The glass and wood door to the tea room opens, the bells hanging from the door handle tinkling. Duke steps in, smile charming and swagger on point. Warm affection surges over me. Duke has been my friend for so long, and he has always been good to me.
My mother claps her hands, eyes wide like this man has hung the moon. According to her, he has. "Duke!"
He strides over, all long legs and arms swinging in perfect cadence. Butterscotch hair flipped and styled just right. He stops beside my mother, bending to kiss her cheek.
She pats his cheek affectionately in return. "We're sampling wedding cakes."
"I see that." His deep timbre floats over us, his cologne fighting with the smell of sugar for top scent. "Where are all the customers? I've never seen this place so empty."
"Brenda closed the place for cake tasting," Kathleen explains, glancing at my mother, who confirms it with a nod.
"Aren't you going to say hello to your bride-to-be?" Vivienne eyes Duke, one of her perfect and expressive De la Vega eyebrows lifted.
"Of course," Duke says smoothly. "But greeting the woman responsible for giving life to the love of my life is of equal importance."
Vivienne, to her credit, manages to stop herself from making the finger in the mouth gagging motion. Vivienne's been down on love, and the institution of marriage, since her husband decided the attached life was no longer for him. She insists she'sfine, that she got the best parts of him already. Everly is five, and Knox is three.
Three sets of expectant eyes on us now, Duke bends to brush a kiss to the space beside my ear. I let a small smile curve my lips, just like a woman in love would.
Duke turns his attention back to my mother. I don't blame him for choosing to engage her instead of Vivienne. They have never been one another's biggest fans. Vivienne is too brash for Duke, and he is too reserved for her. "Do you have a favorite flavor so far?"
"This one," she says, pointing with her fork at the slice before her.
Duke snags my fork from where it's perched on my plate, smoothly spearing a bite of my slice for himself. "Delicious," he says, replacing my fork. His hand moves to my shoulder, where he gives me the slightest squeeze.
"Ok," Kathleen trills, pivoting to lift a tray of water from the counter. She places crystal goblets in front of each of us. "Drink some water, ladies. Cleanse that palate for the next cake."
I opt for the flute of champagne, bubbles bursting crisply. My mother, the dutiful rule follower, drinks her water. Like me, Vivienne reaches for her flute.
"Duke, let me get a fourth place setting prepared for you," Kathleen says, already starting to rearrange the table to create more room. "Daisy said you weren't going to be able to make it today."
"My meeting wrapped up early," Duke explains, "and I had a little time before my next one starts, so I thought I'd drive out. Please, though, don't go to any trouble for me. I'll steal a bite from my bride-to-be, and trust her to choose the best wedding cake flavor."
Kathleen and my mother practically swoon at Duke's charm. Vivienne, with that best friend instinct, rakes her eyes over my face.
I turn away, standing up quickly from my chair. My knee hits the underside of the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery on the china. "Sit down, babe." I coax Duke onto my seat. "I'll sit on your lap."
Duke settles into my vacated chair, and I perch across his thighs, draping one arm over his shoulders.
My mother appears positively enthralled at this public display of affection. She is the heart-eye emoji, come to life.
"This," Kathleen says grandiosely, placing our plates in front of us. "This is my personal favorite. A delicate almond cake with strawberry rhubarb jam in a lemon curd buttercream."
Mouth full and eyelashes fluttering, Vivi groans indecently. “I could bathe in this.”
"Superb," I declare. "Sign me up."
"Daisy," my mother admonishes softly. "Don't you want to at least think about something fancier, like the chocolate? What about the second cake, with the Grand Marnier frosting?"
"Sure, Mom," I acquiesce easily. "Chocolate with Grand Marnier it is." What do I care? At the end of the day, this wedding is for her.
Vivienne's gaze drills into me. She's been suspicious of me and Duke since the beginning, when we made a show of announcing we were dating, and not long after, marrying. The town didn't mind the brisk pace of our relationship, but Vivi took notice. Apparently, living life as a single mom of two and being an acclaimed chef has not used up all her brain cells. She can still assault me with her razor sharp attention, and her eagle eyes.
Guilt gnaws at me. Every moment I spend with Vivi a war rages in my head. I want to tell her the truth about it all, but I can’t.
I change course in an attempt to throw off the lady version of Sherlock sitting across from me. "They were all beyond delicious, and I would be perfectly happy to have any one of them at my"—I glance quickly down at Duke, whose face is only inches from mine—"ourwedding."
"I just can't believe it," Kathleen bursts in, gushing. "A St. James and a Hampton union, at long last. Something my grandmother said might never happen. Your families were at odds for the longest time." She grabs herself a flute, filling it with champagne and taking a long sip. "I would do some bad things if I could see the look on some of your ancestors' faces."
