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The governor also passed his uneaten cake to their youngest daughter before ushering his wife inside. Celia followed, her red lips pressed together in a grim line as she avoided Honor’s gaze. Sympathy edged Shelby’s faint, apologetic smile as she set both plates on the table and brought up the rear.
Honor’s heart sank with a heavy thud. Annnd, goodbye Diamond wedding.
She didn’t even have to look around to know she also wouldn’t be hearing from any of the potential clients she’d talked to tonight. She’d only given out her card if specifically asked, but no doubt they’d all be in the garbage before morning.
Resentment swelled as she fixed her gaze on Roxanna’s profile, but the woman was too busy staring at Asher, biting her lip and looking like she was about to cry.
Like a brother my ass.
She was totally jealous. What other reason would she have for such a public attack?
Loyal stepped forward, his dark eyebrows drawn together over narrowed eyes. “That was uncalled for.”
Yes, it was, thank you.
The tall brunette whipped her head around with an angry glare. “No one asked you.”
“Tough shit. You humiliated Mom and her.” He gestured toward Honor. “I’ll say whatever the hell I want.”
Asher moved between the two, a palm raised toward each of them. “Back off, Loyal.”
Defiance hardened Roxanna’s expression as she spoke in a low voice. “You’ll thank me when they’re together for another twenty years like your grandparents.”
Honor’s eyebrows rose. Did she really think a piece of cake would have the power to break apart two people who’d been together thirty-five years? Her cake? The idea was ludicrous.
“My parents are the exception, not the rule,” Loyal ground out. “For the rest of us, love is nothing more than an illusion that comes and goes.” He jabbed a finger toward the dessert table. “And that is nothing more than cake and frosting, you frickin’ whack job.”
CHAPTER 10
A sher was pissed at Roxanna, but he wasn’t about to let his brother go for her jugular. From the first day he’d introduced the two, Loyal scoffed at her ability to intuit things. After his second failed engagement, he’d been downright hostile toward her. With that last comment, Rox would fight back like a cornered tigress, but underneath her bravado, the wounds would fester deep.
Seeing her furious expression, he knew he needed to stop any more poison-tipped barbs from finding a mark. Not to mention, he’d noticed one of the reporters his dad had invited watching from the sidelines with keen interest.
H
e moved closer to his brother, but spoke to the both of them. “That’s enough you two, especially out here. Let’s take it inside before this becomes even more of a scene than it already is.”
“I’m not going anywhere where he is.” Roxanna whirled around and stalked across the patio.
“Good riddance,” his brother tossed after her back.
Asher clenched his fists as he lowered his arms, then forced his hands to relax. And here he’d have bet Merit would’ve been the one to cause trouble, not these two. Of all the times for them to knock heads.
He shot Loyal a dark look and turned to check on Honor, only to see a flash of her red hair as she slipped through the service doors leading to the kitchen.
Sonofabitch.
“Wow. That was all kinds of fucked up,” Merit said in a low undertone. “You didn’t have to be so hard on Rox.”
Loyal brushed past him for the house.
Aware of the reporter still watching, Asher gave Merit a shove toward the patio doors, then followed both brothers inside. It didn’t take but a second to decide he didn’t want to talk to either of the two idiots, so he threaded his way through the inside guests to the kitchen so he could talk to Honor.
He should probably apologize for Rox’s cake drama, and yet, there had been something in her startled expression—a flash of alarm—that had him wondering if his best friend hadn’t struck a nerve with his sexy neighbor. But how in the world could a wedding cake baker not believe in love?
Roxanna had to have gotten her wires crossed somewhere. Had to have. He couldn’t fall for a woman who didn’t believe in love.
A quick sweep of the kitchen revealed no sign of red hair. He paused near the prep island where he’d sat many Saturday and Sunday mornings as a kid. “Elena, the woman in the burgundy dress—”
