Icing on the Cake (Wild Wedding Series Book 2)
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Notting Hill meets The Prince & Me in Icing on the Cake, the second standalone laugh-out-loud romance in Ann Marie Walker's Wild Wedding series.
Cassandra Miller doesn’t have time for men. She’s far too busy trying to open a cupcake shop with her silent partner and best friend, not to mention catering her brother’s wedding. And let’s face it, it’s not like Prince Charming is going to stroll into the bakery and sweep her off her feet.
Henry has been a prince his entire life but for one wild wedding he wants to be nothing more than an “Average Joe”, or in this instance, “Average Hank”. However, when a case of mistaken identity and a batch of burned cupcakes ends in a night of passion, Cassie and Hank must decide if theirs is a recipe for disaster or the makings of true romance.
"This book was so fun to read! Sexy, hilarious, and tons of heart -- the perfect trifecta." - USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Blackwood
Also By The Author
Wild Wedding Series
BLACK TIE OPTIONAL
ICING ON THE CAKE
SAVE THE DATE
Chasing Fire Series
REMIND ME
RELEASE ME
RECLAIM ME
EMBRACE ME
ICING ON THE CAKE
A Wild Wedding Novel
Ann Marie Walker
ICING ON THE CAKE
Copyright © 2018 by Ann Marie Walker. Excerpt from SAVE THE DATE © 2020 by Ann Marie Walker. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author, Ann Marie Walker.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Trade paperback ISBN: 9798633806670
St. Martin’s Press ISBN: 9781250163738 (out of print)
Cover Design by Simone Renou/In My Dreams Design
First Edition
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
EXCERPT: SAVE THE DATE
About the Author
For everyone who still believes in fairy tales
Chapter One
“I’m going to die a virgin.”
Olivia pulled a stool up to the stainless-steel workspace that filled the center of the small industrial kitchen. Without missing a beat, she dismissed her best friend’s prediction. “You can’t die a virgin. You’ve already had sex.”
“Well, it’s been so long, I’m sure I’m re-virginized.”
Olivia snorted. “That’s not a word. Or a condition.”
“It should be. I can be the first documented case.”
“Cassandra Miller, patient zero.” Olivia cocked her head to the side. “You need a man.”
Cassie glanced up from the clipboard where she’d been ticking off the items in the afternoon delivery and blew a stray auburn curl out of her eyes. “No time.”
“Call me crazy but I’m fairly sure your sex life won’t improve until you actually start spending a little more time around humans and less around convection ovens and stand mixers.” She picked up a dough prickler and spun the wheel. “Although this looks promising.”
Cassie reached across the counter and snatched the gadget out of Olivia’s hands. “You know I’ve been pouring every spare minute into this bakery.” She tucked the small pastry wheel into the front pocket of a neon pink apron with SUGAR RUSH printed across the front. “The grand opening is less than two months away and there’s still so much to do.”
“Your business partner must be a real slacker,” Olivia said with a laugh.
“Yeah, total nightmare. Runs off and elopes with a gazillionaire, and next thing you know she decides that she needs to invest in a cupcake shop.”
“You know, when I offered to be your silent partner, I didn’t envision you working eighteen-hour days.”
“First, when have you been silent about anything? And second, you’ve made my dream come true, Livvy. I just want to do you proud. I wouldn’t even be taking this weekend off if it wasn’t my brother’s wedding.”
“And even in Podunksville you’ll be spending more than half your time in an apron.”
“The town is called Madison and it’s not podunk. It’s charming and quaint.”
“Uh, hel-lo, farm girl here,” Olivia said, aiming her thumb at her chest. “I know podunk when I see it. But a weekend away is still a weekend away and while it might not be Vegas, I for one, plan to make the most of it.”
Cassie lifted a brow. “Need I remind you that you got completely sloshed in Vegas and ended up sleeping with the enemy?”
The smile that lit Olivia’s face was the perfect combination of sentiment and smut. Cassie would tease her best friend—covering her ears and shouting “TMI!” when Olivia would wax nostalgic about the wild night she’d spent with her now-husband, at least the parts she could remember—but the truth of the matter was, Cassie couldn’t have been happier for her. There’d been a time when Olivia had given up on romance. Seeing her so happy renewed Cassie’s hope that maybe someday she’d find a love like that as well. Of course, that day was a long way off. Right now, she had a shop to open. There were invoices to check and shelves to stock and vendors to meet with and ads to place. The list went on and on, which meant Cassie had absolutely no time whatsoever for men.
“Letting my hair down in Vegas ended up being the best decision of my life.”
“Don’t you mean letting your top down?” Cassie asked, referring to Olivia’s bold decision to go topless at the hotel’s adult-only pool.
Olivia laughed. “Well, if I can untie my bikini top, least you can do is untie those apron strings.”
She had a point, but it was moot. “I promised Matthew and Emily that I would make their wedding cake. It’s my gift to them.”
“And that’s sweet and all but it’s not like Prince Charming is going to stroll into the bakery to sample your sweets and sweep you off your feet.”
It had been so long since anyone had sampled Cassie’s sweets, as her friend so eloquently put it, there might as well have been a permanent CLOSED sign in the window. And with the way things were going, that was going to be the case for the foreseeable future. Not that she was complaining. Three years ago—when she’d quit her job as a CPA at one of Chicago’s top accounting firms to pursue her true passion—Cassie would have never envisioned opening a pastry shop anywhere, much less in the heart of Millennium Park. The entire venture was the opportunity of a lifetime, and she was darn sure going to make the most of it.
“I don’t have time to be swept off my feet.” Cassie opened the recipe book that was sitting on the counter next to her and began flipping through the pages. “Maybe just pressed up against the fridge,” she added with a giggle.
“Well, you won’t find a cure for re-virginization in one of those cookbooks,” Olivia said. “What you need is a little adventure. Put some spice in your life.”
Cassie ro
lled her eyes. “So says the woman who spent last weekend crawling over rocks looking for snotty-nosed vermin.”
“Hey, those little vermin brought Cole into my life.”
Indeed, they had. Although there were times when Cassie still found their entire relationship hard to believe. For three months Olivia had made it her life’s work to lobby—or harass, depending on which one of them you asked—Cole into moving his latest venture to an area that wouldn’t threaten a long-eared bat that looked to have a serious sinus issue. Then a night in Vegas led to a marriage of convenience and the rest, as they say, was history.
“We can’t all protest our way into the perfect marriage. Besides, I don’t have time for a love life.” She waved a hand at the boxes stacked in the corner. “I literally have piles of work to do.”
“I’m not talking about having a relationship, just a little fling.” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows. “And this weekend is the perfect opportunity. Weddings are always a good place for a hook-up.”
Cassie’s green eyes grew wide. “You want me to have a weekend fling at my brother’s wedding?”
“Sure, why not? He and Emily will be the center of attention anyways. All you have to do is wear some hideous bridesmaid’s dress and smile.”
“And decorate the wedding cake.”
“You could do that in your sleep. There will be plenty of time to get busy with non-frosting-related ventures. Then again . . .” Olivia reached for a small test batch of frosting and dragged her finger through the fluffy cream. “I can think of a few places I might like to spread this on Cole.”
Cassie snatched the bowl out of her hands. “TMI,” she said. Oversharing aside, Olivia did have a point. While Sugar Rush was definitely Cassie’s top priority, there wasn’t much she could do from Georgia. Maybe she should try to cut loose a bit this weekend? After all, once she was back in Chicago it was going to be crunch time. Cassie could easily see herself working eighteen-hour days indefinitely, something she was more than prepared to do. But that certainly wasn’t going to do much for her current dry spell. Hell, who was she kidding? It was an all-out drought.
“Give it some thought,” Olivia said. “You, a hot groomsman, a secluded hayloft . . . his fingers winding through your windblown hair as you tug his bow tie free and rip open his shirt. His hard . . .”
Cassie held up her hands. “Stop! I get the idea.” She laughed. “You know it’s times like these I suspect you have dozens of dog-eared romance novels hidden under your bed.”
“I do not.” Olivia feigned shock but then added, “They’re all on my Kindle.” She smiled. “That way I can word search the smutty parts.”
“Well, right now I don’t even have time to read about somebody else’s sex life, let alone have one of my own.”
“Maybe not, but this weekend you will. For the next three days you don’t have to be Cassandra Miller, overstressed entrepreneur. You can be Cassie Miller, hot single girl without a care in the world.” Olivia shot her friend a knowing grin. “Just be sure Mr. Weekend Fling doesn’t nail you against the refrigerator too hard.” She winked. “You still need to walk down the aisle.”
Henry ran the clippers over his chin until nothing remained but a fine stubble. His father was a fan of shaving foam and a straight razor, but after years of sporting a beard, he wasn’t about to go all in.
His hair was next. Henry turned on the small faucet and scooped some of the water into his hands. Once he was satisfied he’d washed away most of the gel, he reached for a towel and rubbed his head into a perfectly disheveled mess. He studied himself in the mirror. Not too bad, if he did say so himself. All that was left was a wardrobe adjustment and he’d be ready to roll.
He’d just finished with the last button on his shirt when a female voice called to him over the plane’s intercom.
“Pardon me, sir, but the captain has informed me that we are preparing for our descent. If you would please return to your seat and fasten your seat belt.”
He hit a small button on the wall. “Thank you, Natasha. Will you ask Clayton to join me in the main cabin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here goes nothing,” he mumbled to himself. After one last look in the mirror Henry returned to the leather captain’s chair he’d occupied for most of the transatlantic flight. As requested, the head of his security detail was now seated next to him. His eyes flared ever so slightly at the sight of Henry’s bathroom makeover, but he said nothing.
Henry buckled his seat belt then reached for his cocktail, swirling the scotch that still filled his glass. The amber liquid was doing nothing to quell the sense of dread that had been building over the course of the flight. Then again, it would have helped if he’d actually drunk some of it. He’d poured himself three fingers’ worth, not from a fear of flying—he’d been doing that on the regular since birth—but from the unease that coiled in the pit of his gut. Fuck, he was acting like a teenager getting ready to ask his father for the keys to his new car, not a grown man with a direct order for his security team.
Still, he knew his decision was going to go over like the proverbial lead balloon. Change of any kind was historically met with a litany of objections. A change of this magnitude might very well cause an international incident. Because what Henry was about to propose was not only unprecedented, it went against all acceptable procedure. Which was why he waited until the plane had safely landed before divulging his plan to the head of his detail. The last thing he wanted was to give the poor man a heart attack at thirty-five thousand feet.
“I want you to call me Hank,” he said just after the wheels touched the ground.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Henry had lost count of how many times he’d asked him to drop the “sir,” especially when they were alone. But Clayton Hill was old school. He’d been protecting members of the royal family since before Henry was born, and according to him there was an order to such matters that should never alter.
All the more reason to fear the worst.
“For the duration of this trip, I’d like you to call me Hank.” Henry watched for any sign of an impending medical emergency. So far so good.
Clayton cleared his throat. “That’s hardly protocol, Your Highness.”
“Your Highness” was even worse than “sir,” and definitely not the direction Henry was headed.
“I understand. But this weekend I am not Prince Henry. I’m simply Hank . . .” He looked around for inspiration until his gaze fell on a toss pillow at the far end of the leather sofa that stretched along one side of the plane. “Hank Green.”
“Sir, I could never—”
Henry took a deep breath. No sense wading in slowly. The only way to do this was to jump right into the deep end. “And I think it best if the rest of the detail remains here in Atlanta.” Their flight plan had been based on the assumption that a private jet of that size would attract less attention at an international airport than at a smaller airstrip. The decision had meshed perfectly with Henry’s plan. “You and I can continue on to Madison alone.”
“Still, I’d feel more comfortable if the advance team—”
“You mean the team that was already here last month?”
Clayton stiffened in his seat. “You know about that, sir?”
Henry laughed. “All appearances to the contrary, there’s not much that gets past me.”
Henry and his grandmother had gone round and round on the topic of his travel. Official visits were one thing. On those occasions the hype and subsequent coverage from the press was to be expected, but when Henry traveled on leisure, he tried to keep the details of his whereabouts on a strictly need-to-know basis. But his grandmother, while being Her Majesty Queen Eleanor, was, after all, still just a grandmother—and an overprotective one at that. In her opinion, there was no such thing as too much security, regardless of the cramp it put in Henry’s lifestyle.
His father, Crown Prince Edgar, on the other hand, was a bit more understanding. When his grandmother w
as out of earshot, his father would wax nostalgic about his wilder days spent traveling with the Formal One team he’d sponsored in his younger years. Henry suspected his father would have become a driver if it hadn’t been for family obligations. But since racing around a track at over two hundred miles per hour was frowned upon when you were next in line for the throne, he’d had to settle for team ownership, although even that had to be relinquished as his royal duties increased. Now he indulged his love of motor sports by hosting one of Formula One’s most prestigious races. Winding through the city and along the waterfront, the track his father had helped design was considered one of the toughest on the circuit. Hosting the annual event was the highlight of Edgar’s year, although judging by the look in his eyes when he visited the pits, waving the green flag was a poor substitute for gripping the wheel.
Bottom line, a royal bloodline came with many perks, but it also came with a price, one Henry would pay when the time came for him to take his place on the throne. Which frankly, was all the more reason to make the most of the time he had when his responsibilities were less. For the most part, his father backed him on that. Edgar understood the need to blow off steam while you could. So as long as Henry showed up when expected and played the part he was born to play, then his father was happy to run interference. But like any other man wanting to avoid the wrath of a worried woman, he tended to side with the queen when it came to matters of security, especially when traveling abroad. Problem was, not only was an advance team a dead giveaway, more often than not it only made things worse. And although he would never admit it to the queen, Clayton agreed with Henry on this one. Which was why he went to great lengths to conduct his recon under the radar, even going so far as to keep it from Henry if he thought it meant peace in the palace.