30. Cassian
Cassian
The steam wand on the espresso machine shrieks when I turn it on, then switches to a rumble as I submerge it in the milk.
A flash of lightning momentarily brightens the kitchen, followed by a loud clap of thunder.
After a few more seconds, I switch off the steamer and pour the hot milk over the freshly brewed espresso.
As I turn to place the mug on the bar, I catch a glimpse of Viv in the doorway, and as always, she takes my fucking breath away.
Today she’s wearing a tailored navy-blue dress and a plaid blazer, and her skirt hangs just below the hem of her jacket.
Her hair curls gently around her face, framing it like a picture.
I clear the cobwebs from my throat. “Good morning.”
After our weekend in the city—with Bash watching me like a hawk the entire time—I kept my distance from Viv as much as possible.
She’s right: it’s not fair to make her think anything has changed with us.
But god, I miss her, and I don’t think I’ll survive another week without spending at least a little time with her.
Her heels click on the tile floor as she enters the room. “Hi,” she says softly. “Something smells good.”
“I made you coffee. And breakfast.” A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I gesture to the plate holding a parsley-sprinkled golden-yellow omelet. “You don’t have to eat it.”
Her eyes widen. “No, this looks amazing.” She reaches for the fork before she’s even fully settled on her stool.
I tuck away her pleasure with a tiny smile. Even if she ignores me the rest of the day, I can live on this moment alone.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks, glancing up from her plate for the first time.
“I did earlier.” I wipe off the espresso machine with a towel. I also filled her petrol tank and took her car through the automatic wash, but I’m not going to tell her that.
“You didn’t need to do all this.” She spears a bite of egg. “But I’m really glad you did.”
“It’s not a problem.” I’d make her breakfast every day if I thought she wouldn’t eventually take it the wrong way. Just because we can’t be together doesn’t mean I don’t want her to be happy. “What are we doing today?”
She takes a sip of coffee. “I have to run into the city for a bunch of tasting appointments,” she says, making a face.
“Great. I’m already hungry.”
Setting her cup down, she folds her arms on the counter. “You don’t need to come, Cass. I’m sure you have plenty of things to do here.”
I nod at the window, the thunderstorm still raging outside. “Pruning the ivy will have to wait.”
“God, what I’d give to stay inside with a book today,” she mumbles.
“Can you change the appointments?”
She laughs sarcastically. “The wedding planner booked these six months ago, so I’m going to say probably not.”
I shrug and wipe down the counter. “Never hurts to ask.”
“I’m just going to go and get it over with. Besides, I don’t have time to sit at home and rot,” she says, climbing off her stool.
As if I needed a reminder of how little time I have left with her before she becomes Mrs. Landon Davenport. “Then I’ll come with you.”
She hesitates, and I can’t tell if it’s because she actually doesn’t want me to tag along or from something else. “You really don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t, but I’d rather you weren’t driving in this storm.” I toss the towel on the counter and move toward her. “I don’t mind. Truly.”
“I can call a driver,” she says weakly, but it’s not what she wants. I can see it in her eyes.
“You did. He’s here.” I spread my arms and wink at her.
A pink blush climbs her neck, but she gives me a small smile in return. “Fine. But if you get bored, it’s your own fault.”
“We’re going to be tasting food. Who’s getting bored?”
Our first appointment is at a bakery, which looks more like a high-end fashion house than a place where they mix butter and flour. Glass-fronted cases line the walls, holding pastel-colored pastries displayed beneath spotlights.
A woman in her early forties with a black bob and five-inch heels ushers us into the tasting room at the back and seats us at a small round table. “Your plates will be right out,” she says before leaving Viv and me alone.
We’re the only ones in here, and soft jazz is being piped through speakers in the ceiling, giving the room an intimate atmosphere—which is probably the intention. Glasses of water are already setting in front of us.
I lean across the white tablecloth and lower my voice. “Dessert first? I’m scandalized.”
Viv shoots me a mildly amused look. “You live with my brother. I imagine it would take a lot more than that.”
“Fair enough. And you won’t hear me complaining.” I glance down at the thick linen menu in front of us. “Although, I can’t say I’m excited to try the matcha and black sesame.”
“You wanted to come,” she says with a gleam in her eye.
A server with blonde-tipped hair enters through the swinging doors carrying two small plates, each holding a sliver of green cake.
“Hello, my dears. My name is John. I’ll be serving your samples today.
To start things off with a bang, we have the coconut pandan with mango passionfruit.
” He sets the dishes down in front of us, then folds his hands in front of his white apron.
“Thank you,” Viv and I both say, picking up our forks.
John leaves, and we dive in. The cake’s not terrible, but it’s not worth the exorbitant price tag the Wilsons are shucking out for it.
Viv immediately washes the bite down with a drink.
“This is torture for you, isn’t it?” I say.
“I can eat dessert,” she mutters. “I just prefer not to.”
Our server returns with the next flavor, giving us an expectant look. “What did you think?” he asks Vivienne.
“It was good,” she says with a tight smile.
“And what about the groom?” He turns to me. “Your thoughts?”
I choke on my water.
“Oh, he’s not the groom,” Viv hurries to tell him. “My fiancé is busy and couldn’t make it, so Cassian is filling in. He’s a friend.”
John looks as if he couldn’t care less about the details of our arrangement. He gives me another cursory glance before taking our dishes back to the kitchen.
Viv’s face is flushed. “Sorry about that,” she says, and drags one of the plates toward her. “I should have told them ahead of time.”
I scoff and scoop the new cake onto my fork. “I can handle it, Viv.”
Our eyes meet as we both take a bite. A tiny frown creases her brow, and she reaches for her glass.
“That one tastes like cat piss,” I say.
“That’s a flavor you’re familiar with?”
I narrow my eyes and push my plate back. “I say we ditch this place and find something good.”
Before she can respond, John comes back into the room. “This one is my personal favorite,” he says as he sets down slices of a dense brown cake drizzled in an orange glaze. “Black carrot and cardamom.”
“It sounds delicious,” Viv says, while I press a fist to my mouth.
“How did we like the buckwheat and brown-butter sage?” John asks, his eyes flicking between us.
“Very yummy,” she says at the same time as I say, “Yeah, we didn’t care for that one.” Viv’s eyes cut to mine, and I’m pretty sure she wishes they could actually cut me. I raise my brows. Why lie to the guy?
Rather than try to figure out which one of us is telling the truth, John offers us a fake smile, which is nearly squint-inducing next to his fake tan. He whisks the dirty plates away, leaving us alone again.
“Why’d you say that?” Viv hisses.
“Because it was the truth.” I take a bite of the black carrot cake. It’s better than the first two, but it’s still a long shot from what I’d call good. “And the truth is that I could make a better cake from a boxed mix.”
“Just because something’s true, doesn’t mean it needs to be said,” Viv grumbles.
“Right. Because you prefer to make everyone else happy, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness in the process.”
A flash of pain crosses her face, and I want to stab myself. She presses down the tines of her fork to pick up the brown crumbs on her plate.
“Hey, I didn’t mean that.” I reach across the table to touch her wrist, but she doesn’t look up. “Viv, I’m sorry. I just hate to watch you give up everything you want to keep others happy.”
Our idiotic server chooses this moment to re-enter, and I’d like to tell him what he can do with his hundred-dollar slices of cake.
After he replaces our plates and exits, I whisper, “If we’re going to leave, we should go now.”
She stares at me without blinking. “We’re not leaving, Cass.”
“Why not? You know this cake sucks.”
Placing her fork down carefully, she says in a measured tone, “Do you know how much the deposit for this bakery was?”
I sit back and fold my arms. “More than anyone should reasonably pay for horse shit.”
The double doors swing open, and Viv kicks me under the table. “Behave,” she hisses.
I straighten in my chair. “That one was delicious,” I tell John, even though I have no idea what I just ate.
He startles, then claps his hands as he once again shows off his pearly whites. “I’m so glad.”
Viv eyes me with skepticism, but she should know by now that there isn’t a thing in the world I wouldn’t do for her.
After Viv chooses the black carrot cake, we meet with the caterer for the cocktail hour—a swanky restaurant with dishes like wagyu tataki, compressed cucumber, and hamachi crudo.
“Do you think they know what any of that stuff is?” I whisper to Viv as we’re seated at our table.
She shushes me with a tiny smile. Not wanting to make the same mistake again, she told them as soon as we arrived that I wasn’t the groom. A needle of pain has been working its way through my heart ever since, even though I know I have no right to be hurt.
A man’s voice sounds outside the door, the only warning I get before Landon Davenport walks into the tasting room. He’s wearing a tailored suit, and his dark blonde hair has enough gel in it to hold up the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Viv’s eyes widen when she sees him. “Landon,” she says, moving to get up. Guilt mingles with the surprise in her voice.
“Hi, babe.” He pushes her back into her seat and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “One of my meetings was canceled, so I thought I’d swing by and see what we’re tasting. Good to see you again, Cassian,” he says, extending his hand to me.
My joints feel stiff as I shake it. I never should’ve pestered Viv into letting me join her today. If I’d known Landon was going to show up, I would’ve found something at Belgrave to keep me busy. “Likewise,” I mutter.
“Thanks for helping Vivienne out with all the wedding stuff. It’s really taken a lot of pressure off both of us,” he says, taking the chair next to his fiancée.
I shoot Viv a glance, but she’s not looking at me. She told him I’ve been helping her?
“I should go now that you’re here,” I say, pressing my palms against the table and standing.
“Nonsense.” Landon gestures for me to sit back down. “You deserve it, after all your help.”
I hate him for being so cool about all this. He should be jealous as fuck over the thoughts I’ve had about his girl. He should want to tear me limb from limb, but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t see me as a threat.
“Besides, I can’t stay long,” he says, giving Viv an apologetic look.
Hands still on the table, I watch her face, waiting for her to signal whether she wants me to stay or go. She finally glances up at me, but her expression is one of perfect composure. None of the real Viv is visible beneath that mask.
“Of course you should stay,” she says demurely.
It isn’t until I sit back down and scoot my chair up to the table again that I see a tiny flash of something real in her eyes.
Relief.