Poor thing. It’s clear her heart is truly broken—and she’s downright bitter. And that’s a dangerous combination if ever there was one.
“What do you think, Kiki?” Charlotte asks with genuine warmth, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between her fiancé and his ex.
“It’s lovely,” Kiki replies smoothly, her eyes never leaving Piers’s face. “Very... memorable. Some flavors just stay with you, don’t they, Piers?”
Piers finally meets her gaze, and the look that passes between them could freeze the ocean in July. “Some things are better left in the past,” he counters.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Charlotte chirps, completely missing the subtext. “I think it’s wonderful when people can stay friends with their exes. It shows maturity!”
Maturity isn’t the word I’d use,Conrad thinks, reaching across Charlotte to sample the strawberry champagne cake. His arm brushes against hers in the process, and she doesn’t pull away. “I’mreally digging this one.” He sheds a wolf-like grin as he looks past the cake and right into her big blue eyes.
“Conrad, you’re terrible.” Charlotte laughs, but she’s not moving away from his proximity despite the fact. “I think I’m really digging the strawberry champagne cake, too—it’s giving me serious fairy-tale wedding vibes.” She laughs as she takes a bite and wiggles her boobs in Piers’s direction.
“Fairy tales are overrated,” Piers says curtly, stabbing his fork into the red velvet with unnecessary force. “Real life requires practical decisions. Like red velvet.”
“How romantic.” Kiki bites the air with razor-sharp sweetness. “Nothing sayseternal lovelike practical decisions.”
“At least practical decisions don’t leave you bitter, broke, and alone,” Piers shoots back.
The silence that follows is so thick you could cut it with a cake server. Even Ella stops babbling, apparently sensing the tension in the room.
Conrad clears his throat and makes a show of savoring the chocolate decadence. “Now this,” he announces, “is what I call a serious cake. Rich, complex, unapologetic. Like a beautiful woman who knows what she wants.” He looked directly at Charlotte as he said it, and she giggles up a storm.
Did he just compare cake to women?Emmie’s thoughts hit me with a wave of secondhand embarrassment.Please tell me he’s not going to start rating all the flavors based on attractiveness. I think we all know he thinks Charlotte is a ten.
Or a twenty, judging by the way he’s acting. The man really is gunning for a black eye.
“How... descriptive,” Bea says with a dry sarcasm that could wither houseplants at fifty feet.
“It seems Conrad has very strong opinions about dessert.” Charlotte laughs once again and her cheeks turn pink with delight.
“I have strong opinions about lots of things.” Conrad grins, leaning closer to Charlotte. “Life’s too short not to know what youwant. And right now, I want to make sure you get the perfect cake for your special day.”
What he wants is anything in a skirt that’ll give him attention,Piers thinks darkly.The man hit on three different bridesmaids at the engagement party. Including my sister. But he’s just testing me, seeing how far he can push.He gives Conrad a razor-sharp smile.Keep pushing, buddy. Payback’s coming, and if I’m really lucky, you might just become the wedding’s second casualty.
I gasp hard andEmmie clears her throat. “So, what do you think?” she calls out. “Do we have a winner?”
Piers nods and holds up his fork. “Hands down it’s the red velvet with white chocolate.”
Charlotte sniffs his way before looking at Emmie. “We’ll have the strawberry champagne cake for our wedding day. It’smyhands-down favorite.” She shoots a sly glance at Conrad. “And I always get what I want.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Piers may not have killed Tessa, but Conrad better hope there aren’t any more knives lying around at the reception.
Because, by the looks of it, some betrayals are worth killing for.
CHAPTER 11
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about running an inn during wedding season, it’s that chaos comes in waves—first, the cake emergency, then the sugar crash aftermath.
The Country Cottage Inn’s lobby buzzes with that perfect summer afternoon energy at half past two, with golden sunlight streaming through the tall windows and casting everything in honey-colored light.
The air carries the intoxicating mix of salt breeze, of blooming beach roses, and the faint scent of Emmie’s leftover vanilla frosting that somehow permeates everything within a three-block radius. Soft acoustic guitar music drifts from the speakers, mixing with the cheerful chatter of guests heading in and out from their beach adventures, flip-flops slapping against the polished hardwood floors in that quintessential summer rhythm I’ve come to love.
I’m stationed behind the registration desk, looking as if I’m helping Nessa and Grady with the afternoon check-ins, but really I’m using Fish, Sherlock, and Truffle as my official greeting committee and thinking about the case. All three pets have positioned themselves strategically near the front entrance, tailswagging and purrs rumbling as they work their charm on incoming guests.
The hoomans love us more than those fancy fluffy towels you bought,Bizzy,Fish mewls with satisfaction as an elderly couple stops to give her a quick pat.We should ask for raises.
