Chapter 12
Skylar
"Next week?" Zoey looks at me in horror. "You’re getting married next week?"
"And you’re standing here, cooking?"
"I’m baking," I point out.
She cuts the air with the palm of her hand. "Let me get this right; you’re going to marry that man who asked you to marry him?"
"Umm, that’s generally how it works." I half smile.
"Sorry, I’m surprised and confused, is all." She rubs at her temple. "When we last spoke, you weren’t sure you were going through with it. What changed your mind about marrying him, and are you sure you’re doing the right thing?"
Zoey’s the only person who knows about the situation I'm in. Not that I don’t trust the others with the circumstances surrounding my upcoming nuptials, but I don’t feel ready to spill the gory details to anyone else.
Harper works such long hours as a chef, I rarely see her.
Grace’s TV career is so full-on, she has no time for anyone else, let alone herself.
Zoey is the only one whose job allows her to have somewhat of a personal life.
Which means, I don’t feel bad about bothering her with what’s happening in my life.
The others might not like it when they find out I told her first, but I’ve known her the longest, and I need someone to talk to and share what’s happening.
I walk over to the small island opposite the oven and grab my glass of water.
I take a sip, more to gather my thoughts, then turn to her.
"I was hoping you’d tell me that I am," I confess.
She reaches for one of the green-colored cakes in the shape of a worm.
It’s another new dessert I’ve been experimenting with. “It’s called Bookworm.”
“Oh, that’s a good name.” She laughs.
"Go on." I nod toward the tray. "Try it and tell me what you think."
She plucks one and takes a bite, then closes her eyes. "Oh, my god, it tastes like—"
"—caramel, peppermint and dark chocolate, topped with pistachio and cream."
She chews, swallows, then opens her eyes and looks at me dreamily. "It makes me want to curl up with a book, in a seat by a window, pull up a blanket around me, and read."
"Right?" I clap my hands. "I’m so happy the flavors took you on a bookish journey."
"But seriously, this cupcake is epic."
"Thanks." I beam at her.
"It’s so good, I don’t know why there aren’t more people beating down the doors to buy them."
"I guess I need to be smarter about my marketing. I need to hire someone to take care of my social media, and also put some money behind advertising to get the word out, which means—"
"You need the budget for it." She taps her finger against her cheek. "Which, I suppose, answers the question I posed earlier."
"It does?"
She nods. "You need the money to tell people about your bakery."
And to take care of Hugo.
"And you need to do it before you go into more debt," she warns me.
"Whoever said you need money to make money knew what they were talking about, eh?" I place my glass on the table.
"Have you tried other ways to raise the money?"
"The banks turned me down. Not surprising, considering my credit rating is shot. What other way is there? If Nate hadn’t come along with the offer… I’d be looking to declare bankruptcy about now."
"Shit." She pushes her glasses up her nose. "I had no idea things were this bad."
"Didn’t want to bother you guys with my problems."
She walks over to me and squeezes my shoulder. "You’re insulting our friendship by saying that. You do realize that, right?"
I flush. "I didn’t mean to."
"Well, you are. What are friends for if you don’t share your problems with them? You’re always helping us out, but you never want to talk about yourself."
"That’s not true." I shuffle my feet.
"Yes, it is. When my horrid ex broke up with me, you were the first person to reach my place. And you baked me a special batch of Macarons. You remember?"
"The Movin’ On Macarons." I smile.
"And boy, did they help me move on. The ingredients you chose spoke to the hurt in me and healed it."
"It had bittersweet chocolate, symbolic of the complex emotions with breakups, lemon zest, representing fresh starts, honey to soothe feelings and bring in sweetness, and chamomile flowers, for calm and relaxation," I say in recollection.
"And the textures… It cut through the noise in my head and helped me ground myself."
"Graham cracker crumbs for an unexpected crunch, popped wild rice to play into a sense of feeling free, crushed pretzel crisps for a salty bite, candied ginger, to add some spicy zing, and of course, dark chocolate chunks for rich intensity." I nod.
"Of course"—she laughs—"you think it’s obvious, but really, you are a genius when it comes to choosing the right ingredients and combining them all in a fashion that's unique to you.
The way you baked it and the flavors you packed into it healed my heart and helped me look beyond the sorry feelings I was burying myself in. "
My cheeks warm. "You’re being too nice."
"No, I’m not. The texture of the macarons alone was so light and airy, it lifted my heart and left me with a feeling of optimism, like the best part of my life was yet to come."
"I'm so pleased they helped you," I murmur.
"I never would have gotten over my breakup so quickly if it weren’t for you.
Your baking speaks to the soul, to the cells of the body.
You know how to appeal to the baser instincts inside—" She touches the lower part of her stomach. "It’s why I know you’re going to be successful.
Once people taste your desserts, they’re going to be all over it. "
I lower my chin. She’s right. A part of me, deep inside, knows I’m good.
It’s not me being egotistical. It’s because all I’ve ever wanted is to bake.
There’s something inside of me that comes alive when I’m measuring and mixing and creating a dessert that I know is going to soothe or excite or calm or simply help someone find their center.
A cake which speaks to your soul. I know it sounds fanciful, but the mixture of flour and sugar and eggs has always been more than the parts of the whole.
Infused with cocoa or herbs or essences, it takes on the powers of a lodestone, or a charm, or a talisman—something endowed with mystical powers that appeal to the emotions inside of you.
Like a key to a lock, it opens up a side of you, you didn’t know existed. Like I want to do with him.
I want to unravel his control. I want to get under his skin.
I want him to lose touch with his logical thinking when he's with me. I want him to go over the edge and admit he can’t keep his hands off of me.
It’s why I indulged in that little skit with the ice cream.
It’s why I ran out of the car—hoping he’d follow me (which he did.) Hoping he’d throw me over his lap and spank me—which he didn’t, and I don’t miss it.
How can you miss something you've never had? Also, I don’t want him to spank my bum. Not at all.
That part of me, deep down, which has been so confident of my future as a baker, knows Zoey is onto something.
Once enough people taste my cakes and cookies, they’ll want more. They always do. I just need to up my marketing game. Ergo, I need money. Which means—
I hunch my shoulders. "I don’t have a choice. I have to go through with the wedding."
She firms her lips. "Whoa, hold on, let’s not be hasty."
"I’m not. I’ve thought this through. There’s no other way.
" That didn’t stop me from taking off my engagement ring after Nathan left yesterday.
I have another week until the wedding, a week where I can pretend I'm not about to turn my life upside down, doing something that's going to end with my heart being ripped out. I'm going to end up falling for him, and this is going to end badly for me, but I’m going through with it because that’s what one does to manifest one’s dream.
One makes choices and does not shirk hard decisions.
"How about if I ask Summer, on your behalf? Her husband Sinclair is loaded, and—" Zoey begins to say, but I shake my head.
"I’m not going to mix money into the equation with friendship. It’s the fastest way to mess up relationships. Everybody knows that."
"But you’re mixing money into the most important relationship of your life."
She’s right. "Difference is, I’m going into this association as a transactional one. So, the rules of engagement are clear upfront."
"Hmmm, I don’t agree, but I can see your mind is made up.
" She purses her lips. "Besides, people have married for less. History is littered with arranged marriages between kings and princesses, not to mention all of the romances I’ve edited.
Marriages of convenience have blossomed into love affairs, which have stood the test of time and re-written the future. So—" She raises a shoulder.
"There is one complication—" I shuffle my feet.
"Only one?" Her tone is amused.
I scoff. "Okay, more than one. But the biggest of them all is that he’s my brother's best friend."
Her jaw drops. "You knew him before he came to you with this proposition?"
"It’s why he came to me with this proposition."
Her brow clears. "O-k-a-y, some of it is beginning to make sense now. I wondered how this man found you. And why he walked in off the street and asked you to marry him."
"He also stands to gain from this. His grandfather wants him to get married. Once he ties the knot, he’ll be confirmed as the CEO of his company."
"Aha. So both of you benefit from the match."
"You can say that."
"And you’ve met before, so it’s not like you two are complete strangers."
"He may as well be." I look away, then back at her.
"Skylar?" She slaps her palms on her hips. "What are you not telling me?"
"Nothing," I lie. No way can I tell her just how much his kiss affected me on my eighteenth birthday, how I convinced myself I was building it up in my head, but meeting him again, I realized I hadn’t. How his very proximity seems to turn my brain cells to mush and my bones to jelly. How being in his presence makes me want to forget every single rational thought and throw myself at him. My hormones begin to twerk like they're contestants on So You Think You Can Dance when he’s around. I’m worried that once I marry him and spend more time with him, I’ll be helpless to his charms and ready to do whatever he wants.
Which may not be so bad. Argh, don’t think that.
She continues to peer into my face, then sniffs. "So, you have a thing for your brother’s best friend?"
"I don’t have a thing for him."
She stares at me.
I redden, then look away and busy myself by beginning to measure out the flour for my next experimental dessert.
"Then why are you blushing?"
I roll my eyes. "Okay, I have 'something' for him. And not only because he happens to be very good-looking, but also because I’ve heard my brother speak so highly of him.
He came home a couple of times when I was a kid, and I developed a huge crush on him.
Not that he knew. Then, I met him when I was eighteen and—" I firm my lips.
"—and?"
"Nothing." I school all emotion from my features. "I didn’t see him again until he prowled into my shop with this proposition."
"Why don’t we talk with Grace and Harper? Perhaps they’ll have more ideas to offer."
"I don’t want to bother them, honestly."
She looks like she’s about to protest, then shakes her head. "You are going to tell them you’re getting married, right?"
"Of course I am. I’m going to message them by the end of the day, and—"
The doorbell tinkles. "Oh, I’d better get that.
" Truth be told, I’m happy for the interruption.
I love Zoey, but she’s too perceptive. She knows me well enough that if I keep talking to her, she’s going to see through my thin sheen of fake confidence to the doubts lurking below the surface.
And right now, I don’t want to confront them.
For someone who’s normally confident about what I want to do, this entire marrying-Nathan-business is bringing so much insecurity to the surface, that it’s making me a little dizzy.
I dart past Zoey and to the front of the shop, where a woman is standing on the other side of the counter.
She sees me and her features light up. "You must be Skylar. I’m Rachel, and I’m a wedding planner."
"O-k-a-y?"
Even before she says the next few words, I have an idea of what’s coming. " Nathan sent me."
"He did?" Zoey comes up from behind me. "I’m Zoey, Skylar’s friend."
"Wonderful, you’re in time to help Skylar choose her wedding dress."
"My what?" My jaw drops.
"I know this is all a little quick, but considering you're getting married in a week, Nathan wanted me to start the process of putting together the wedding right away."
"He did?" I scowl.
She nods. "He wants you to have only the best. He was very specific about that." Her gaze grows soft. "That man clearly cares about you a lot."
"He does?" I blink, then cup my palm over my mouth and tell Zoey in an aside, "It’s all an act. Nathan’s good at convincing people about the veracity of the situation. He has to, so he can convince his family the marriage is genuine."
Zoey shoots me a glance but doesn’t say anything.
Rachel looks between us, a confused expression on her face. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, of course," Zoey says brightly. "You said something about a wedding dress?"
"Which I am not interested in," I declare.
Both women turn to look at me. There’s a distressed look on Rachel’s face. "But the wedding is around the corner—"
"And I’m too busy to leave the bakery." I brandish my hand in the air. "I think it’s best you go."
"Oh, Nathan told me you’d say that. He instructed me to bring the wedding dresses to you."
"What do you mean?"
She turns to Zoey. "If your friend can man the counter for a short time—"
"I can—" Zoey nods.
I glower at her, and she raises her hands. "Sorry, but if you’ve made up your mind to go through with it, then you have to look the part, right?"
Rachel gestures toward the back of the shop. "We have a trailer parked in the alley. And all the dresses are ready for you to try on. You simply have to step in there and make a choice."
When I hesitate, she pleads, "It won’t take more than an hour of your time. We have fitting specialists on hand to mark out the alterations."
I draw in a breath. "I’m still not—"
Rachel’s eyes gleam. "Also, the dresses are Karma West Sovrano originals."