My God, when I thought things were finally going to get on track they got worse. How was this my life!
24
LAINEY
I pulled another tray of cupcakes from the oven and set them on the cooling rack. The bakery smelled like vanilla and chocolate and the overly sweet haze of powdered sugar in the air from this morning's rush to stock shelves. But we were almost done. Just a hundred or so more to bake and freeze and we'd be ready for the final push toward icing them before the fundraiser.
"Hand me the mixer," I called to Wren over the music blasting from the TV in the corner.
She tossed it to me and I caught it, grinning. We'd been at this for hours, but I felt so energized. Aside from a small roll of nausea now and then that the medicine prescribed to me couldn't stop, I felt better and happier than I had in months.
When Kade forced me to take his debit card I swore to myself I wouldn’t use it, but with the few cupcakes we'd eaten in taste testing, and a dropped batch yesterday when I burned my hand on a hot pan, I’d needed a few more things. I couldn’t believe he'd given me his personal debit card and trusted me. It made me feel like maybe we really had something after all.
"I can't believe we're almost finished," Wren said, lining a cooled batch into one of the freezer containers. "Two weeks ago I thought we'd never pull this off."
"Two weeks ago I thought I'd lose the bakery." I turned on the mixer and started whipping up the next batch as I said loudly, "This fundraiser's going to save us."
"Kade's gonna save you, you mean." Wren gave me a knowing look that faded into a sly grin. "When are you going to admit you're in love with him?"
I threw a dish towel at her. "Shut up and bake."
She laughed and turned back to her work as the music on MTV switched to a commercial, and then a perky voice announced the celebrity gossip segment. I had my back to the TV when Wren gasped.
"Wait, turn that up," Wren said, reaching for the remote. I turned around and shut off the mixer, but my eyes caught what she was gasping at mid-sentence.
"Why? I don't care about?—"
My words died in my throat as the screen filled with a grainy photo. It was taken in a hallway—a picture of two people, one of them clearly Kade. The other was a woman with her face turned away from the camera, and it made my gut sink.
"Mystery woman spotted with billionaire playboy Kade Kingston at Atlas Hotel and Casino last week," the host announced with barely contained glee. "Sources say the two were seen getting cozy in a private VIP area before heading upstairs together."
The photo zoomed in and my stomach dropped. That was me—my hair, my clothes, my body pressed against his as he kissedme goodbye at the elevator. And thank God his face obscured the view so no one could see it was me. I was horrified.
"Oh my God," Wren breathed, staring at the screen.
"Insiders report that Kingston has been wearing a gold wedding band for weeks now," the host continued, "leading to speculation about a secret marriage. But who is this mystery woman? And why is Kingston keeping her identity under wraps?"
They showed another photo. This one zoomed in on Kade's left hand where his wedding ring caught the light. It made my throat constrict and my pulse hammer.
"Some are calling her a gold digger looking to cash in on the Kingston fortune. Others speculate she could be the reason Kingston's parents recently cut him off financially. Whatever the truth is, one thing's for certain—Kingston's mystery woman is causing quite a stir."
Wren grabbed the remote and shut off the TV before things could get any worse, and silence filled the bakery except for the hum of the ovens.
"Oh my god," I mumbled. I felt lightheaded and leaned on the counter. This wasn't happening; it couldn’t be. I was so happy and things were going well.
"Lainey—" Wren started.
"Don't." I set down the measuring cup and gripped the edge of the counter. My hands were shaking. "Just don't."
"That was you. Everyone's going to know it was you." Her eyes were wide, eyebrows high.
"They can't see my face." My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. I stared blankly at the timer on the oven indicating a few minutes left on this batch. "They don't know who I am."
"Yet." Wren moved closer. "But they will. And when they do?—"
"I know." I pressed my hands to my face and tried to breathe. "I know."
Millions of people had just watched that segment and formed opinions about me based on a grainy photo and speculation. It was my worst nightmare just waiting to happen. Wren was right; if people found out it was me, I wouldn't be able to go home. People would swarm my parents' house.
