A beautiful hot mess of paperwork and promises.
Just us, the kids, Spencer as best man, and my girls—Rochelle and Cadence—as my only witnesses. J and Oliver had been ring bearers, matching little suits and faces so serious as they walked down the courthouse aisle.
I didn’t know how she found out, but Mrs. Patterson had showed up to the courthouse ceremony and holding a small white bakery box tied with gold ribbon.
Inside was an angel food cake.
She wore a cream suit, and her hair was no longer pressed and curled into that perfect church-lady coif. She’d done the big chop. It was now a soft halo of gray-streaked natural curls framing her face.
For the first time, she looked free.
When she hugged me, she whispered, “I didn’t see it before, but that man is a keeper.”
Then she pressed the cake into Dominic’s hands. “Every celebration needs something sweet that doesn’t kill you.”
I laughed, half in shock, half in awe. I didn’t think she would ever understand what that moment meant—seeing the woman who’d once judgingly watched my pain from her window now show up to bless my peace.
It felt like the universe itself had come full circle.
I'd cried through my vows.
That quick marriage was reckless, rushed, and probably the best decision I'd ever made.
(We still didn’t eat that angel food cake. It went right in the trash after she left.)
“Let the book club meeting begin!” I opened the door to find Rochelle and Cadence on the porch, both carrying wine bottles and wearing matching grins.
"Bitch!" Ro pushed past me, locs swinging, and gold hoops catching the light. "Every time I pull up to this place, I feel like I should have a passport. You really living in a damn palace now."
Cadence followed, more measured but her eyes were wide. "Tey, I'm still not over this. Last time I was here for the wedding reception, I was too emotional to appreciate the architecture. But this is. . .epic level design."
"I know." I laughed, closing the door. "Trust me, I still get lost sometimes. Last week I opened what I thought was an extra supply closet downstairs and found an entire library."
"A library?" Cadence's face lit up like I'd just told her Christmas came twice this year.
"With a rolling ladder," I confirmed. "Dominic said his mom used to read there. He's been teaching J how to use it without breaking their neck."
We moved through the marble foyer—because yes, there was a foyer—and into the dining room.
Ro stopped dead in the doorway. "Oh my God. The menus. Tey, I'm keeping mine. I'm framing this shit."
Cadence picked hers up, read over it, and then looked at me. "Did you write these?"
"Matilda did," I smirked. "She's been reading the book too. Said it reminded her of her one youthful summer in Ibiza."
"Matilda has a past?" Ro gasped dramatically. "I need to know everything."
As if summoned by her name, Matilda glided in with a tray. Two martini glasses for them, and one tall, elegant champagne flute for me.
"Ladies," she said in that crisp accent. "Your poolside refreshments. Dirty martini, just as dirty and dangerous as our hero, Diego."
I caught Matilda's eye and she gave me the subtlest nod. The nonalcoholic champagne looked identical to the real thing—bubbles, golden color, the works.
We'd practiced this earlier, making sure my friends wouldn't notice.
Ro accepted her martini with both hands. "Matilda, you are a goddess. A sexy, martini-making goddess."
The tiniest smile cracked Matilda's professional mask. "Quite. I'll return shortly with the first course—jalapeño poppers, in honor of Diego's heritage and the spicy nature of chapter seven."
