by Logan Chance
“Why would they even want to come?” she asks me. “Shouldn’t they be governing?”
I laugh. “It’s polite to invite. Whether they show up or not is another story.”
We finish up the meeting, leaving no stone, or lace frill, unturned about the details of the wedding. Truly, I’m surprised my grandfather didn’t plan the whole thing before he died. I’m sure he’s laughing his ass off from down below.
Lana walks us out and advises Clementine to call her if she changes her mind about the statues.
“She really wants those statues,” Clementine whispers as I open the door for her.
I chuckle. “Why don’t you ride home with me,” I suggest as we walk out to the parking lot together.
She looks up at me. “What about Mayer?”
I grin. “He’s a big boy. He can find his way home.”
Clementine fiddles with the purse strap slung over her shoulder, but doesn’t accept my offer. “I have to pick up Tenny.”
I cock a brow. “Do you not want to ride with me?”
She laughs, but it’s not a real one. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
Stefan pulls up to where we stand, and I send a text to Mayer letting him know Clementine is with me.
“Get in,” I say, opening the car door.
“So bossy,” she says, finally entering into the back of the sedan.
I slide in, thankful that Tennyson’s car seat separates us. “Take us to Little Stars Academy, Stefan.”
The chilled air in the car does nothing to cool the heat rushing through my veins from the sudden memory of Clementine riding my hand. I loosen my tie, and try to remind myself there’s a child’s seat in here and my thoughts are very inappropriate. She doesn’t seem to have the same problem I do. She’s stiff, sitting close to the door, gazing out the window. It’s almost like she’s frozen in place. Like a statue, actually. Maybe, I could have a statue of her commissioned for the ceremony. Lana would love that.
“Are you ok?” I ask her, once Stefan has pulled out of the parking lot.
“I’m fine,” she answers all too quickly.
“You sure? You were a little off in the meeting.”
She sags against the seat. “It’s just everything. It’s all catching up to me. It’s a little overwhelming.”
I sit with one arm propped against the window sill of the car door, tugging at my eyebrow as I study her. “You sure that’s all it is?”
She nods. “I’m sure.” She looks over at me. “The shop closes early tomorrow, at two pm, so I thought that would be perfect for you to come taste cakes.”
I lick my lips. “I’d love to taste your cake.”
A red stain paints her cheeks and she turns back to the window.
When we arrive at the modest brick building to pick up Tennyson, I follow her inside.
“You don’t have to come with me,” Clementine says, her steps as clipped as her tone.
“I know,” I answer, glancing at the rocking turtles jutting from the ground and plastic cars scattered behind the fence to the right of the building. It’s all very happy, and I can almost hear the kid’s laughter, even though the playground is empty.
Clementine pushes a button beside the metal door and we’re buzzed into a gleaming white reception area filled with bright colors on the wall.
While Clementine lets the blonde behind a glass window know she’s picking up Tennyson, I stare at the artwork of stick figures with swollen heads and disproportionate bodies and smile. She’s right. They do look like the paintings my grandfather cherished so much.
Escorted by a brunette with a kind smile, Tennyson bounds into the waiting area.
Clementine takes his small hand in hers and we head back to the car. It’s all so domesticated. And I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I don't hate it.
“Let’s do apples,” Tennyson says on the drive to the estate.
“Apples?” I ask.
Clementine smiles, staring over at me. “He wants to go to his favorite restaurant.”
“What’s that?”
“Applebee’s.”
“Apple what?”
She laughs, and the sound flutters throughout the car like music, making me smile.
“You’ll love it,” she tells me.
“Sounds great.” I rarely ever eat out, mainly due to the fact I have a personal chef, but I tell the change of plans to Stefan, and he turns the car around, heading toward the strip mall.
This should be fun. And I don’t mean that in a smart-ass way. Since Clementine has moved in, we haven’t had very many meals together. Most nights, I opt to eat in my office, working on contracts and making sure Bishop stays far away from my wedding. Plus, I don’t want to impede on Clementine’s time with her son. I almost feel like an outsider looking in, but I’m glad we’re remedying it.
My grandfather was never about family dinners. I think he ate in his office too, working late and dining on the souls of his competition. I’ve inherited his work ethic, I guess. Too bad none of it rubbed off on Ronin.
Stefan pulls into the parking lot of the local Applebee’s, and I follow Clementine and Tennyson to the entrance and open the door with an oversized apple on the glass. Inside, the place is packed, with a giant bar in the middle of the restaurant filled with people. The noise is deafening and I blink at all the happy families enjoying each other.
“How many tonight?” the blue-haired hostess asks at the podium near the front.
“Three,” Clementine says, glancing back at me.
“This way,” she says, grabbing menus.
We follow her to a booth near the back of the restaurant and slide in. The hostess puts down a menu in front of me, and one for Clementine, and then gives Tennyson a piece of paper and some crayons.
Tennyson is on cloud nine, and grabs the crayons and starts scribbling on the paper.
I open the menu. “Normally, the places I eat don’t have pictures of the food. It’s helpful.”
Clementine laughs a little from across the tiny booth. “That’s a shame. Tennyson loves it here.”
“Well, what’s good?” I ask her, letting her choose my next meal.
“I always get a burger,” she says. “We should do an order of mozzarella sticks. They’re Tenny’s favorite.”
I’m completely out of my element, but it’s something I can come to appreciate.
I glance around, observing the other families enjoying their meals, and I can’t remember the last time I ever spent real time like this with my own family.
The server, a bouncy young lady with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, approaches our table with a smile all too big. “Evening, can I start you all with something to drink?”
Clementine orders for herself and Tennyson, and then the server looks at me. “Bottled water and an order of mozzarella sticks.”
“Promise you’ll love them,” Clementine says as the server walks away. “They taste so much better than caviar.”
I laugh. “I’ve had fried cheese before.”
She raises a brow. “Seriously?”
“You think all I eat is caviar and champagne for every meal?”
She removes the green tape from the napkin around her silverware, unraveling the cutlery. She places the napkin on her lap. “I guess I don’t really know much about you.” Her eyes meet mine, and for once in my life I don’t want to turn away.
Tennyson interrupts our moment, showing his picture to his mother. “See?”
“It’s very nice.” She turns the paper over. “Can you circle the food you want?”
He smiles, using the red crayon to draw a big circle around a corn dog.
“Now that I’ve never had,” I say as the server arrives with our drinks.
“Oh, we’re going to change that right now.”
I feel like a lot of things are going to change, whether I want them to or not.
FOUR
Clementine
* * *
GABRIEL I
S SO OUT of his element. It’s almost comical the way he reads over the menu, trying to find something to eat. Most nights, when I get home to the estate, I’m so busy with Tennyson, I never really notice what Gabriel does for his meals. He’s usually locked away in his office doing whatever men like him do.
A man passes by us, giving us a stare, and I can’t shake the feeling of what Ronin said to me today. Or the feeling I’ve had since that darn cowboy mentioned Bishop Blackstone’s name at the art gallery event.
I feel like everyone’s watching me.
Like I’m hiding in plain sight.
Am I putting us in danger by eating out in public? I glance around and giggle to myself. One place no one will ever think to look for Gabriel Prince and his soon-to-be wife is at the local Applebee’s. I can almost relax here. Almost.
And I do have to admit, watching Gabriel in this place is quite funny.
The server takes our order, and I throw on an extra kid’s meal of the corn dog. Just so Gabriel can try it.
“Everyone needs to try a weiner fried in dough at least once,” I tell him.
His dark eyes fill with humor, and I remind myself not to be swayed by his gorgeous face. So I don’t look at him, I busy myself with helping Tennyson draw pictures on his little menu. I try to enjoy the normalcy of the evening, and push down the stress of this afternoon. With the wedding, and Ronin, and now Bishop, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
“Are you ok?” Gabriel asks.
I gaze up at him, noticing how acclimated he’s become to his new surroundings. He’s like a chameleon, able to blend in with any situation.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just tired from a long day.”
“Wedding preparations are tedious, no doubt about that.”
“What’s tedious?” Tenny asks as the server sets our order of mozzarella sticks on the table.
“Something you don’t really want to do,” Gabriel answers.
“Then why do you do it?”
“Well, sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to because they’re necessary.”
“Careful, they’re hot,” I warn Tennyson, taking my fork and placing one on the appetizer plate in front of him. I scoop a little marinara sauce onto his plate as well and then cut up his stick. “Blow on it.”
Gabriel watches with fascination. “Where do you learn that?”
“Learn what?”
“To be a Mom.”
I smile. “It just comes naturally, I guess. Lots of trial and error, for sure.” I can think of countless times Tennyson stuck food in his mouth that was too hot.
“You’re good at it. I can barely remember my own mother.”
I pull apart a mozzarella stick as I watch his face grow somber. “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing Gabriel lost his mother and father when he was very young.
“It’s fine.“ He selects a fat mozzarella stick from the plate and dips it into the red sauce. “She’s the one who introduced me to kites.” He takes a bite and sets the remainder onto the little white plate.
“I have a kite,” Tennyson adds.
“You sure do,” I say. “He may love them as much as you.”
I grin at Gabriel and his return smile is breathtaking. Sometimes I forget how good-looking he is.
Thankfully, he turns his attention to Tennyson. “We’ll have to fly a kite soon.”
All the words Ronin said to me come rushing back, and I pay more attention to the mozzarella stick in my hand than the gorgeous man sitting across the booth from me.
We’re in danger. I need to stop living in a fantasy, and remember we’re in the real world. Gabriel makes it so easy to forget about the world around us.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I watch the second hand on the clock float around the clock on the wall, waiting for Gabriel to show up. It’s like watching and waiting for water to boil. I have a few sampler cakes fresh from the oven, ready for him to taste test.
The shop is closed, and it’s eerily quiet in the back kitchen. My phone rings, and I pick it up from the countertop. My hand shakes as I flip it over in my hand. There’s no number, and I debate letting it go to voicemail, but instead I swipe to answer, in case it’s Gabriel calling from somewhere.
“Hello.”
“I’m coming…” a male voice says and then the call drops.
My heart immediately thumps faster.
I glance around, making sure I’m definitely alone here before I send a text to Erin.
“Hey. How’s Tenny?”
A few minutes tick by before she answers.
“Good. He and Troy are having a superhero battle.”
I smile. This paranoia is really getting to me.
“Thanks for picking him up,” I send back.
“Of course. I’ll bring him home around seven. In case you’re busy licking frosting off of Gabriel.”
“Oh my god, stop! He’s tasting cake. That’s all!”
“Mhm.” She sends a series of x-rated emojis that make me laugh, and I tell her I’ll call her later, just before my phone rings again. This time Gabriel’s name flashes across the screen.
I let out a deep breath of relief. “Thank God,” I say into the phone.
“Clementine, is everything ok?”
“Everything’s fine,” I say a little too upbeat.
“Well, I’m outside. Want to let me in?”
“Sure thing.” I hang up the phone, toss it on the counter, and rush to the front door of the shop.
Gabriel stands on the other side of the glass, shocking me by not having on a suit. Instead of his usual attire, he’s dressed in dark jeans and a white button down with the cuffs rolled up on his forearms, showcasing his watch. The arm porn is just as lethal as the suit porn.
“Come on in,” I say, and lock the door quickly behind him.
“Smells good.”
So does he. “Hope you think it tastes as good.” I lead Gabriel to the back of the shop and into the kitchen. “I have a few samples.”
“I love samples.” He takes a seat on a stool at the stainless steel table where I’ve arranged a few different flavors.
“This is the first one,” I point to the mini red velvet cake loaded with cream cheese frosting. “It’s one of my favorites.”
He picks up the fork next to the plate. “I’m not going to lie, I love cake,” he says with a smile before he digs in and takes a bite.
Just like that, I’m jealous of a fork. I want to be the tines sliding into his mouth, touching his tongue, and being sucked by his lips. No one has ever made me wish I was cutlery before.
He’d be a knife. One side smooth and cunning, not at all scary, because you know it will never hurt you. The other side sharp and evil, just waiting for the slightest slip of your hand to draw blood.
Gabriel is nothing compared to Bishop, though. If Gabriel is a knife, than Bishop is a whole army of swords. Ready to slay.
Gabriel lets out a slight moan as he takes another bite of the red velvet cake, and now, more than anything, I wish I was cake.
I look away, knowing his lips and smile will be my downfall. “This is lemon with a hint of elderflower.” I point to the yellow cake in front of him, and he raises a brow.
“You’re spoiling me, Clem.”
My breath hitches. It’s the first time Gabriel has ever called me Clem and not Clementine, and I like it. “It’s just cake,” I whisper.
He takes a bite, slow and sensual. “It’s never just cake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sit down,” he pats the stool next to him. I do as he says, and he picks up his fork, swiping another piece of the cake. “It’s like sex.” He brings the fork up, offering it to me, waiting for me to open my mouth.
I take the bite of the lemon cake, not breaking eye contact, letting the full flavors illuminate my tastebuds.
“It’s an explosion of flavors, racing straight through you.” His voice is husky and low. “Opening up all your senses.”
“C
ake does all that?” I ask, focused on his lips.
“Yeah. And if it’s really good, really fucking good, done the right way, it makes you moan, telling your body to do it again. And again.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. Chills race up my spine, and my heart beats rapidly in my chest.
He draws closer. “This tastes as good as you.” Before I can say or do anything, he kisses me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and stand, moving into the spot between his legs. A groan rumbles out of him, and he grips my hips, pulling me flush against him, as his tongue explores my mouth.
“I just can’t seem to stop kissing you,” I murmur when he breaks away to run his lips along my jaw.
“I know the feeling.” And then his lips find mine once again. And it’s the kind of kiss you dream about. The game-changer type of kiss. The panty-melter type of kiss.
And I’m pretty sure Gabriel just disintegrated mine.
Thoughts about Ronin, Bishop, and the wedding are forgotten at the sound of the throaty sounds Gabriel makes as he deepens the kiss. It turns me on, and I can’t stop myself. I’m no longer in control of my own body. It’s powered by pure lust and want. In this moment, I’m driven by my own selfish need. I haven’t done anything for myself in a long time. I don’t get the chance to be selfish. I don’t get to think about me.
But, right here, right now, all I can focus on is doing something for Clementine. Letting go. Feeling free.
And I don’t care.
Gabriel’s hands move lower, down my neck, tracing over my collarbone and ending there before he breaks the kiss. “I love the way cake tastes on your lips.” His hand brushes across my breasts. “You’re dangerous.”
His mention of danger causes reality to crash back all around me and dispel this little cake cocoon we’re wrapped in. I want to tell him about Ronin’s warning and the phone call that took place before he arrived.
His lips are still so close to mine. “I think we can go with the lemon and elderflower cake.” I step away. “We should get going home.”
I can’t tell Gabriel. I can’t tell anyone.
FIVE