Tomorrow’s the wedding.
Then it’s over.
“Yes, Miss Harding.” Vicki finally says, striding away and taking Catherine’s piece of cake with her.
Meanwhile, I’m stuck with another twenty-five minutes of this then we’re on to my dress fitting.
Or, should I say, the new purchase of my wedding dress since Bobby ripped mine last night.
Catherine is going tolovethat.
“Did you weigh yourself before leaving the house this morning?”
My brows knit at her question. “What?”
“Weight,” she repeats with a bit of a bite. “For your dress fitting. We don’t need any more mishaps.”
“Catherine,” I start, balling my fingers underneath the table. “I don’t understand why we’re here. The cake has already been?—”
“Bobby?” Catherine slowly rises from her chair, along with her surprised tone.
The sheer mention of my husband’s name has my heart racing with equal parts relief and warmth that he’s here, and with the recollection ofallthe vivid things he did to me less than twenty-four hours ago.
A warm blush descends along my cheeks as I follow Catherine beelining toward the door, and there, against the bakery’s pink walls and floofy decor, stands Bobby in a dark gray suit with his gaze already locked on where I’m sitting.
He’s absolutely breathtaking and out of place in this space. It’s girly and cute, while he’s dark and man.
I notice the stubble on his jawline and hate the fact that I conjure up how much his mother is going to hate it.
I love it.
Giving him a weak smile, his mother then wraps her arms around him, properly, of course. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here? Meirna and I are handling everything. You needn’t come to check in.”
How did you escape your father is the question I want to ask, but I’m definitelynot objecting. When Bobby is around, his mother’s attention and sole focus are on him, not me.
“I came to see my wife,” Bobby deadpans, not returning her hug, and his tone doesn’t match his mood from earlier in his text messages.
I’m betting that his father, Alan, pissed him off about a dozen times this morning, dampening his mood.
Normally, Bobby is very responsive to her—he should be because Catherine is his mother—but he looks annoyed to even be in here.
Catherine lets out a laugh that’s jumbled between nervousness that he said the wordwifebefore our planned wedding, and that it’s ridiculous to do so. “Not quite yet, sweetheart. But we’re almost there.”
I roll my eyes and sigh, already exhausted mentally from being with Bobby’s mother for as long as I have today.
An hour and thirteen minutes.
“Come,” Catherine coos, gesturing with her hand for Bobby to join us. “Meirna and I were just about to try the dark chocolate truffle with?—”
“She doesn’t like dark chocolate.”
Catherine waves a dismissive hand in the air with a tsk and sits back down. “It’s about the guests’ experience. Not personal preference.”
Bobby stares at her blankly as she arranges her pink cloth napkin back onto her lap.
“Did you need something, babe?” I ask softly, receiving his attention within the next second. “I figure you have another busy day.”
He slowly shakes his head as if caught in a daze or a problem. “No, Daydream. I’m here to steal you.”
