2. Save the Cake
2
SAVE THE CAKE
VIVIAN KINGSTON-BARDEAUX
Present Day
Just when I thought things were looking up, things got worse. “Stupid van,” I shouted and kicked the tire with my sneaker, splattering it with slushy snow and mud from the puddle I stood in. Whatever was wrong with the vehicle, the engine wouldn’t turn over. I peered in through the back window where I had neat stacks of pink and turquoise Cupcake Cottage boxes secured, containing the cake. Not just any cake, but the Buchanan wedding cake.
If I didn’t arrive at the Plaza Hotel in the city and get this multi-tiered champagne cake with raspberry filling and vanilla bean buttercream frosting set up and ready to become the main centerpiece of Rex and Chelsea’s wedding, I’d never hear the end of it from Miriam Buchanan, the matriarch of the family. And I wouldn’t receive the final payment for it, which right now I needed considering my car broke down on the way to the city.
I had no business taking on the cake contract for a big city wedding in the first place. But Chelsea was my cousin, and the closest thing I had to a sister. I’d do anything for her so when she begged me to bake the cake for her wedding, I promised to give her the grandest one possible.
After all, it wasn’t every day that a small town girl from Holly Creek married a billionaire. Chelsea and Rex couldn’t be more perfect for each other.
Good for them, but it’d take a lot to get me to the altar again, let alone to date. Not only did I possess a mountain of trust issues, but as a divorced single mother who owned her own business, I didn’t have time for a man in my life.
I waited impatiently beside the van. Immediately when it broke down I had called Agnes, the wedding planner, and told her the news, which I hated to do, hoping word wouldn’t get to Chelsea. The last thing a bride wanted to hear on their wedding day was all their plans going awry. I feared upsetting her. Not that she was a bridezilla—more like Rex’s mother Miriam was the Momzilla of all mother-in-laws.
Agnes texted not long after that and said Rex would be sending his brother to pick up both me and the cakes. With any luck, I’d have the table set up by the time the reception started, and no one would know I was two hours late and at risk of not arriving at all.
Thunder rumbled north of the roadside gas station outside of Middletown, sending me back into the van. A million prayers later, my nerves frayed and at their very end, a car finally pulled up behind me.
“This must be the hero sent to save the day,” I muttered under my breath and exited. I stood by my door as a man in a tuxedo approached and avoided slushy snow puddles in his shiny leather shoes.
“Vivian?” He called out. Only I recognized him instantly, as if time reached out and transported me to a night about seven years ago, one I never expected. We’d strolled along the river Seine, stood beneath the lights of la tour Eiffel, my favorite part of the city. We ended the night giving in to temptation in bed in his luxury suite…
“Are you Vivian?” He asked again. “I’m Richard Buchanan.”
With a slight shake of my head, I focused back on the present, and on the face I hadn’t thought about in years. He stood tall with the same commanding presence as before. His dark hair—dotted now with a few grays at the temples—perfectly complemented his charming blue eyes. I’d never forget his sultry voice that whispered into my ear while thrusting inside of me… Such a good girl for me.
Time had been good to Richard Buchanan.
Up until a few minutes ago, I only knew him by his first name and the place of our intimate night together.
Richard from Paris.
He was my savior then, rescuing me from the evil clutches of my ex. Fast forward to the present, here he was, saving the day again. Talk about the shock I didn’t expect today.
But… why was he looking at me like he didn’t know me?
“Y-yes. That’s me. Vivian.”
“Then I’m your knight in shining armor sent here to save you,” he said with a chuckle. I choked and coughed. “Are you okay? Rex told me to retrieve you and the cake. We haven’t got much time. Where is it?”
Over the past several months while Chelsea planned her Christmas wedding to Rex Buchanan, I’d heard his brother’s name mentioned here and there but never connected the dots until now that he was my Richard from Paris.
“ You’re Richard? Rex’s brother?” I found my voice and asked.
“Last I checked, yes. Is the cake back here?” He pulled open the side door of the van, revealing dozens of cake boxes, a bin of things I’d need to do my job, and a suitcase. “Look, we have to go and try to beat this storm that’s coming. We need to load everything into the car quickly. My helicopter is waiting at the nearby heliport.”
Thunder clapped again, or was that my heart palpitating at the thought of going anywhere with Richard, especially in a flying object?
My hands gripped the seat tight. I’d never flown in a helicopter before, and never would again if I could help it. I didn’t relish this powerlessness of being in the air, while also relinquishing my life into the hands of the man to my right at the controls.
The memory of Richard, of us, tangled in each other’s arms in his bed had stayed with me as a symbol of the last reckless thing I did before being forced to become an adult. Once I got pregnant, life changed for me.
“It’ll be about an hour’s flight time. I take it you’ve never flown in one of these before?” Richard’s voice blared through my headphones, startling me.
“Never. I don’t want to die.” I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking only of the one person in my life I would hate to leave behind. My daughter.
“Hey, Vivian… relax, okay? I’ve been flying choppers for years without any issues. Don’t worry, you—and the cakes—are safe with me.” All his cocky assuredness aside, his words did little to calm my nerves.
“Knock on wood,” I murmured, lightly tapping the glossy wooden panel on the door beside me for luck. As a single mother, I couldn’t leave anything to chance in order to survive—my daughter needed me.
“Have you ever lived in New York City?” he asked in a curious tone.
“No. Born and raised in Holly Creek.” My beloved small town, although from the moment I touched down in Paris to attend culinary school, I loved my French life, too. If only my ex hadn’t ruined it. Now back in Holly Creek, I did whatever I had to do for my daughter’s sake. “Why do you ask?”
“You’ve never lived anywhere else?” he probed further, his eyes squinting at me. When we met, my hair was blonde, and I wore tons of makeup. Now, with darker hair and no makeup, and the circles under my eyes, an extra twenty pounds, and all the signs of a tired mother, did he really not remember me?
“I was in Paris for a few years. I studied and worked under a famous pastry chef.” Come on, Richard—surely one passionate night of surrender between us in bed shouldn’t be so forgettable?
“Ah, Paris. The City of Love. One of my favorite places on earth. I’ve visited often.” He bared bright white, perfectly straight teeth, likely the work of one of New York’s top dentists, reserved for the extremely wealthy. “Do we have that in common? Did you enjoy your time in Paris, too?”
“Yes and no,” I answered mechanically.
Paris had given me my career and the drive to open Cupcake Cottage in Holly Creek. It had also given me my daughter, the light of my life—but my ex-husband, Adrien Bardeaux, was the worst part of living there. One of the most regrettable decisions I’d ever made was marrying him.
Yet I wouldn’t change a thing, because I wouldn’t have learned these hard lessons:
Lesson one: Never fall for the first Frenchman who approaches you.
Lesson two: Wealth doesn’t guarantee happiness.
And— I stole a glance at Richard, the epitome of tall and handsome, with a fat bank account to match and, if memory served right, well-endowed in all the right places. My eyes briefly dropped to his lap before I quickly looked away because?—
Lesson three: One incredible night with a man like Richard apparently meant nothing, since he didn’t remember me.
The ultimate lesson I’d learned since my daughter was born: Lesson four—rely on no one.
No man could ever care for me and my little girl the way we deserved. I believed that, and I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone than to risk my heart again.
“Sounds like you need someone to show you the best parts of Paris,” Richard persisted.
“And I suppose you could take me away on this dream vacation anytime?” I rolled my eyes.
“Hell yes, Vivian. If you’re game, I have a private jet and crew at my disposal anytime I want to fly off. We’d walk along the Seine. Spend time at a spa. Dine at the best restaurants. Have the most luxurious suite at the Ritz or the Four Seasons…” He went on in a deep tone that dripped with suggestion and vibrated down my spine, as if transporting me back to the bed in his suite, with every orgasm hitting me like new again.
“Of course, only the best for you.” I flatlined, and glanced back at the boxes of cake sitting in the seats behind us, a reminder of my job at the wedding. I wasn’t the carefree girl anymore who would impulsively leave with Richard on a whim trotting the globe.
I was the cake decorator, hired by my cousin Chelsea, to deliver enough cake for five hundred guests at her reception tonight in the Grand Ballroom at the Plaza Hotel.
A skewed tier of the cake I could fix. An accidental smudge in the icing, too, an easy fix. But coming face to face with the rich man who once treated my pussy like I was the most exquisite dessert in the City of Love was something else entirely. I crossed my legs as heat rose in my cheeks—not a mutual feeling, as he clearly recalled nothing of our time together.
Had he been that drunk or high that fateful evening? I’d learned all too late how Adrien often celebrated his business deals in style, with bottles of champagne, drugs… and an endless parade of women. When I surprised him with a visit at his club that night, Richard could have been inebriated by the time he caught Adrien’s hand about to slap me during our argument.
I instinctively touched my cheek. Richard may have stopped Adrien the first time he ever dared try to hit me… but he wasn’t there for everything that followed. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Adrien’s cheating had continued and would only worsen. And that Adrien would slap me and shove me when in a heated argument. What would happen if he ever turned his anger on my daughter?
I found the courage and left him before I could find out, and I no longer believed in fairy tale rescues—like a rich man whisking me away on an unforgettable trip to Paris. I preferred a simple man, a nice one who could fix the back door of the Cupcake Cottage, who drew me a bath after long days, and loved my little girl as if she hung the moon.
I sighed, because I had no luxury to entertain these fantasies. Not with all that cake in the back and a job to complete for tonight’s reception.
“I’ll have to pass. I have no time for flights of fancy.” I gestured toward the back.
“Right, the cake. But if you change your mind, the offer still stands, Vivian,” he said, ending with a wink.
In my dreams.