by Laura Briggs
“Good,” she said. When Chad’s hand brushed against hers again, she slid her fingers between his own. She could feel his light, warm grip, one that didn’t hold too tightly or press too longingly. Perfect for what she needed right at this moment.
As they stepped into the street outside, Chad slowed his pace a little. “So…” he said, hesitating before speaking again. “Was he really your boyfriend? That guy having dinner with your family tonight?”
“What? No! No—I was telling the truth back there,” said Natalie. “He’s definitely not my ex. He’s just a friend of the family.” At no point could Brayden have been considered anything resembling a boyfriend, not in her world. Maybe to the perspective of an outsider, given the amount of time and the number of tributes he’d wasted on her since their grade school years, but that was different. “He had… sort of a crush on me. That’s why they were joking about him like that, but, honestly, they were only kidding you.”
“‘Had’ not ‘has’?” joked Chad.
Natalie was grateful that lamplight was excellent at disguising blushes. “You think he’d seriously wait around for me?” she asked, pretending this was not the case. “We were kids. Nothing lasts that long.”
“You seem worth it to me,” said Chad. That casual-but-confident estimate of herself almost cost Natalie another blush. Chad was so smooth, so coolly matter-of-fact with compliments that you couldn’t help accepting them. See, this is what Brayden doesn’t understand—his compliments are like cupcakes that have too much icing on them, so nobody in a million years would believe he actually feels that way about me.
“Yeah, well, that’s your opinion,” she shot back, equally breezy. “Anyway, it was all a joke.” Odds were, even if Chad was around long enough to discover the truth, it wouldn’t matter that she presented this little white lie.
“Good,” said Chad. “I kind of thought you were a little, you know… out of his league.”
For one tick of the clock, these words were a pebble crashing through Natalie’s life window, hitting the mark with perfect accuracy. A cruel assessment on Chad’s part, but exactly how she viewed Brayden, even if she tended to word it somewhat differently. Brayden, awkward and bumbling—Natalie, confident and attractive. Two different people, but one lesser than the other, as Chad pegged after one meeting with Brayden.
Life was cruel, but that’s the way it is, Natalie thought, albeit with a little grimness. And that’s why people like Brayden never get what they want out of it when they try to defy fate’s rules.
“You’re not wrong,” she said, though not with her usual sarcasm for this topic. “But he’s a nice guy, and he’s a friend of the family, which is why I still know him after twenty-something years. The Grenaldis are a pretty loyal group. We may fight amongst ourselves, we may criticize each other to the hilt and be too honest… but if somebody else tried to seriously hurt one of our fold, there would be definite consequences.”
And that’s why you should stop talking about Brayden right now, she added silently to Chad, in case he thought her agreement was an opening to elaborate on Brayden’s hopeless candidacy to date Natalie. Because a little mean-spirited humor over Brayden’s homely and-humble self might turn quickly into something deeper and crueler, and unleash a side of her that her paramours almost never saw—the lightning-fast, sharp-tongued temper of a Grenaldi whose friend was being abused.
Once, and only once, in a memory Natalie didn’t like to relive, she had unleashed it to defend Brayden in a moment of weakness in her high school years, when a group of mean but popular senior girls chose him to be the target of a vicious prank. Their plan never made it to stage one after Natalie overheard it, and Brayden never knew how close he had come to public humiliation, saved by the same girl who treated his prom invite like a sample of Black Plague bacteria.
It was one thing for Natalie to despise him, but another thing for someone else to crush him under their heel like dirt.
“Let’s not spend the rest of this evening on my crazy family or my fake ex-boyfriend,” she said to Chad. “I plan for you not to experience too much time with them compared to spending it with me.”
Fourteen
Ama had a thought board in her office: a corkboard on the harvest-gold wall, its crisscrossed pink ribbons holding the various cake designs that she had created this month, mostly inspired by Nadia’s wedding theme. Inspirations for the event were also attached, including clippings from Disney’s Frozen, and a Scandinavian ice hotel from her Pinterest album of exotic Christmas destinations.
A cake decorated with transparent candy-glass ice spikes. Could she make it look like an ice castle, with a little effort?
The Scandinavian ice hotel would be perfect for Nadia and Lyle’s wedding, if it were only located a little closer to home than Europe. She sometimes thought it would have been a perfect compromise between boldness and simplicity for the two arguing mothers, too.
Nadia’s vision for her cake was something that would match the winter white theme, Ama knew, in order to keep her vision alive despite the multiple criticisms it received from either side. The bride was still hoping for the country church and possibly a dusting of snow on the ground—but Paula was clinging fast to her argument in favor of the swanky hotel.
“I just think we should do things up,” she said. “You may only get married once, you know.”
“I’m planning on it, Ma,” said Lyle, who was holding Nadia’s hand in his own, and trying not to look befuddled by the many elegant wedding options Tessa surrounded them with. “Nadia and I are for keeps, and I want her to be happy. Go on,” he said to Nadia. “Pick the nicest one. I don’t care. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
Ama watched as Paula nudged a photograph of the new hotel, inch by inch, in Nadia’s direction, a hopeful look in her eyes. A second later, Cynthia set her handbag on top of it.
“I think the icicle lights you suggested for the restaurant’s entrance are extremely attractive,” she said to Tessa. “But do you think the frosted garlands are a bit much for the interior? I know that it probably needs some dressing up, but a little can go a long way.”
“The restaurant will look nice, Mom,” said Nadia reassuringly. “I want some atmosphere for the guests. It won’t feel right if they leave a church with a frosty wonderland look just to come to a big dining room that only has twinkle lights around its windows and that’s it.”
“Now, if you take the big hotel ballroom instead, you won’t have to worry about decorations,” coaxed Paula. “They got it all! And if we put up some big gold Christmas balls in the restaurant’s banquet room, it’ll practically feel like they never left the ceremony site.”
“Oh, please,” said Cynthia, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen its photos. The only way it could possibly look tackier would be to put up gold cherubs and a Cupid fountain carved out of ice.”
“Say, that sounds pretty neat,” said Paula. “Can you hire an ice sculptor who could make a big Cupid?” she asked the three wedding planners. They exchanged hasty glances.
“It’s really up to Nadia and Lyle,” said Tessa. “However, I was thinking it might be nice for the wedding party’s dessert table if we—”
“No Cupid,” said Cynthia crisply. Her refined Southern accent lost some of its smooth delicacy to give this statement a blunt edge.
“Mother.” Nadia nudged her again. “Remember what we talked about?”
“Do you really want some hideous ice cherub on your banquet table? My dear girl, I don’t think that’s quite you, but I could be wrong, I suppose.”
“No,” said Nadia. “I don’t. But Paula’s right that an ice sculpture would look really nice.”
“See?” said Paula. “I got good taste.”
“The best, Ma.” Lyle gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze with one arm. “Let’s get an ice thing. How do we do that?” he asked Tessa.
Her brave smile was back. “It just so happens that I have some thoughts on it,” said Tessa, producing a photo
of a carved ice swan. “This would be perfect with flavored sorbet balls in Mediterranean flavors to accent your Greek menu, for example. Or even with scoops of seasonal ice cream or gelato, to let guests indulge in some with their cake.” She smiled at Natalie, who had suggested this part earlier. “Or some beautiful fresh fruit prepared by the kitchen.”
“That sounds just perfect,” said Nadia. “I really like it.”
“A giant swan?” repeated Cynthia.
“Very tasteful,” Tessa assured her. And it was, compared to the Venus de Milo statue Stefan once had carved for a posh engagement dinner he planned.
“What about a big ice castle?” asked Paula.
“Like the one in Norway?” piped up Ama. “Actually, I agree that could be beautiful, too. We could put votive lights in it to provide illumination.”
“I think an ice castle is a bit ridiculous, frankly,” said Cynthia. “In my day, we believed an old-fashioned brick and mortar with decent architecture was good enough for anybody’s wedding. Now, times change, but it still seems like the choice of good taste to me.” The white gloves in her hand were being gripped with a bit more pressure than Cynthia’s polite expression belied.
“My wedding, Mom,” Nadia reminded her. “But I think I really like the swan. Lyle, what do you think of it?”
“I think… that I don’t have a clue,” he said, gazing at both pictures with a hybrid dumbfounded and I-couldn’t-care-less expression. “Ma? What’s your opinion on this?”
“I like the castle,” said Paula. “Go big or go home is what I say. And how about with little colored lights instead of those bitty candles?”
The three planners exchanged glances again—this time, ones of dismay. “It would really clash with the wedding’s decor,” said Tessa. “We could use soft blue, maybe…”
“I think mixed colors are pretty, and they say Christmas faster than just some ice and snow,” said Paula. “This wedding’s got a Christmas tree already. The big hotel tree is full of purple and green and reds of all kinds…”
“Just like an Orleans Mardi Gras parade,” Cynthia remarked—but quietly, so Paula didn’t hear her.
“… but not in the ballroom—that one’s all gold, of course,” continued Paula. “What’s wrong with those colors?”
“Weddings tend to stick to a specific color palette,” explained Tessa. “Nadia and Lyle have chosen white, silver, pale blue, and pale green as their preferred colors, so we need everything to stay within those boundaries. Lyle’s restaurant will be decorated the same way, of course.”
“But it’s all done up already with red and green,” said Paula. “It looks nice like that. Why take all that stuff down if it looks nice?”
“Lyle.” Nadia nudged him as he stared at his phone’s screen. “Lyle?”
“What?”
“The restaurant’s dining room will match the ceremony site, right?” said Nadia.
He looked as if he hadn’t given this any real thought. “Umm… I guess so,” he said. “Talk to Bernard. He’s in charge of decorating stuff. I’m just worried about the menu, the inventory, and what kind of overhead we’re going to have after the Leoni wine order ships.”
“But Lyle, you promised you were going to take care of it,” said Nadia. “You told me you talked to him weeks ago.”
“Honey, you know I’m not good with this kind of thing,” he protested. “I forgot, okay? The shrimp was being delivered, we had an issue with flour deliveries. I got caught up at work and I didn’t think to tell him to change the dining room’s decorations, okay?”
Nadia sighed. “It was one thing, Lyle.”
“I have a hundred to do, though. That’s why Ma’s here, and why your mom’s here, and why we’ve got these ladies here to help you out,” said Lyle. “They know decorations and cake, while I know about what kind of food we’re gonna serve at the reception. It’s all working out, right?”
“Right,” said Paula. “We can put a little red and green in this wedding’s decor. What’s it gonna hurt?” She beamed at the planners, who were feeling more uneasy by the second.
Cynthia started to protest, but Nadia seized her mother’s arm in a firm grip. “Let’s move on,” she said—in a voice that commanded no arguments. “Do you have those sketches of the cake?”
“Do I?” Ama had been waiting for her cue. “I have been giving your cake some definite thought, and I’ve come up with a couple of ideas that I think are really good choices for your theme. First up, my white poinsettia cake.” She propped the sketch on a little easel. “The silver berry centers are edible, and I can etch delicate little veins on the petals using a special edible metallic sheen glaze that will bind with the crystal sprinkles.”
Fondant white poinsettias filled the spaces between each cake layer, ranging in size and all with a soft touch of glitter added to the page by some glue and craft glitter from Ama’s craft supplies.
“Nice,” said Nadia. “It’s really pretty.”
“My second thought has a little bit of blue mixed with silver, using more edible decorations,” said Ama, now showcasing her second possibility, which featured an ice-blue frosting lace design trimming its edges and adorning its sides in swirls, with crushed candy glass sprinkling the surface and decorating the top with large decorative shards. “It’s very minimalist and modern, but we can make it a little warmer by toning down the candy glass’s icy look and replacing it with something cozier. Like a series of handcrafted chocolate Christmas ornaments, for instance, that have a metallic candy coating to give them a nice sheen?”
“I don’t quite believe I like the second one,” said Cynthia dubiously. “It just doesn’t suit Nadia at all.”
“I think that first one is a little too plain,” said Paula. Ama looked slightly crestfallen. “Shouldn’t poinsettias be big red flowers?”
“The wedding’s theme is white,” Nadia reminded her. “The cake’s decor should definitely be simple and wintry, because that’s what we want for our wedding.”
“What about that ice cake?” said Paula. “Say, look—I got a picture of one from the internet. Do you think you can find one?” She held out the photo on her phone to Ama, who noticed right away that the generic bakery cake bore a striking resemblance to a birthday one for Frozen.
“Please,” said Cynthia, pushing it down. A look of restrained patience appeared on her face. “Let Nadia choose her own cake. I’m the one who’s paying for this little part of the affair and I’m not paying for some glitter monstrosity that looks as if it were built out of sugar cubes. Why not just have them make an igloo and be done with it?”
“I’d really like a marriage between these two designs,” said Nadia, lowering her voice as she leaned toward Ama. “Can we have something that says winter wonderland and has some contrast, but keeps it mostly white? Kind of like the poinsettia cake, only with… I don’t know… not snowmen or toboggans, I guess.”
Nadia looked tired as she searched for words, a sign of how taxing this meeting had grown for the bride-to-be. “I can come up with something, absolutely,” said Ama. “No Christmas, just winter beauty. How about I draw a couple of new sketches and email them to you?” That way, nobody but the bride and the groom would see them.
“Thank you so much,” said Nadia, who looked relieved. Beside her, both mothers were still bickering over whether an ice palace cake was elegant or hideous.
She would definitely come up with a better design. Ama felt determined as she updated her notes, scratching out the candy glass and the concept for pale blue poinsettias. Snowflakes would be perfect—but not cookies, and not just fondant cutouts on the sides of the cake. It needed to look special.
Her phone rang as she crossed the street from the Wedding Belles’ headquarters. “What is it, Rasha?” she asked, answering the phone.
“Ama, what do you think of holiday lights in the restaurant’s windows? I just saw the cutest ones in this department store. Do you think it would be too much, since Papa bought that big gold
garland?” Her sister texted a photo to her, taken from inside a retail shop.
“Why not?” answered Ama. “Deck the halls, right?” Ever since her father decided that American seasonal holidays were a good restaurant marketing tool, the Tandoori Tiger had begun to feel like the neighborhood’s glitziest holiday department store. No one had been able to talk him out of buying lots of big metallic pumpkins in October for decorating the hostess stand.
She entered the cozy eatery known as Sugar Pie, where the country classic ‘Christmas in Dixie’ was playing softly overhead while customers perused the menu of coffee, hot chocolate, and regional holiday favorites. She could already smell honey-glazed ham and sweet potatoes in brown sugar, and knew it would be served up with a steaming side of creamy green bean casserole garnished with French fried onions.
Checked and gingham tablecloths gave the diner a Southern sunshine feel even in winter, although there were countertop-height Christmas trees on display, decorated with pinecones and old-fashioned spice cookie ornaments, and one of the walls sported framed black-and-white photo art of dogwood groves, rustic chapels, and Appalachian trails. A toy cowboy dressed as a dancing Santa waved at customers who passed by the register on their way to the door.
Ama was perusing the chalkboard menu and still trying to decide between cinnamon bread pudding and a specialty red velvet Christmas funnel cake with cream cheese glaze, when she noticed a familiar face among the diner’s customers. Nadia the bride was sitting at a table, leafing through Tessa’s latest suggestions. With a smile, Ama approached. “Fancy bumping into you here,” she said.
The bride looked up. “Oh, hi, Ama,” she said.
“I’m already having some great thoughts about your new cake,” Ama began, but her smile faded when she noticed the worry on Nadia’s face. “Something wrong?” she asked.
“Everything.” Nadia smiled halfheartedly. “I’m just so frustrated right now. There’s so many decisions, and I feel like there’s no agreement on any of them. I know what I want… but I’m not sure what Lyle really wants. I know way too much of what my mother wants, of course. And Paula.”