And when I reach the large kitchen—not my smaller, more private one—there is a team prepping food for today. I pull open the fridge to find a box from the bakery with an assortment of cake samples arranged on an ornate silver tray.
I pull the tray out and drop it onto the table near the window.“Here you go. Just let me know which one you pick when you’re done.”
With that, I turn my back on Colin and make my way toward the door. I’d much rather continue my conversation with Blaire than be in here with someone who hates me.
But I don’t even make it to the door. The sight of Colin holding that fork alone with an array of beautifully decorated mini cakes pulls at heartstrings I haven’t felt in a long time.
He’s wearing a miserable expression as he sticks his fork in the first tiny cake.
“Shouldn’t your fiancé be here to do this with you?” I ask with a sigh.
“Pierce is on a strict diet for a role. He won’t be eating any cake,” he replies coldly.
“He won’t eat any cake at his own wedding?” I ask, but Colin doesn’t respond. He just takes another bite of the red and white sponge.
Seeing him sitting alone feels unnatural to me. All through uni, it was my job to protect him. To make sure that no one ever treated him poorly and that he never had to feel like shit.
That’s not my job anymore—he made sure of that.
And yet…I can’t just leave him to do this alone.
I drop the leather binder on the table with a loudthunk. Then, I pick up the second fork and take a seat across from him.
His light brows pinch inward as he glares at me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing my job,” I reply flatly. Then, I dig my fork into the yellow cake with the tiny lemon on top. Colin watches me skeptically as I chew, but when the tangy lemon zest hits my tongue, I practically melt into the seat.
“Jesus fucking Christ, that’s good,” I mumble around the cake in my mouth.
The corner of his lip lifts before he quickly forces it away. Then, he tries the lemon cake for himself. Once the flavor explodeson his tongue, he has the same reaction. The anger dissipates as he hums with pleasure.
“That is good,” he murmurs.
“How was the red velvet?” I ask.
He gives a casual shrug. “Nothing special.”
“We need something to cleanse our palates,” I say as I rise from the table and find a bottle of whisky and two glasses in the cupboard. Colin’s head tilts in scrutiny when he sees it.
“What?” I ask as I pour the amber liquid into each glass.
“I think water would have worked fine,” he replies.
“What’s water?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t protest as he takes a slow small sip.
After the lemon cake, we both try the chocolate, and agree that it’s good but doesn’t blow us away.
“What about this one?” he asks, poking the light-purple icing.
“That’s…” I say, finding the flavor on the chart they provided. “Oh, that’s lavender honey. You hate lavender.”
He sneers at the cake before pushing the piece away. “I do hate lavender.”
Instead, he takes a bite of the vanilla, and I try the raspberry. Things grow quiet between us for a moment as we eat the stupid tiny cakes. I feel him watching me with a scrutinizing gaze.
“You remember that?” he asks.
