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He and Lucia exchange a look, and I’d feel horribly left out if it wasn’t for how troubled they both look.
“All right,” she says with a sigh. “Let’s try the lemon one next.”
I divvy this one up for all of us. I like this flavor the best out of all of them, and I nod my approval. “You should get this one. Not too sweet, but not too boring either.”
Angel scoffs at me. “It’smywedding, not yours. I want something nuttier.”
I gape at him. “It isn’t your wedding!”
“Shh!” Lucia hisses sharply. “The door isn’t even closed, Saint.”
I fall silent, but I’m still annoyed by the implication that it could ever behiswedding to Lucia.
“Hummingbird,” she says after a moment. “That’s some weird Southern cake, isn’t it?”
“Try it,” Angel suggests. “But I like the pistachio. Maybe with a nut crumble.”
I make a face at the hummingbird cake but take a bite. “Pineapple and bananas,” I say doubtfully. “Pass.”
None of us like the cake, and we all make a strange face.
“We should get this just to annoy… my dad,” Angel says, but Lucia shakes her head. “Y’know, Nico had a fucking boring vanilla cake with vanilla cream? It looked nice on the outside, but the inside was the blandest shit ever. I think Maria picked it, too. She’s always liked the bland, boring things. Makes me wonder why she ever married my brother.”
I don’t have as many strong memories of Nico as Angel does, but from what I remember, Nico was a forceful personality. Victor respected him greatly for how he just got things done. Definitely not aboringperson.
Maybe Maria didn’t have much of a choice in marrying Nico.
I don’t mention that to Angel.
“We don’t want to annoy… your dad,” I say, cutting up the cupcake labeled ‘amaretto cream.’ “Not yet. So let’s not get hummingbird, and let’s also not get the bland vanilla.” I pass everybody their slices.
The single bite is enough to convince me. “This one. This is what I’m having at my wedding,” I tell them both. “Fuck, that’s good. Do you think Katie has more sitting around? I want to take a piece of this back to Victor. Or maybe just eat it myself on the way back.”
Lucia nods. “I like it. I think your dad will, too,” she says without missing a beat. “It’s elegant. I know Miranda sent a few sample designs that go with the decor to her, so we shouldn’t have to worry about that part.”
“Yeah, this is good,” Angel says. “And technically nutty, right? Amaretto’s made of almonds.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I definitely want this cake at my wedding.”
Which won’t be to Lucia, I remind myself.
We finish off the rest of the samples, but the amaretto is the standout winner. Lucia pulls herself together enough to let Katie know, and even secures more amaretto cream cupcakes to go.
“You can take half of these back to Victor,” Lucia says, handing me the box. Katie has a confused expression on her face, but I have no desire to explain who Victor is.
Lucia, on the other hand, seems to be in a better mood. “Victor is his boyfriend,” she clarifies. “Saint’s hoping Victor will propose.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva. “Lucia!” I hiss. I hear Angel snickering behind me.
Katie smiles knowingly at that. “Well, if he does, just mention Ms. Bellini’s wedding when you’re doing the booking and we’ll give you a nice discount.” She pauses, then laughs. “Hopefully you’ll give us more than three weeks’ notice, though.”
I can’t even imagine how much Pavone is paying to get this cake done in less than a month.
Mortified, I only nod, but I shoot a look at Lucia. She smiles back at me, and it loosens something inside of me. She’s feeling better, enough to where she’s making jokes—even if they’re at my expense. That’s so much more preferable to how she’d been acting when they’d first arrived.
We exchange goodbyes and leave, Lucia and I each carrying a small box of cupcakes, but I’m not ready to be finished just yet. There’s still more to talk about, more we couldn’t say in even a semi-private setting. “Is there somewhere we can go?” I ask Angel.
He looks at his phone to check the time and casts his gaze around the street. It’s the middle of the day on a weekday, so the area isn’t as crowded as it might have been in the evening or on the weekend, but there are still a decent number of pedestrians and cars about. I don’t spot anybody obviously watching us, but Angel’s better at that sort of thing.
Finally, he nods. “Yeah. We told Rossi we’d be back by four. We can stay out for another hour.”
