Chapter 14 Cade #3
“You are,” Ansel replies around a bite, the wine obviously making his tongue loose.
I like it. I fucking love this bratty side of him.
“You have an amazing meal cooked by an amazing chef, and you won’t eat it.
You’ve done nothing but complain all fucking night.
That’s ungrateful and rude, if you ask me. ”
I bite back a laugh, and so does everyone else, barring Wylder, who seems to be trying to defuse the situation, murmuring in low tones to Candace.
Dalton smirks down the table. “Can I marry Ansel?”
Ansel chokes on a bite of his fish. I glare at Dalton warningly. He just winks. Fucker.
Ansel’s mine. I don’t share.
Thankfully though, Ansel’s snark soothed Samson’s rising temper, because the tapping of the dagger under the table stops and my grumpy brother proceeds to eat. And the rest of dinner continues on as best it can, everyone raving about the main meal while Candace stares angrily at my boyfriend.
I try to ignore it. Ansel certainly is. He’s not bothered at all.
Wish I could say the same. I tolerate it though, for Wylder’s sake.
We all behave ourselves until dessert. That’s when the tether of civility seems to snap. We’ve held it together far too long, the string tightening with each minute until it gave up the ghost.
It’s the tarte tatin that does it.
Jules brings it out with a flourish, making Ansel clap his hands as it’s set before us. I grin at the easy joy he displays. When was the last time I was that excited over something as simple as dessert?
“A work of art,” Harley drawls, directing his gaze to Candace, daring her to say anything to the contrary.
She peers at the dessert and sips her water. “Apples? Seriously? How passé. I think you need a new chef, Matthias. This one is obviously not up to par.”
It’s quiet for a second. You can almost touch the silence, the weight of it hanging over us.
Then Harley explodes.
His chair hits the floor with a resounding bang as he leaps to his feet. His palms smack into the table as he glares at Candace. “Say one more word, bitch, and I’ll slice you open like the fucking apple pie!”
Jules gasps, a hand fluttering over his chest. “Harley, it’s more than apple pie, it’s tarte tatin.”
Harley mumbles an apology, but doesn’t take his gaze off Candace. He’s watching her like the predator he is, waiting to strike.
“I mean it, Wylder,” he says softly. Too softly. I stiffen alongside the rest of my brothers. As much as we hate Candace, it’ll upset Wylder if we let Harley gut her. “If I have to hear this cunt criticize Jules’s food one more time, I’m going to go nuclear.”
“Seems you already have,” Candace says coldly. “I was under the impression you were raised to behave better than this.”
All of us freeze, even Wylder. He’s staring at Candace like he’s never seen her before.
Harley slams his hands down on the table once more. Forks rattle and a cup falls over, spilling water on the wood. “Trust me, I’m acting exactly as I was raised.”
Wylder is apparently at his limit. “Candace, perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private.”
Ansel watches it all with wide eyes, and I bring the tarte over to him and give him a slice.
“This is like dramatic theater,” he whispers as he takes a bite, eyes rolling back in his head. “Fuck, this is so good. You should try some.”
As Harley continues to shout at Candace to shut up, Dalton slow-clapping as he does so, Ansel pushes a bite into my mouth. Flavor explodes on my tongue. Jules really outdid himself on this one. I mean, really, this is fantastic.
Across the table, I see Samson lean forward, the tapping under the table growing louder as Harley fumes. I brace myself to intervene, noting Matthias and Wylder doing the same. Much as we hate Candace, we can’t let our siblings murder her.
If Wylder was pissed about the rug, just think how mad he’d be about his girlfriend’s blood staining the table. We’d never hear the end of it.
Harley is standing now, his face puce. “You come into our house, eat our food—”
“I hardly ate,” Candace retorts. “Maybe if the chef had done a better job of catering to all his guests…”
“I’m gonna pull out your teeth one by one.”
She only sneers at him.
“Hey, hey.” Ansel waves his hand, clearly feeling the second glass of wine. “Sit down. Just chill.”
Harley turns his glower on Ansel. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
That gets my hackles up. I don’t bother to pull out my dagger. I’m dangerous enough without it. “Listen to him, Harley. And don’t speak to my boyfriend that way or so fucking help me…”
Harley exhales slowly and nods. He offers Ansel a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Ansel. I’m just so fucking mad.”
“No problem,” Ansel replies, slicing Harley a bit of the tarte. “Eat this, it will make you feel better. Your chef outdid himself.”
Said chef is now leaning against the wall, staring at Harley. His arms are folded over his chest as he intently watches my youngest brother.
Can’t he see that Harley’s obsessed with him? After tonight’s little display, I’m not sure he can miss it.
Harley takes a bite begrudgingly. His bad mood seems to evaporate instantly as he gives a little sigh. Against the wall, Jules grins.
“And why does he get the respect? Ansel is a nobody,” Candace says, loud enough for us to hear. “You don’t stand up for me like that, Wylder. Honestly, it’s ridiculous. I’ve been with you for two years.”
“Two years too long,” Samson grunts out. Dalton tries to cover his laugh with a cough.
Candace either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him. “You and your brothers and your chef have been nothing less than rude to me. Honestly, I don’t know why I stay.”
Wylder’s stroking his chin as he studies her. He’s listening, that much is obvious…but I don’t think she’s going to get the reaction she thinks she is.
My eldest brother is like a slumbering volcano. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s peaceful. Quiet. Content to let everyone walk all over him.
But then there’s that other one percent. When the pressure builds and builds, demanding to be released.
Everyone runs then.
I can tell Wylder is nearing that point right now. He’s put up with a lot from Candace, but attacking us this openly? His family?
He’s going to explode.
I try to defuse the tension by laughing softly. Honestly, the whole situation is ridiculous if you think about it.
Candace hears and latches on to it, her eyes narrowing at me.
“Your brothers are nothing more than rogue heathens. You are the most immature men I’ve ever met.
Especially you, Cade, with your fucking nineties music.
Seriously, do you not realize how dumb it makes you look?
You’re just a child. It’s no wonder you’ve made it well into your thirties without a serious relationship.
It won’t be long before Ansel realizes what you’re really like—then he’ll leave, too. ”
A whoosh of breath leaves me as her barb hits home.
Samson’s knife slams down on the top of the table, and Harley jumps up again, ready to fight. Even Dalton and Matthias have shoved their chairs back slightly.
Wylder has gone an odd shade of reddish purple. “Candace, you have crossed a fucking line.”
Noise breaks out around us, voices competing to be heard. I ignore them all. There’s only one reaction I care about.
But Ansel doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He’s not looking at her, or even me, just calmly finishing his slice. One slow forkful at a time. Once he’s done, he reaches over and grabs another, right in his hand.
Humming to himself, he stands up, his chair scraping noisily over the wooden floor. We all fall silent, watching him as he strolls around the table. Well, not all of us.
Candace is still talking. Her voice has risen to a screech now. She hasn’t noticed Ansel approaching.
Or stopping right beside her.
There’s a collective gasp as we realize what’s about to happen a split second before it does.
Ansel takes the slice of tarte and shoves it right into her face. I hear it connect.
Sploosh.
There’s a moment of stunned silence. From the corner of my eye, I can see the delight on Harley’s face, and the moon eyes Dalton is making at my boyfriend.
He can fuck off. There’s only one person who will be marrying Ansel, and it’s going to be me.
Ansel doesn’t stop there either, merrily rubbing it into her skin, making her sticky with apple and caramel. Her artfully applied makeup is now smeared all across her cheeks.
She looks like The Scream painting, all brown and red and purple in the face.
Wylder’s lips twitch in amusement. He’s not going to explode, not now.
But he’s not going to let Candace get away with this either. She’s been dancing along a line for months now. Tonight, she crossed it.
“I—” Her mouth opens and closes, bits of the dessert falling down her immaculate dress. “I—”
Ansel licks his fingers. “Don’t ever insult my boyfriend again, or I’ll go for your hair next.”
With that, he strides back over to me and grabs my face. Forcing me to look at him, he kisses me roughly. “Come on, take me upstairs, boyfriend. I’m a fucking mess.”