by Eden Davis
• • •
The phone continued to ring as Livia sank deeper into the hot, sudsy water. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Didn’t want to analyze her feelings with Aleesa, discuss the merits of single life with Lena, or make wedding plans with Jasi. All she wanted to do was drown her sorrows in a bubble bath, and wallow in her ridiculous emotions of feeling betrayed and abandoned.
The fact of the matter was that Livia had absolutely no legitimate right to feel hurt in any way, shape or form. Mitchell had done nothing to hurt her. Theirs had been a mutually pleasurable tryst that, while tempting and fulfilling, had been built on a foundation of temporary access. There had been no promises made, no covenants reached, no pacts put in place between them. Hell, they hadn’t even traded complete names.
You were so stupid to throw away his phone number, Quincy scolded.
She had torn it up, deciding that it was best thing for everyone if they didn’t stay in touch. Had she made a huge mistake? If she had stayed in contact after their return, would Mitchell be with her instead of Naomi’s daughter? Would he still be her lover instead of a doting father-to-be?
“It wasn’t even the right number,” she said into thin air. “And even if it was, it was the right thing to do.”
You don’t know if it was bogus, Quincy reminded her.
We’re really excited. The woman’s words raced through her mind, causing Livia to sit up. The sting of cool air on her exposed shoulders seemed to provide a new jolt of clarity. Just as Livi understood that she was in love with Mitchell, she was now convinced that her initial reaction of staying away had been correct. He was young, but now his youth played a very different role in her decision to let this go once and for all. Before it had been about her discomfort, but now it had to do with Mitchell’s right to be with a woman capable of giving him what it was now obvious he wanted—a family. It was physically impossible for Liv to do that for him, even if she wanted to. Not only was she too old for children at this stage of her life, she’d never been able to have babies, not even when she had been married. Livia had made peace with her barren lot in life decades ago.
She sunk back down into the warm tub, recalling that this was the place it had all begun. The fuck-it list that had started the journey that had ultimately brought her to Mitchell. Looking back at it all—from the party to the toys to St. Bart’s to her night with Bobby—she was happy the girls had forced her into this erotic experiment. Livia had learned a lot, specifically that sex is what you make it and the attitude you bring to it, that there was nothing wrong in selfish pleasure because that meant you were really enjoying it, not just doing it. She now understood that women had every right to claim their desires and act on them, and doing so didn’t make them some kind of whore. But perhaps the most telling lesson she’d learned from this experience was that truly great sex was not a function of the body alone, but an encounter of the heart, mind and soul. She hadn’t had that with her husband or her first love. Ironically, the only man she’d experienced such emotional and physical rapture with was a thirty-something stranger who had literally picked her up at the beach.
Life really is a mother-fucking riddle.
Havin’ Your Cake (Redux)
Livia drove her car along the long, prestigious driveway leading to the kitchen door of Naomi Maddox’s plush suburban estate. She turned off the car and looked at the time. It was two minutes to five, though Livi didn’t need the clock to tell her so, as the ever tightening knots in her stomach were counting down the minutes for her.
According to her plan, she’d arrived right on time. Livia’s goal was to get in, quickly assemble the cake and get out before any guests arrived. The last people she wanted to see were Mitchell and his gorgeous baby mama.
Which is why you’ve been getting ready since three o’clock, are made up like you’re going to a black-tie event, and made a special trip to the dry cleaners to pick up your most figure-flattering chef’s coat, and wore a dress instead of your usual pants, her annoying ego pointed out.
Livia tried to ignore the voices in her head as she swung her bag of pastry tools over her shoulder. Just as she was about to pick up the two-tier cake base, a deep male voice called out from the back door.
“Need help with that?”
Livia’s mind, body and heart froze. Her face squinted in nervous frustration and she felt the threatening breaths of hyperventilation looming. Please don’t let it be him; please don’t let it be him, she furiously prayed.
“Let me get those for you.”
Livia looked up and felt relief immediately wash over her. The offer came from one of the catering staff, and a grateful Livia was happy to accept. One less trip to the car meant less time in the enemy’s kitchen.
“Thank you.” Livia turned back to the payload to retrieve the boxes containing the last tier and the fondant lilies. She followed in the waiter’s path toward the door and watched helplessly as his foot missed the step and he and her cake went lunging forward.
“NO!” she heard herself shout.
Thank God the kid had balance. He was able to juggle and keep himself and the cake from falling to the ground, but when the sous chef came out to see about the screams, the edge of the door went right into the top tier of the cake.
Livia rushed to the door to check out the damage. At first glance, the gash in the fondant appeared ugly but not catastrophic. Hopefully, there was no damage to the actual cake. She had enough of what she needed to make repairs; it was just going to take time. Time she desperately did not want to spend in Naomi Maddox’s house.
“I am so sorry,” the waiter muttered through embarrassed lips.
“Let’s get inside so I can fix it. I’m going to need some work space here,” she informed the staff as she stepped through the door. Her eyes immediately went to the clock glowing from the microwave. Seven minutes after five.
As the caterer cleared space on the kitchen table for her to work, Livia more closely inspected the damage. The gash ran nearly the length of the two tiers. Additionally, the top layer had been nicked down to the cake, which meant she’d have to remove a section of fondant, reapply a base coat of icing to keep crumbs at bay, and then reapply and smooth the fondant. All that before she could apply the lilies. What she’d estimated to be a twenty minute assembly job, had now turned into at least a one-hour repair and rebuild.
The knots in her belly continued to tick down the precious moments between her finishing the job and getting the hell out of there before the guests arrived. The ceremony was being held in the living room area on the other side of the house. She could only pray that none of the family, or those who were like family, would have any reason to venture to the back.
Livia laid out her tools and got to work. Her mind momentarily wandered back to the last time she was in this house, causing Quincy to giggle and twitch. Talk about your muscle memory. Liv smiled before shutting down the recollections so she could fully concentrate on the task before her. The destroyed section of fondant was gone, the crumbs brushed away and the cake re-iced. Now she had to let the base frosting set so the fondant would stick. Livi’s eyes turned up to the clock. Five forty-three.
Her attention no longer consumed by the repairs, Livia could hear the hustle and bustle of guests arriving and being shuttled to their proper places for the ceremony. She breathed a sigh of relief. In the forty-five minutes since she’d arrived, nobody other than the catering staff and Naomi’s event planner had entered the kitchen. It looked like she was going to be able to get in and out before the ceremony was over.
Fifteen minutes later, Livia was back at work, smoothing out the frosting and re-icing the pearlized borders. The harpist played the first notes of the wedding processional as she began to apply the lilies, strategically placing them over the patched area. Six-ten. Done.
With the help of the sous chef, Livia rolled the cake to its proper place of honor. It looked beautiful. Rather than sugar, the flowers looked spun by Mother Nature and th
anks to Livia’s impeccable eye and considerable skill, nobody would ever know that this all-important cake had recently gone through such trauma.
The sounds of cheerful laughter and applause filled the house, letting Livia know it was definitely time to head back to the kitchen, pack up her tools and make a quick escape. The kitchen was nearly empty as the wait staff exited in order to serve the hors d’oeuvres and signature cocktails. Liv headed over to the table area and began gathering her belongings and cleaning up the mess.
She was wiping up the table when she heard a voice that made her heart stand still. It was low and buttery, exactly as she’d heard it in her head a million times since last he’d spoken.
“Excuse me, could I get a few crackers and a glass of water?” His urgent request for saltines was delivered in his signature fashion—wrapping a demand in a request, and it was filled with the same compassion she’d heard when he’d come to her rescue a world away.
Livia kept her back to him as she continued to wipe the table, hoping that he’d get his crackers and get the hell out of the kitchen without laying eyes on her. Her ears were pounding and she felt the heat of embarrassment creep through her body.
“Excuse me, miss. She needs something to eat now. Please. She’s feeling nauseous. I’d get it myself but it’s kind of crazy in here and I don’t want to mess anything up.”
It was now clear that Mitchell was speaking to her. Short of acting like a deaf mute, there was nothing she could do but turn around and help them out.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Livia mumbled, walking over to the counter without looking up or into his face. She located a box of crackers, put several on a plate, poured a glass of water from the Poland Spring cooler, and walked them over to Naomi’s daughter, maneuvering her body so her back stayed toward Mitchell.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you. After six months, I thought I’d be done with this morning sickness.”
“I hope you feel better,” she said and attempted to walk away.
“ ’S’cuse me,” the woman blurted out, covering her mouth, as she bolted toward the bathroom off the kitchen, leaving them alone.
“Hello, Quincy.”
Hearing her name exiting his mouth again forced her head up and her eyes to his face. She tried hard not to notice how fine he looked in his tuxedo. “Mitchell.”
“You didn’t think I’d recognize you or your voice?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Too long. How are you?”
“Good. Looks like you’re doing well,” she commented with a touch of sarcasm.
Surprise at her tone registered across his face. “I must be doing something right to run into you like this,” Mitchell said, writing her coolness off as a cover for some kind of misplaced embarrassment. “I was hoping I’d hear from you when we got back.”
“I figured what was the point? It was a fling that got flung. That’s it.”
“Well, that might work for you, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Mitchell closed the distance between them and took her hand in his. His touch felt like a torch on her skin. What she really wanted to do was to lean in and press her body against his so she could once again feel the arms she fantasized about each night. But what she actually did was remember the situation for what it was, and stepped away. Livia felt the heat of desire morphing into hot ire. How dare Mitchell come on to her while his pregnant girlfriend was throwing up in the next room? Class act. But what did she expect from a man who trolls the beach looking for strange women to pick up and screw?
Do you really believe that?
Livia felt a tear threatening to escape from the corner of her eye. She wasn’t sure if she really believed those things about Mitchell, but angry thoughts and over emotional accusations at this moment seemed to be the perfect inoculation against his proven charm and persuasive powers. He’d so obviously moved on. Why was he pressing her like this?
“I have to go,” she said, picking up her bag.
“Well, hopefully that’s the last of that for today,” Naomi’s daughter said, stepping out of the bathroom looking recovered and ready to go back and join the party. “Mitchell, we’ve got to get back out there. You’ve got to do the toast.”
Livia took the opportunity to nod her good-byes and head for the door.
“You’re Livia, the cake artist,” she stopped her to say. “The cake looks amazing, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“Livia?” Mitchell said with a huge question mark in his voice, as he stepped in front of her.
“You two know each other?”
“No, apparently not,” Mitchell said, wearing a quizzical look on his face.
“Congratulations, you two,” Livia said, looking him in the eye before she walked out of the house, leaving Mitchell and her heart behind.
She climbed into her car, threw everything into the back seat, and did a three-point turn so she could quickly get out of Dodge. Livi drove around the back of the house only to stop suddenly. The bride and groom’s limo was parked at the other end of the driveway, effectively blocking her escape.
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” she screamed into the air as she pounded the steering wheel in frustration. She exited the Lexus and walked over to the limousine, hoping like hell to find the driver sitting in the back. Her frantic taps on the window were answered with silence. Other than driving up on the lawn, Livia had few options. She could either wait for the chauffeur to return, which may not be until after the reception was over, or she could go back inside and look for him.
Livia decided to be proactive. She grabbed her keys from the ignition and trooped back up the driveway to the kitchen door. This time, however, the anxiety she’d arrived with had been blown up a hundred fold.
She returned to the kitchen, which now with the reception in full swing, was a flurry of activity. Livia immediately checked the breakfast nook, but was met with disappointment. “Have you seen the limo driver?” she asked the caterer.
“You’re back.” Mitchell stepped in to answer before the caterer could speak.
Livia could hear a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his voice. It thrilled and at the same time irritated her that Mitchell seemed almost relieved to see her again.
“Are you looking for me?”
“I’m looking for the limo driver. His car is blocking the driveway.” Her tone was much more clipped and curt than Livia intended, but being rude seemed the only way to defend herself against that damned sexy smile of his.
“I’m thinking that this can’t be a coincidence. That somebody upstairs is doing me a huge solid, and yet you seemed pissed off to see me. I don’t understand why all this attitude.”
“Look, Mitchell, we had a great time in St. Bart’s but let’s leave it there.”
Confused disbelief traipsed across his face before morphing into an inexplicable anger. There was no true basis for his feelings. Livia spoke the facts when she described, in the broadest of strokes, their time together in the islands. But the truth was hidden in the fine lines. Something had happened between them. Something big. Something powerful. Something definitely worth investigating further. This woman—Quincy, Livia—whatever her real name was, had gripped his imagination with a force unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Mitchell had begun to lose hope when Livia had not contacted him in the months since their return, but they’d somehow been brought together again. And instead of feeling the same excitement he did, she was giving him attitude and dismissing him like a pesky fly. The entire thing was totally pissing him off.
“Oh, now I get it. Like the phony name, the rest of your story was bull, too. What? Are you married with a couple of kids? Went on vacation with your freak list and a fake name, got busy with some sucker, and then came home to resume being a proper wife.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not the one who is being totally dishonest here.”
“What are you talking about? I was never dishones
t with you.”
“You don’t think it’s dishonest to pick up a woman, seduce and sex her up for four days, give her your phone number—”
“A phone number you never used, and perhaps if you did—”
“I did use it. And you know what I got? A wrong number. You come off like such the good guy and it was all part of your make ’em feel safe, get ’em into bed and tell her you’d like to see her again so she doesn’t feel like a slut or a whore for doing all those things with you, plan. You pulled the oldest trick in the book and gave me a wrong number.”
“I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t have done that because I really wanted to see you again.”
“Why? So you could fuck me when your pregnant girlfriend doesn’t feel like it?”
Mitchell’s brow frowned with confusion before his cheeks were lifted in laughter. “Woman, you are so off base that it isn’t even funny. Nora is not my girlfriend; she’s my sister.”
Relief washed over Livia in a tide that felt strong enough to knock her down. She was unable to control the look of joy that his clarification had put on her face. “Your sister? Really?”
“Yes, really. Now can I give you a proper kiss?” Mitchell moved close enough for her to smell the mint on his breath. The close proximity of his body to hers was kicking Quincy into hyper drive. Knowing Livia had tried to call him, that she wanted to see him again, had his heart doing happy backflips.
“Come with me,” Mitchell said, grabbing her hand and letting her know he was not taking no for an answer.
Well aware that there was a houseful of important guests and clients nearby, Livia allowed Mitchell to lead her down the hall to the opposite side of the house. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he took her past the same spot where she had stopped to pleasure herself and into the den.