“Talk to the hand!” Serge interrupted and held up his palm in a gesture that surprised me. “There’s no time for apologies now! The schedule is already behind, the TV crew is waiting, and we absolutely must select a cake before the end of the day!”
He spun on his platform heels and began marching back toward the door. “Both of you need to be camera-ready in five minutes. No excuses, no delays, and definitely no more disappearing acts!”
I gulped and forced my best smile onto my face, the expression like a mask I was struggling to keep in place. The moment of vulnerability with Deklyn was over, interrupted by the relentless demands of our ruse.
“We’d better go,” I said, though what I really wanted was to stay here on the balcony forever, wrapped in Deklyn’s arms and pretending that the outside world didn’t exist.
“Sasha,” he said softly, catching my hand as I followed Serge. “What were you going to say? Before he interrupted?”
I looked into his eyes, but Serge was calling from the corridor, the TV cameras were waiting, and the fake wedding would not plan itself.
“Later,” I promised, squeezing his hand.
As we walked toward the door, I couldn’t help but wish that ‘later’ wasn’t such a fragile, uncertain thing.
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Deklyn
The air inside the bakery was so sweet that my teeth ached just from breathing. Elaborately decorated tiered cakes lined the display cases, and the Gatazoid baker bustled around his domain with obvious pride, his purple hair faintly pink at the roots.
I tried to ignore the TV crew and the cameras tracking our every move, but they were a reminder that our reactions were being captured for the viewing audience back on Earth. I slid Sasha a small smile, hoping she didn’t feel as much like a caged animal as I did.
“You’re so lucky to have Fillian as your baker,” Serge chattered, gesturing toward the beaming Gatazoid. “The one on the Boat has a fondness for flavor combinations that most humans find challenging.”
“What kind of flavors?” Sasha asked, and I recognized the tone of her voice as artificially bright.
Serge leaned closer and stage-whispered conspiratorially, “Olive and vermouth. Apricot butterscotch.”
Sasha’s face scrunched up in disgust, though I had no idea what butterscotch or vermouth were supposed to taste like. The terms were meaningless to me, but her reaction suggested they weren’t pleasant combinations.
I took a bite of the white chocolate raspberry cake Fillian had enthusiastically recommended, trying not to react as the sweetness hit my palate like a sugar bomb. It was easily the sweetest thing I’d ever eaten, so intensely flavored that it made my cheeks pucker. But with the cameras rolling, I nodded appreciatively and tried to look like a man enjoying his wedding planning rather than someone struggling not to wince.
“Sweetie,” Sasha said, the endearment rolling off her tongue with practiced ease, “which flavor do you like best?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Serge’s voice came from the corner of his mouth in a stage whisper that somehow was both audible and discreet. “Whichever one she likes. You like whichever one she likes.”
I appreciated the assist from Serge, but I already understood that much about weddings and human females. I deftly turned the question back to her. “Which is your favorite?”
Sasha shot a sly grin at Serge, who was suddenly feigning intense fascination with the sugar roses adorning a nearby display cake. “I think I like the coconut with lemon curd filling.”
“Perfect choice!” Serge exclaimed, clapping his hands together with theatrical enthusiasm. “Absolutely perfect!”
Fillian beamed and bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Excellent selection! Now, would the bride prefer round corners or square?”
Sasha blinked briskly, her confident expression faltering for just a moment. She shot me a pleading look that the cameras probably read as touching deference to her fiancé’s preferences.
“Square, of course,” I said quickly, though I did not know why cake corners mattered.
“Square it is!” Fillian nodded again, making notes on a tablet with one hand. “And does the wedding have a particular motif I should incorporate into the design?”
Serge spread his short arms wide with dramatic flair. “Rescue among the stars!”
Fillian cocked his head thoughtfully, clearly trying to translate that concept into cake decoration. “Stars?” he said finally. “I can make sugar stars. Very sparkly, very ethereal.”
Serge sighed as if this was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “We love ethereal.”
