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  Praise for

  the secret french recipes of sophie valroux

  “Vérant transports us to the enchanting setting of Southern France and the magic of an exquisite French kitchen. This delectable novel is pure escapism through the delicious dishes made by chef Sophie’s expert hands, the romance involving a childhood friend, and the splendor of France. Vérant’s amazing recipes are included as the perfect companion to this tasty debut.”

  —Roselle Lim, author of Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck & Fortune

  “A passion for all things gourmet leaps off the page in Samantha Vérant’s newest novel. Told from the perspective of a determined female chef, set amid a beautiful French backdrop, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux is a delicious tale of self-discovery. Thoroughly enjoyable!”

  —Nicole Meier, author of The Second Chance Supper Club

  “Indulge in the delicious story of a professional chef, spiced with a French château and sweetened with a love story. A charming read.”

  —Janice MacLeod, New York Times bestselling author of Paris Letters and A Paris Year

  “Samantha Vérant brings her love of France and food to this vibrant, gratifying book. The recipes and characters leap off the page, and Vérant deftly appeals to all five senses, as well as the heart. A perfect novel for anyone who enjoys good food and a great tale.”

  —Michelle Gable, New York Times bestselling author of A Paris Apartment and The Summer I Met Jack

  “Told with pep and so-vivid-you-can-taste-it food descriptions, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux is a sumptuous, transporting read from start to finish. What a pleasure to follow Sophie’s journey, one of love, family, and confidence lost—and found—through food.”

  —Jessica Tom, author of Food Whore: A Novel of Dining and Deceit

  “The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux is a scrumptious novel about family, love, and food, layered like the very best dishes, each bite revealing another luscious note. If you love fiction and food, Samantha Vérant serves it up right.”

  —Amy E. Reichert, author of The Coincidence of Coconut Cake

  “I savored every page of The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux. Join a ‘ruined’ chef as she rebuilds her life at an ancestral château, rekindles an old romance, and, of course, labors in the grand kitchens where aspirations are fostered and dreams brought to fruition. With an ear for language, evocative sensory details, and delectable recipes, Samantha Vérant invites us to take our seat at the table and relish a delicious sojourn in the South of France. And just remember: Never trust a skinny chef.”

  —Juliet Blackwell, New York Times bestselling author of The Vineyards of Champagne

  “Featuring an ambitious young chef, an elegant château, and the enduring charm of the French countryside, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux is the perfect escape! Pour yourself a glass of wine, put on a Charles Trenet album, pick up this book, and you’re there.”

  —Ann Mah, USA Today bestselling author of The Lost Vintage

  “Vérant’s sparkling debut novel [and] enticing culinary tale will appeal to romance fans and foodies alike.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Vérant immerses readers in the sounds, smells, and tastes of a professional kitchen, with a cast of sous chefs, old friends, and a gruff but handsome mushroom forager along for the ride. Francophiles and fans of Mary Simses and Roselle Lim will adore Sophie’s journey.”

  —Booklist

  “A great story line, strong writing, plus a handsome French ‘hero’ and lovely descriptions of France make this debut women’s fiction book a sure winner. . . . A charming, feel-good French romance that transports you out of your everyday life and into the heart of France—a delectable read.”

  —The Good Life France

  Berkley Titles by Samantha Vérant

  The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

  Sophie Valroux’s Paris Stars

  BERKLEY

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Samantha Vérant

  Readers Guide © 2021 by Samantha Vérant

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Vérant, Samantha, author.

  Title: Sophie Valroux’s Paris stars / Samantha Vérant.

  Other titles: Paris stars

  Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2021.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020054999 (print) | LCCN 2020055000 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593097748 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593097755 (ebook)

  Classification: LCC PS3622.E7325 S67 2021 (print) | LCC PS3622.E7325 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020054999

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020055000

  First Edition: October 2021

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  Cover photographs: woman by Nisian Hughes/Getty Images; city scene by Julien Fromentin/Getty Images; Eiffel Tower by Rogdy Espinoza Photography/Getty Images

  Book design by Alison Cnockaert, adapted for book by Kelly Brennan

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  contents

  Cover

  Praise for The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

  Titles by Samantha Vérant

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  I: Spring

  Chapter 1: Falling Headfirst Into Spring

  Chapter 2: Father Knows Best

  Chapter 3: Merry Jane

  Chapter 4: Date Night

  Chapter 5: Kitchen Confidence

  Chapter 6: Black Sheep

  Chapter 7: New Hires, Stoked Fires

  Chapter 8: Real or Surreal

  Chapter 9: Planning for Paris

  Chapter 10: Cherry Pits

  II: Summer

  Chapter 11: Fake It Until You Make It

  Chapter 12: L’Héritage

  Chapter 13: Off to the City of Light

  Chapter 14: The Not-Quite Pied-à-Terre

  Chapter 15: Somebody Has a Plan

  Chapter 16: An Indecent Proposal

  Chapter 17: The Gala Surprises

  Chapter 18: Sous les Étoiles

  III: Fall

  Chapter 19: No Taste, No Confusion

  Chapter 20: Knocked Senseless

  Chapter 21: Stumble and Fall

  Chapter 22: W
here There’s Grease, There’s Fire

  Chapter 23: This Makes Sense

  Chapter 24: Love Knots

  Chapter 25: Unwanted Guests

  IV: Winter

  Chapter 26: Hark Hear the Marriage Bells

  Chapter 27: The Stars Are Falling

  Chapter 28: Getting Into the Spirit

  Epilogue: So This Is Life

  Readers Guide

  Sophie’s Recipes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is dedicated to all of the female chefs— in professional kitchens and at home—who are setting the cooking world on fire one glorious meal at a time.

  Author’s note: Champvert is a fictional village inspired by my life in southwestern France.

  I

  spring

  Strawberry Soup

  I started writing poetry very young, when I was four years old. And you know, food is language, and when I express myself it is really to understand what the language is, and to try to extract the emotion out of it.

  —Dominique Crenn, author of Rebel Chef and the first female chef whom Michelin awarded three stars in the United States

  1

  falling headfirst into spring

  FOR THE FIRST time since Grand-mère’s funeral two short weeks ago, contentment, not grief, filled my heart. I sat in the window seat, gazing at the blue sky, reflecting on the changes in my life. My once-soiled reputation in New York had fully recovered and I was now Sophie Valroux, Grand Chef and maîtresse de maison of Château de Champvert in southwestern France, not the saboteur blamed for costing my former employer in New York a Michelin star. I had a new best friend in Phillipa, who kept me more or less balanced when I was feeling out of whack. And I had the love of Rémi, my childhood sweetheart. All amazing transformations in the state of my world—save for the fact that Grand-mère was gone.

  To keep the occasional wave of remorse from pulling me under, I kept myself busy—planning menus and testing recipes. Rule number one: no crying in the kitchen, so that’s where I placed my focus.

  Cooking always helped me to sort out my thoughts and pull myself together. Making Grand-mère’s recipes, like spring lamb with a fresh mint chutney, the aromas of freshness permeating my nostrils, brought a sense of closure, and I felt closer to her. Food brought on nostalgia, all the happy times I’d spent with her. I needed to move on from my grief, dry up those tears, and forge on. We were going to be extraordinarily busy.

  In two days, we’d open the gates of Château de Champvert to the public. The guests would be arriving in swarms, just like the bees in the ruches at the far end of the property, and we were booked solid from the third of May to the end of October—almost filled to capacity until we closed for the season in mid-December. At the very least, Les Libellules (the Dragonflies)—the château’s flagship restaurant, which I ran—closed its doors on Sundays and Mondays, so I would have a bit of time off. Sort of. I knew there would always be some kind of challenge to overcome. But I’d risen up from the ashes of destruction before, and spring was a chance for a new beginning.

  A smile curved across my lips. My gaze shot from the window to Rémi.

  He slept peacefully in my bed, his breath rising and falling in soft whooshes. I wore his button-down shirt and held the collar up to my nose, breathing in his clean, woodsy scent. His left hand patted down the bed as he blindly searched for me. I let out a soft laugh, and his long eyelashes fluttered. He propped himself up on his elbows, the sunlight highlighting his muscular arms.

  “What are you doing way over there? Come back to bed,” he said, squinting.

  I swung one leg down from the ledge slowly and purposefully, swiped my long hair over my shoulder, and smiled. “But shouldn’t you get back to Lola?”

  Rémi glanced at his watch. “She won’t be up for another half hour. Which gives us twenty minutes.”

  “To do what?” I asked, my heart thankful that Laetitia—Lola’s grandmother—looked after his daughter when Rémi snuck out to spend quality time with me.

  “Whatever we want,” he said with a wicked grin. “Get over here, woman.”

  “Did you just call me ‘woman’?”

  “Alors, you are one, and very beautiful at that.” He paused, eyeing me up and down. “My shirt looks good on you. Really good.”

  I jumped off the window seat, ran over to the bed, and threw my body onto his. One of Rémi’s hands cupped the back of my neck, and the other grazed my hip with a soft touch. Our mouths molded together and our breaths became one—hotter and heavier, my legs enveloping his waist. Rémi’s tongue became more courageous, and I sighed as he wrapped his hand around my hair, pulling it lightly and tilting my head back. I loved when he did that—a bit animalistic, but hot nevertheless.

  Our feverish eyes met. His lips brushed against my collarbone. “Do you know how much I want you right now?”

  I knew. “And I want you, too, but—”

  “You still want to wait,” he said, his eyes not leaving mine.

  “I do.”

  Aside from passionate kisses and clinging to each other’s bodies in extremely heated moments like horny teenagers, we hadn’t moved our relationship to a truly physical level. Prior to Rémi, I’d had only one boyfriend, and we didn’t exactly make love. Eric was more like a pile driver and didn’t care about pleasuring me. Plus, he’d cheated on me numerous times, the reason we broke up. At the time, my culinary aspirations were more important to me than the state of my heart, but, looking back, I realized he’d hurt me, made me feel useless as a woman.

  There was no denying the deliciously satisfying chemistry between Rémi and me, but like a chocolate soufflé, the timing needed to be perfect or it would collapse. Having been burnt by a previous relationship, I didn’t want Rémi and me to break apart, and I needed to be ready to fully let myself go. But I adored being wrapped in his arms, and, damn, did I love his kisses.

  “You’re killing me, Sophie,” said Rémi with an exaggerated groan.

  I kissed him lightly on the lips and whispered, “I could think of worse ways to die.”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and flipped me onto my back, straddling me. “Hmmm, slow, painful deaths,” he said, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Burnt at the stake. Drowning. Buried alive—”

  “See,” I said, rubbing my hands across his muscled chest. “You’ve got it pretty good.”

  “I do.” Rémi flopped down beside me and let out a frustrated sigh. “I should get back to Lola before I lose all control. I’ll see you later?”

  “Of course,” I said. “The staff meeting is this morning.”

  “I’d say you could keep my shirt,” he said. “But I really shouldn’t walk around the property half-naked.”

  I slipped his shirt off and he kissed my shoulder. “Je t’aime, Sophie.”

  “Je t’aime aussi.”

  Love. It felt so good to say it, to feel it. I’d never really experienced it before, not like this. With another heavy breath, Rémi scrambled out of bed, and I watched him dress, noting his V-shaped torso and six-pack abs, wondering how in the world I stayed in control.

  I’d already showered and dressed when Phillipa tapped on my door with her signature rat-a-tat-tat woodpecker knock. “I saw Rémi heading over to his house. I figured the coast was clear.”

  “I was hoping for a little me time.” I said with a sigh.

  Phillipa blurted out a laugh as she cracked the door open. “You never have you time. And I’ve barely seen you in two weeks. You’re always with him.”

  “Are you saying you miss me?”

  “I am.”

  “You’ll be sick of me soon,” I said, thinking of how busy the kitchen was going to be. “I’d run while you can.”

  “I’d never get sick of you,” Phillipa said, and ambled into my room, a cheery gri
n lighting her face. She wheeled in a cart with a tray of buttery croissants and coffee in a French press. “It’s a beautiful day. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping—”

  “And you brought me breakfast. Thank you.”

  Phillipa winked. “And you’re about to get a real jolt. The review in World Gourmand Magazine just released. I wanted to be the one to share it with you.”

  “What? When were they even here?”

  “Apparently at the soft opening,” she said.

  A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t take any more bad news. I tried to recall what we’d prepared. The flames of drunken shrimp flambéed in cognac sparked in my memories, which, as I recalled, we served over a terrine of chopped tomatoes, avocado, and strawberries, along with a creamy Parmesan-lemon risotto. Had it been good enough? Or would I be skewered in a review? I didn’t want to know, so I changed the subject.

  I focused on my friend. She usually went au naturel. Today, she’d painted her lips bright pink, and thick mascara coated her lashes. “Phillipa, are you wearing makeup?” I asked.

  “Er, yes,” she said, scrunching her pixie-like nose. “I may be getting in touch with my feminine side.”

  “For somebody? Maybe?” I said, and wiggled my brows.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But I don’t want to jinx it.”

  For once the conversation wasn’t concentrated on château business, the passing away of my grand-mère, or the relationship between Rémi and me. It was nice changing the subject and focusing on something else. “I want details,” I said.

  “And you’ll get them once I know what’s going on. We’ve only had one date. I will tell you one thing, though: she’s a supercute pastry chef.”

  “Ahhhh,” I said, my interest piqued. “And how was it?”

  “No more questions until I know if Marie—”