Chapter Four #2
"I might be able to help you, actually," Dixie said. "I have some experience with sugar work. If you'd let me try."
Ruby's eyes flicked to me, then back to Dixie, assessing. Pearl looked up from her towel-wringing.
"Experience?" Ruby's voice was sharp. "This isn't a birthday cake, honey. This is a five-tier wedding cake for Kendall Blanchette."
Dixie didn't flinch. She walked to the nearest tray of sugar flowers and picked one up, turning it carefully between her fingers. The petals were translucent as tissue paper.
"These are exquisite," she said quietly. "Hand-pulled petals, gum paste, dusted with pearl powder. My grandmother used to make flowers like these." She set it down gently. "She taught me on Sunday afternoons when I was a kid. I haven't done anything like this in years, but I remember."
Ruby and Pearl exchanged a look.
"Please," Ruby said, already pulling an apron from a hook. "We're running out of time."
For the next hour, I leaned against the counter and let myself get lost watching her work.
She started carefully, testing the piping bags, learning how the delicate flowers responded to pressure. Ruby and Pearl hovered at first, but within minutes they relaxed—the three of them falling into a rhythm like they'd been doing this together for years.
Her hands were steady. She worked like nothing else existed, placing each flower with care, building them into a waterfall of pink and white down the tiers. The piping bag moved smoothly, creating delicate vines and scrollwork that caught the light.
And I stood there thinking: this is who she is. Not the woman I was paying to smile at my family. This—the way she stilled when she worked, the way she couldn't hide the pride when a line of piping came out clean. This was Dixie Lane. And I'd almost walked right past it.
"Remarkable," Pearl whispered, watching Dixie add a delicate curl of icing. "Just remarkable."
The cake transformed. Dixie stepped back, studying it from every angle, then added final touches—small pearls, subtle gold details, a dusting of shimmer that made everything glow.
When she finally set down the piping bag, all three of us stared.
"That's beautiful," I said.
"Young man, you have a gift for understatement," Ruby said, eyes bright. Then she looked at the cake and dabbed at her eyes. "That's the most gorgeous wedding cake we've ever made."
"You did all the hard work," Dixie said, looking away.
"You're remarkably talented, dear," Pearl said. "Would you mind giving us your number? We'd love to talk with you about... well, perhaps we should discuss it later."
Ruby pulled out a business card. "Call us Monday."
Before we helped them transport the cake, Ruby cut a sliver from the back of the bottom tier—hidden from view by the cascade of flowers Dixie had placed—and held out two small forks.
"Here. You two need to try this. It's the almond champagne layer."
The cake was light, impossibly sweet without being cloying, with a whisper of champagne that dissolved on my tongue. I looked at Dixie. She'd gone wide-eyed, and she was making a small sound that I absolutely should not have found as distracting as I did.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "Ruby. Pearl. This is—"
"That's why people cry at weddings, honey," Ruby said with a wink. "It's not just the vows."
We carefully helped them transport the cake to the ballroom, then headed back to the room.
"That was amazing," I said in the elevator.
"It was fun." She smiled—really smiled, the kind that reached her eyes before she could stop it. "I forgot how much I love doing that."
"They were really impressed."
"They're just being nice."
"Dixie, they asked for your number. That's not just being nice."
She didn't argue, but she didn't look convinced either.
Back in the room, we had a couple of hours before the ceremony. The weight of what was coming settled over us both.
"Guess it's time," Dixie said, eyeing the closet where she'd buried her secret dress.
"Ladies first?" I offered.
"Actually—" She hesitated. "What if we just... get ready out here? Together? It's a big enough room."
"Sure. Yeah."
She grabbed the garment bag and hung it on the back of the bathroom door without looking at it, like she was working up to something. I pulled my tuxedo from the closet and laid it across the bed.
We moved around each other with the same careful choreography we'd developed since Friday night. She disappeared behind the bathroom door to change—"No peeking"—while I started dressing. Tux pants, the crisp white shirt, the bow tie I fumbled with twice before getting right.
I was still working on the cufflinks when the bathroom door opened.
I turned.
And forgot every word in the English language.
The dress was deep burgundy that made her skin glow.
Fitted through the bodice in a way that sent heat coiling through my chest as I took her in—then flowing to the floor in a cascade of fabric that moved like water when she stepped forward.
Her hair was down in soft waves, minimal jewelry, just enough makeup to highlight features that were already perfect.
This was the dress. The one she'd hidden from me since Thursday afternoon.
I just stood there. Probably looking like an idiot. Didn't care.
My heart kicked hard, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
"You're staring," she said.
I couldn't form words. Tried. Failed. Tried again. "You're..."
"It's the dress."
"It's not the dress." I crossed to her, stopping close enough to watch color creep up her neck. "You're the most stunning woman I've ever seen."
"We should go. We're going to be late."
"Right. Yeah." I didn't move.
"Hunter."
"Going."
We made our way downstairs to the garden terrace. I squeezed Dixie's hand once, then let go.
"I have to stand up there with Hudson. I'll find you after."
She nodded, and I took my place beside my brother at the altar.
Portable heaters hummed at the edges of the terrace, taking the bite out of the February chill.
White chairs lined the aisle, draped with red ribbon.
Rose petals and pink carnations scattered underfoot, and paper lanterns swayed overhead in the light breeze.
The afternoon sun filtered golden through bare branches.
Excessive and over-the-top and exactly right for Kendall.
Hudson looked terrified and thrilled. "You've got the rings?"
I patted my pocket. "Relax. You're about to marry the woman of your dreams."
"What if I forget my vows?"
"Then you improvise. You're good at that."
The ceremony started with the bridesmaids processing down the aisle. The spray tan correction had worked—they were only slightly orange now, nothing too noticeable from a distance. The poufy pink dresses were undeniable, but that was intentional.
Whitney Pemberton, the maid of honor, came down last. Blonde, pretty, slightly more orange than the others, she had the smile of someone who wished she was the one getting married today.
I found Dixie in the crowd. Third row, groom's side. She must have felt my gaze because she looked up and smiled—small, private, just for us.
Then the music shifted and everyone stood.
Kendall appeared at the end of the aisle in her dress and tiara, glowing with pure joy. Her father walked beside her, beaming. She practically floated toward us despite the massive dress, bouncing slightly on her toes every few steps.
Hudson made a sound beside me—half laugh, half sob.
His eyes went glassy, and he pressed one hand against his chest like he was trying to hold something in.
I'd given him grief about this wedding for months, but watching him now, I got it.
This was what it looked like when someone found their person.
I glanced back at Dixie. She was watching Hudson watch Kendall, tears gathering in her eyes.
Standing at this altar, watching her across the crowd, I forgot for a second that we were supposed to be pretending.
The officiant asked Hudson and Kendall to face each other.
"I, Hudson Massey, take you, Kendall Blanchette, to be my lawfully wedded wife..."
Hudson's voice was steady, sure. Kendall was crying, smiling, squeezing his hands like she'd never let go.
"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer..."
I caught Dixie's eye again. She held my gaze, and something passed between us that had nothing to do with the five thousand dollars.
"Till death do us part."
"You may kiss the bride!"
Hudson pulled Kendall in and kissed her while everyone cheered. She threw her arms around his neck, tiara slightly askew, laughing against his mouth.
The recessional started. Hudson and Kendall walked out first, beaming at everyone. I offered my arm to Whitney, and we followed them down the aisle.
"Well, Hunter," she said as we walked, "looks like your brother found his person. Must be nice."
"It is," I said, finding Dixie in the crowd as we passed her row.
"Some of us are still waiting for our turn," Whitney continued with forced brightness.
We filed out toward the rose garden. A coordinator immediately herded the wedding party toward photos.
"Come on," I said to Dixie, catching up to her. "You're with me."
"Hunter, I'm not family—"
"You're my date. You're in the pictures."
The photographer positioned us in various groupings. When it was time for couples, Dixie ended up in front of me, my arms settling around her waist.
"Now look at each other," the photographer called.
She tilted her head back. This close I could see gold flecks in her eyes. Her pulse jumping in her throat.
"This okay?" I murmured.
"Yeah." Her voice sounded breathy.
"Now kiss!"
Her eyes widened. "We don't have to—"
I leaned down and kissed her.
It was supposed to be quick. For the camera.
The second my lips met hers, my hands tightened on her waist and every thought I'd had about keeping this professional burned out like a match.
She tasted like champagne and something sweet.
Her lips were soft, parting under mine. One of her hands fisted in the front of my tuxedo shirt and I made a sound I'd be embarrassed about later.
My hands spread across her back, pulling her closer.
She kissed me back like she meant it.
May's phone clicked rapidly. I didn't care.
When we finally broke apart—and it took effort to pull away—her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, breath coming in short gasps.
I didn't move. Couldn't, actually. She was looking up at me like she was waiting for me to say something, and I had absolutely nothing. My brain had gone completely blank for the first time in my life and I didn't care at all.
"Got it!" the photographer called. "Beautiful shot!"
"That kiss!" May bounced over, shoving her phone in our faces. "Oh my God, that kiss! This is going viral! Look at you two!"
She scrolled through photos. We looked like a couple.
"May, give them space," Laverne called, approaching. "Though Hunter, you two look happy together."
"Thanks," I managed.
We escaped to cocktail hour on the terrace—passed appetizers, champagne, a string quartet. The sun was setting, washing everything in gold.
Dixie grabbed champagne and downed half of it.
"You okay?"
"That kiss."
"Yeah."
"That was—"
"I know."
She looked at me, uncertainty plain on her face. "Hunter, what are we doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"This." She gestured between us. "It's supposed to be simple. But that didn't feel simple."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "What if I said I don't want simple anymore?"
Her breath hitched. "Hunter—"
"Mr. Massey!" A coordinator appeared. "They need you for more photos."
I bit back a curse. "Can it wait?"
"Afraid not."
I looked at Dixie apologetically. She nodded, but whatever we'd been building toward shattered.
The next hour was a blur of photos. By the time we were released, the reception was starting.
But as we walked into the ballroom—roses and candlelight everywhere, the cake Dixie had transformed as the centerpiece—she slipped her fingers between mine, and held on.
The night was just beginning. And I was done pretending this was just a weekend deal.