Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
“Right.” I blow out a shaky breath.
“All right, let’s head out.” Lula grabs her Chanel purse and fishes for her keys. “I’m supposed to drive you to the church. Unless you want to blow off my cousin and head to Atlantic City?” Her tone is joking, but there’s a serious assessment in her dark eyes.
“No.” I smooth my hands down the bodice.
Lula’s dark eyes search my face. “I’m serious, Leah. You don’t have to marry him, if you don’t want to. “
“I do want to.” I might not be totally okay with everything in his world, but I want Royal. “But on the way to the church… is it okay if we make one stop?”
The bakery is a bright spot in the dark strip mall. Someone’s replaced the old door and added a fresh coat of paint. The overhead sign is new and bigger, with pink lettering like I always wanted.
“You’ll be okay?” Lula calls from her black Beemer. I nod and pick up my skirts, trudging to the new front door. Once inside, I drop my train, unsure of what to do. The place smells like spices—red beans and rice, goat curry. Mrs. Rossi is cooking again.
“Leah!” Mr. Rossi bursts from the back, Mrs. Rossi right behind him. They sandwich me, taking turns giving me hugs. “Look at you!”
“Bellissima!”
“Ms. Rossi,” I choke out. “You look great.”
“The infusions are helping.” She pats my cheek. Her hand is soft, her dark skin glowing. “Your man is a prince.”
My throat closes. “Yes, he is.”
“And now you are to be married. You make a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you.” I finger my veil. “Will you walk me down the aisle? Both of you?”
“Oh.” Mrs. Rossi is so overcome, she puts a hand to her mouth.
Mr. Rossi puts a gentle arm around her. “We wouldn’t miss it, Mia figlia.” My daughter. “We are headed to the church soon. We just put the finishing touches on the cake.”
“You made my cake?”
He beckons, and I follow the Rossis to the back. The cake is a tower of white, tall enough to touch the heavens.
In the front room, the bell over the door jingles madly.
“That door should be closed.” Mr. Rossi frowns.
I know who’s just walked in before his velvety deep voice washes over me. “Mr. Rossi. Mrs. Rossi.”
Firm hands grasp my hips.
Royal’s found me. Of course he has.
“Call me Cedella.” Mrs. Rossi beams.
“Come, my bride.” Mr. Rossi puts his arm around his wife and starts steering her away. “We need to get to the church.”
“We’re right behind you,” Royal mutters into my veil. He holds me still until the shop door jingles closed. The Rossis are gone. It’s just me and Royal now.
“You came,” I say before I turn. He doesn’t let me out of his grasp, but lets me face him. Good thing he hangs on because as soon as my eyes hit his, my knees wobble.
“You ran,” he counters. His eyes are dark coffee, his beautiful face stern, but his expression softens when he sees my face. He picks me up, poofy satin dress and all, and carries me out to the baking cases. He sets me on the counter next to the espresso machine that started this all. My skirts overflow, but he crushes them down, planting his arms on either side of me and fixing me with a dark stare. “Leah.”
“Royal,” I say warily.
He tilts his head. “You wanted a coffee before we tie the knot?”
“I needed a moment,” I whisper. My vision blurs and I blink a few times. “You fixed the shop. You fixed everything.”
He runs a finger over my quivering lip. “Yes. I’d do anything for you.”
“Your dad said the family won’t like you taking me as a bride.”
He shakes his head. “I just met with them. They can’t wait to meet you. They approve of you.”
“I am pretty badass.” My voice wobbles, but the pride on Royal’s face steadies me.
Maybe I can do this. Royal hinted at a honeymoon in the Old Country. I do want to meet Royal’s aunt. I hope she’ll approve of me. Maybe a tin of cookies is all I’ll need to buy her love. I’ll let Royal make the espresso.
My reflection in the espresso maker shows a bride. She looks calm, but inside, she’s quivering.
Maybe that’s okay.
“Talk to me, Leah.” Royal smooths back my veil.
“You hired the Rossis to make the cake.”
His glossy hair falls in his face as he shakes his head. “They wouldn’t take payment. Wedding gift.”
I stroke his hair out of his face.
“Mr. Rossi wanted to bake in his kitchen one last time.”
My blood ices over. “What?” I whisper. Did they have to sell? Is that how they paid for the treatment? But I thought Cedella said Royal paid for it.
“They sold the business. With Cedella’s health back, they want to travel more. Retire to Jamaica.”