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I had other plans.
As soon as this farce was done and I smiled for all the pictures and congratulated my best friend on the biggest mistake of his life, I would find her.
That brunette would be crying my name before sun up.
CHAPTER THREE: NATALEE
I found the one.
I knew it from the moment I saw the perfectly crafted fondant. Before my fork even sliced through the beautiful exterior, I knew it would be perfectly proportioned, nothing like the other bakeries where I got a mouthful of overly sweet icing and crumbs of dry cake. It was slightly out of our budget, which was why Maurice’s was the last stop on our list. Usually, I was the partner who nickel and dimed to make sure we stayed on track, but Scott had been vigilant over the past month as we made our final arrangements, confirming cancellation and refund policies like he planned on returning everything, from his custom tux to the flowers. But we’d both agreed that since desserts was my area of expertise, he’d give me some reign to make the final decision.
As the first bite sailed toward my lips, I knew that I’d cut back somewhere else if I had to.
My lips wrapped around the fork and I drew the morsel inside, moaning before it even touched my tongue. I knew that Scott was probably rolling his eyes because mine were closed, savoring this moment and giving it all away.
I’d agreed that I’d leave any future car negotiations to him because of his killer poker face. A few months ago, I’d sabotaged his haggling agenda when I saw the sedan of my dreams. Before I even took the car for a test drive, I turned to the salesman with dollar signs gleaming in his eyes and asked, ‘where do we sign?’.
Apparently, I couldn’t be trusted to play my cards close to the chest when it came to wedding cakes, either.
Everything about the bite - the moistness, the flavor, the texture - made my taste buds sing. I swallowed and let my eyes flutter, slowly pulling me from nirvana, ready to see a similar reaction as my fiancé took his first bite as well.
But the cake wasn’t even on Scott’s radar, because he was too busy staring at his cell phone screen.
Not just staring.
My stomach did a backflip and definitely didn’t stick the landing, because he was enraptured, with a smile on his face that I knew well.
It was his mischievous smile. That white hot curve that made me bite my lip and press my knees together because he flashed it when we were in public and he was dangerously close to doing something naughty, like stroking my thigh beneath the table.
It had been months since he’d flashed that smile at me, and the moment I cleared my throat, it disappeared. He quickly put his phone to sleep, avoiding my burning glare.
That smile wasn’t for me.
The crazy girlfriend voice ran laps in my head, screaming questions I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. So I dabbed my mouth with my napkin, lingering until I could pull off a believable grin that let him off the hook.
“I know work is busy-”
“My bad, babe,” he rejoined the conversation, popping a bite in his mouth and flashing me a half-hearted thumbs up. “It’s delicious!”
As we wrapped up the tasting and he looked antsy to get out of there (or have a moment alone to do whatever it was he’d been doing), the baker pulled me aside with a reassuring chuckle. “Don’t take it personal, I see so many couples and the groom is always on his phone, checking the score or counting the minutes until he can blow this joint.”
I laughed with her, pretending like he was just like all those other men who preferred to coast through the wedding prep.
But I knew Scott.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was coasting thorough it all because deep down, he didn’t want to marry me.
*
I couldn’t stop smiling because my cupcakes were slaying.
There was so much to see and experience at the Mitchell reception, because Jessie Stone didn’t half ass on anything. The reception had been billed as a ‘Walk Through Love’. The moment the guests stepped off of the yacht and arrived at the private beach that was our oasis for the evening and into the wee hours of the morning, we were transported through Scott and Denise’s fairytale romance.
We were treated to the full regalia of an Indian wedding the minute our feet touched the sand. The intoxicating lure of incense filled the air as festive drums and singing weaved in and out as dancers performed a number in multicolored saris. Apparently, the bride and groom’s first date was at an Indian restaurant. Servers handed out delicacies that the elite guests picked at, taking microscopic bites and gushing about how fresh and authentic everything was.
Then they were taken to a tent, the sheer drapes letting in starlight as a DJ spun top 40 hits, complete with the lyrics emblazoned on a big screen for those who’d had enough to drink and were bold enough to try their hand at karaoke. Denise had shared one of her favorite memories, when she’d first said I love you after Scott belted out “...Baby One More Time” when they went out for karaoke in the city.
The main event was a carefully curated ballroom that Tamara had jokingly said reminded her of Beauty and the Beast with gilded tables and an expansive dance floor, complete with life size photos of the happy couple visiting castles in Europe, one of which Scott had chosen to pop the question.
