hair that swept across his face all the time. I could feel the heat of a blush come to my cheeks at the thought of him and hoped Mom wouldn’t notice. Kobe, my first crush. “Yeah. That was a long time ago; a really long time ago back in middle grade.”

“As I remember, you had somewhat of a crush on him,” Mom went on.

“I did not,” I quickly replied. “I mean, he was cute and all... but... we were friends... only friends.”

“Either way, dear. The important thing is that you know someone from the academy. I mean, to know the son of the founder is bound to be helpful.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why would you say that?”

I shrugged remembering Kobe’s criticism of his father. “Mr. Errol King isn’t one to let his boys off easy. If anything, he expects even more of them than anyone else. Kobe often complained about how strict his father was, always coming down hard on them, always putting on the pressure.”

“Well, it’s all irrelevant now, anyhow, right?” Mom said. “I mean, you’re no longer close to Kobe King, are you?”

I nodded, but truth was, after what we experienced that summer at camp, I doubted we would ever be strangers again.