Chapter 1

Ronan

After losing my father in a gunfight, I knew I had to step up. I also knew marriage was at the top of the list, but I was busy doing a lot of other things until my mother got in the fucking way.

“Do you really expect to marry for love?” My mother’s words the night she got me to agree to this, sealing my fate with the Ferreri as their son-in-law replay in my head.

“I know what I must do.” And I did. I’m on it.

My mother has driven me nuts in more ways than I care to remember. Going out of her way to play fucking matchmaker for me to marry Barbara Ferreri is just the cherry on top.

My father would be proud of my fiancée and irritated by my trying to dodge this wedding. He was my mentor. My mother is my nemesis, and my sister… well, my sister is my heartbeat.

I look at her in the rearview mirror, watching her look at something on her phone. She is wearing a simple denim skirt and a stylish bright blue blouse that compliments her gray eyes. Without her dark irises, she could easily pass for a ghost.

She lifts her eyes to meet mine, catching me watching her. She manages a small smile but I know her well enough to know something is making her uncomfortable.

I focus on the deep breath she takes, then her fidgeting, and then her pretending to be too involved in what she looks at on her phone. “Riley…”

“What do you think of this track, sweet pea?” Barbara slips herself into the moment as if her presence is not enough of a pain in the fucking ass.

I say nothing to her. I detest that stupid pet name. I have warned her more than once, but she’s decided to keep it since she thinks it’s getting under my skin.

“Babe?” She cocks her head to look at me from her seat next to me.

I don’t hate her. I hate the situation I’m in and the fact that she is using every opportunity she gets to aggravate me, spoiled brat that she is.

She knows she is in a powerful position and she knows why I’m doing this, we both do. But I stand to gain more, so she is taking advantage of that.

“I want to make a video so the publicist will have something to post.” She waits for me to answer, but all she gets is fucking silence. I’m everywhere in the media because of her. I’m sleeping, she takes pictures. I’m eating, she makes videos. Everything is for show. Once, Riley showed me the page, and even I almost believed we were in love.

Her team had planned everything to perfection. It was shocking.

“Ronan?” She snorts. “It was the pet name, wasn’t it?” She chuckles dryly. “Okay, what do you want me to call you, and what will you be calling me? Because we have to agree on something here.”

“Barbara, that’s what I will be calling you,” I reiterate like I have done every single time she brings up this issue. “Find something you want me to call you,” I breathe quietly as I feel her smiling beside me.

“I already have something I think will be the perfect…” Riley giggles from the backseat and I catch her staring at me through the rearview mirror. Every single thing is funny, amusing, and intriguing to her.

I screw my brows at her, and she shrugs.

“I never thought the day would come when I would see my big brother using a pet name for a lady,” she shakes her head, clamping her lower lips to tamp her smile.

“You owe me one then for making that day come,” Barbara lifts her phone, and my teeth clench when I realize she is making a video.

“Take the next turn,” Riley points at a turn, and I nod.

I’m trying to remember who convinced me to join them for this damn cake tasting. Barbara or my mother?

“That one,” Barbara stops recording and gestures toward a three-story pastry store, and I pull up in front of it.

I can taste the sweetness they whisk up in there simply by looking at the colorful building. I pull up next to a sedan, and a customer emerges, grinning and clutching a brown carry-home bag with the store’s logo printed on it.

However, Riley’s fidgeting again, so I corner her once she climbs out of the car.

“I’m fine,” she answers before I start, which means she is not.

“Who said I was going to ask that?” I slip one hand into the pocket of my jeans and puff my chest.

“You have that look, big brother,” she swings her eyes. “But I’m fine.”

“Riley, tell me why you are nervous,” I rest one hand on the car to trap her, and she folds her arms across her chest.

“It’s not me I am worried about,” she huffs. “It’s you.”

I know I live my life on the fucking edge, and I’ve heard her express her worry more times than I care to keep count of. But this time seems different.

“Why?” If she tells me it’s because of the marriage, I’ll know she’s lying. They should be worried for Barbara. I don’t give a fuck about anything. When we get married, she won’t force me to do anything.

Barbara is still attempting to salvage her dream marriage from this ordeal. I feel sorry for her, which is why I sometimes let her. She just won’t let go.

I’ve given up on mine. I know that the people I lost will never return to me, and that’s okay.

Well, perhaps not okay. Living in such a harsh reality is difficult. A fucking painful wound to heal from, I will strive for the remainder of my life to stop it from spilling all the blood out of me. But I will go ahead and do it for the benefit of everyone and everything involved.

“I’m waiting,” I snap my fingers in her face.

“It’s…”

“Don’t fuck around with me, Riley; tell me what is getting you this worked…”

She interrupts me by pointing with her eyes in Barbara’s direction. I grudgingly turn to glare at her, but as soon as I focus on the person next to my fiancée, I am taken aback.

Wearing a pair of blue jeans and a simple white blouse, bluish-black hair flowing on her shoulders, cherry-colored pastel lips and freckles splattered across her cheekbones, those onyx eyes… Olivia.

She meets my eyes, and the shock waves dart between the us.

“You should see your face,” Riley chuckles, then goes over to Olivia to drag her into an embrace.

“Riley,” Olivia stammers. Her voice still has the same hummingbird-like quality as it always did.

“Ollie,” Riley pulls away from the hug. “It’s been forever,” Riley chuckles. “You look so beautiful, so…”

“Huh, excuse me,” Barbara lifts a finger. “Am I missing something?”

“This is…”

“I know who she is.” Barbara sneers at them both. “Olivia Delgado, the chef in charge of my wedding catering. How are you two so friendly?”

“I know Olivia from way back,” Riley shrugs. “She is a family friend. I haven’t seen her since…” She swings her hands in the air to keep that information out. “Huh…” Riley gulps and then chuckles. “It’s been… It’s been a while.”

“Since we broke up,” I say.

Chapter 2

Olivia

Ronan is in my bakery.

Ronan is in my bakery!

I’m clawing into my hair and screaming my mind out at the sight of him. He is here. After so many years. My Ronan.

I have never seen anyone wear such a simple outfit with as much elegance and poise. Black jeans and a gray knitted sweater never looked this good on anyone.

I wasn’t sure when I stepped outside, but I had a gut feeling that no other man had dirty blonde hair with that exact same gold and strawberry tinge.

There was no mistaking his height or the way he hunches his shoulders. Maybe he gained a few inches, and I think age has made him look even more refined. His biceps are more prominent than before.

But I felt it.

I knew it was him.

I nod and take in as much oxygen as I can. Every time he is around, he takes my breath away.

Memories of our past are flooding my mind. My heart is thumping loudly, bouncing off the walls in my chest. I feel like my stomach is spinning. But I sense something, someplace amid this chaos.

I feel this impulse to touch him to make sure what’s in front of me is real. That he is here. That it is truly him.

This moment feels surreal. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but in all the years I’ve spent wondering when and how I would see him again, I never imagined it would be this way.

And this way is painful.

A reminder of my desires, even though I already know too well that I will never be able to fulfill them. It’s not like I ever wanted him back but knowing that I will never have him makes the ache unbearable.

I try to maintain my composure and manage a grin for him and Barbara while maintaining my professionalism. My career is on the line here, and I will not allow Ronan to stand in my way. Then again, he’s staring at me. All of them are. As if I should respond to what he said in some way.

But the stare from those aqua green eyes gives me with a rush. It is the stare from those eyes that is making my stomach churn and my throat flaky.

I have never seen somebody maintain such a constant tilt on one brow. Nobody that I’ve seen twitches the side of their mouth in that way when they face an inconvenience. Nobody I know can keep me ensnared in their spell for so long.

The bride’s family name was the only information provided when I received the bookings on my website. There is no way in hell I would have ever been this excited about this job had I known he would be here, that he’d be the groom.

“Shocking,” Barbara finally says. “It is not every day you run into your fiancé’s ex, who also happens to be the pastry chef meant to bake your wedding cake,” she chuckles, raising her hand to show off her huge diamond ring.

“That’s why we shouldn’t use her,” Ronan says. I’m not sure how I feel about his suggestion, but I understand where he’s coming from.

“Do you want to talk about it in private?” Riley gestures over her shoulder in the direction of the car, but neither Ronan nor Barbara seems to be taking up her offer. “No?” She puffs. “No.”

Barbara creeps toward Ronan and says, “I get your concern, Babe,” giving her hips a little extra swing. “But consider this,” she pauses next to him and, taking advantage of her height, rests an elbow on his shoulder. She gently puts her arm around him possessively and says, “She is the best in Boston, and I want the best for my wedding to you.”

The sight unsettles me.

It should have been me.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Ronan slants his head to face Barbara, and she sucks in a deep breath like that move affected her in the same way it’s affecting me.

They are so close to kissing. Their lips are only an inch away from coming together, and he is staring into her soul like she is the best thing in the world—the same way he used to stare at me.

“I can issue a complete refund,” I offer with the biggest smile I can muster, watching the only man I have ever truly loved gazing at another woman as though she is his universe, and I can’t help but admit that they belong to each other. “Plus, I might have someone else to recommend so you don’t have to deal with starting a new search over again.”

They fit together. Barbara is a few inches shorter than Ronan, who is over six feet –definitely somewhere between six feet four and five.

Being the model she is, she has the most perfect body I’ve ever seen—a dream girl. Barbara is stunning, amazing waves of raven black hair and brown eyes the color of coffee. She also knows how to accentuate each of her features. She is wearing a deep green jumpsuit, accessorized with a gold belt that matches her clutch and gold stilettos.

And then her social status. Although I am aware that Ronan is not the kind to obsess over things like that or let them influence his choices, I also know that his mother clings to it tightly.

They are both up there.

“She said she can do a refund,” Riley repeats my words since Barbara and Ronan stare at each other as if they are having some encoded conversation.

“That won’t be necessary,” Barbara breaks the eye contact to smile at me. “Babe,” she says as she tilts her head, facing Ronan again. “You know how my father gets, and he already paid for this. How would I justify it?” She shrugs. “And I want her to do this,” she leans in and presses a soft kiss on his lips.

I quickly drop my eyes to the floor and close my mouth as Riley looks from them to me. I gulp, taking the sting like a big girl.

When I hear Barbara clap her hands enthusiastically, I know Ronan must have said something to her with his expression or the same eye-encoded discourse.

“Thank you, Babe,” Barbara turns to face me. “Shall we?”

I nod a little too quickly. “Sure,” I go ahead so they can follow me.

I shouldn’t care about what Ronan thinks of this arrangement since it means I’m keeping my client, which should be the major focus of every business owner. But I find that I care. I care about how he feels. I know I’m grateful that Barbara wants to work with me, but Ronan shouldn’t have to suffer. Both of us shouldn’t be subjected to suffering.

As Barbara slings her arm to hook with his, guiding them into the store where Ruth, my apprentice, smiles, defusing the tension in the air, I try to get a reaction from him. As usual, he is devoid of any emotion that reveals how he feels.

I used to be able to slip through and bring it out of him, but I’ve lost that ability. I have lost much more than that.

“Hey,” Riley comes to my side and runs her hand up and down my back. “Are you good?” She whispers, and I nod.

“Thank you,” I whisper back. “It’s good to see you again, Riley.”

She smiles affectionately, as she has always done, and follows Ronan and Barbara into my store.

The cake samples are already lined up on a table in the corner. My store doesn’t have a sit-in but for cases like this, I have a few round tables and comfortable chairs.

I keep trying to read Ronan’s body language as Ruth leads them to the table with the cakes on display. But now, I’m trying to see if he is impressed with my store or not.

I never thought about it before now, but now that he is actually here, I want to know what Ronan thinks of my business.

I wonder if he finds the name as confusing as most people do or if he remembers that it was my grandma’s name.

Amalia.

Named after my grandma from my father’s side of the family, who passed away while I was in culinary school in France. She was the one who encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Sadly, I never had the opportunity to bake her anything after graduating or give her one of the gourmet dishes I created for my final year project.

I miss her.

“Welcome to Amalia,” Ruth gives her welcome speech a little late as they sit down in front of the table with the mini-cakes. Ruth smiles at me and pulls a puppy face to show she’s sorry.

“Go on,” I tell her, anchoring her to serve the cakes on the white saucers on the table. Both Riley and Barbara start to smile and adjust with excitement, like they have been waiting for this moment.

Ruth serves the first cake, which is a lemon cake with chocolate chips inside. Ronan shakes his head at Ruth when she offers him some and both Barbara and Riley reach out at the same time to grab the saucer. Barbara pouts and lets go of it but Riley hands it back to her.

Ronan leans to the side, disappearing mentally from the scene as Ruth keeps serving the cakes, from the red velvet with strawberry syrup filling, to the banana cake with vanilla cream, and the white chocolate cake with dark chocolate filling.

I’m swelling with pride, explaining all the ingredients I used. I confirm that neither the bride nor groom have any allergy to the ingredients used or dietary restrictions as Barbara keeps eating them all with a heightened level of excitement.

“I’m good with everything,” Barbara shrugs, munching on the white chocolate cake.

“I’m good,” Ronan answers, although he hasn’t tasted a single thing we served.

“In that case,” I exhale, “Let me get more samples, including the curated menu for the big day.” I slap my hands together. “And we have something for the bride, a special treat packed just for you.” As expected, Barbara’s brown eyes light up, and my heart swells some more.

I love what I do. But I love it a little extra when the people I do it for love it.

“Take care of it, please,” I give Ruth the order, and she nods eagerly.

I then whirl away and vanish into the little passageway next to the counter leading to the pantry. I enter the pantry and take a long breath.

Ronan is getting married. Ronan is out there and this is the first time in over a decade that we have seen each other. Ronan is in love with another woman. Ronan is…

“What are you planning, Olivia?”

My blood turns cold in my veins as I recognize Ronan’s familiar husky baritone. I clear my throat and stand straight.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, facing him. He is standing beside the now-closed door, his eyes fixed on me.

“Trying to find out what you are planning, Olivia, because I know you know. Barbara is my fiancée and you…”

“Oh please,” I chuckle, finding the courage to stay brave even though I’m shrinking from him being in this enclosed space with me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ronan. I didn’t know, and I won’t have you mess this up for me. The Ferreris are important clients for my career and that thing you were trying to do out there…” I get closer to him for effect but quickly shrink as it affects me instead, sending torrents of heat through me, “Stop it. Stop trying to sabotage me.” I stand in front of him, knowing I should step back but staying still.

He holds my gaze, and I see the exact moment he softens.

Then he nods. “Whatever happens, be on your best behavior.” He closes the distance, and my body fires up as his body brushes mine. “Behave yourself, Olivia.” It’s a breath, and it brushes against my temple.

“Or what?” I puff, standing on my toes so as not to make myself look so small before him. Then he dips his head, reminding me how small I am and for many reasons other than the difference in our sizes.

His eyes drift to my lips, and mine instinctively look at his mouth. His lush mouth, his rich, vibrant lips–like hot, melted strawberries.

He swallows, continuing to stare at my lips. I can think about only one thing. Later, I will kick myself, but for now, in this moment, it doesn’t feel all that bad.

He chuckles, and the little puff of air from his mouth caresses my lips, making me close my eyes and tilt my head. His body presses flat against mine, and he plants a single finger in the middle of my lower back, scorching me there like a hot coal.

He can see right through my trembling. He can feel it. I open my eyes to see the cloudiness in his gaze, but he is staring at my lips with his long, curly lashes covering his hooded eyes.

I shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this.

“Or else,” he bites his lower lip. “You won’t like what I would do to you and your…” He lifts his eyes back to mine. “… pretty little dream,” he takes a step back, opens the door, steps out of the pantry, and slams the door.

Chapter 3

Olivia

One Week Later

Tension.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve been doing this for years. When it’s time to deliver, the tension is always on high speed.

Today is the day. I woke up with mixed feelings of wanting everything to go perfectly and praying for it all to just not be true.

I’m trying as hard as I can to ease some of the tension, but the screwing of my stomach walls around my shrinking organs seems to be happening at the speed of lightning every time I stare at the people present.

Ronan and Barbara’s wedding reception.

The hall, the music, the people, everything is evocative.

The theme color is black and cream, and the fashion trend is reminiscent of the Hollywood nineties. I was expecting nothing less from Barbara.

The media is everywhere, taking shots of every single thing and every single person. It looks straight out of a top bridal magazine—the wedding of the year.

One of Boston’s most eligible bachelors and one of the city’s most stunning women decided to unite, leaving everyone wishing and daydreaming.

Working on their wedding cake and getting the food ready for this big day has not been easy.

It wasn’t easy when she showed up again without him to taste the gourmet dishes and approve each one. As much as I wanted to find something to hate about Barbara, I couldn’t.

She is very decent and hasn’t held my past against me in any way. She was never rude.

I smooth my hands over my ponytail and manage to regain my smile.

While we were dating, Ronan was lovely and kind to me. His assertiveness aside, which I never had a problem with.

I slip my hand into the pocket of my black jumpsuit, which allows me to blend into the elegance needed for an occasion like this one but be comfortable as well. I take out the little finger-size jotter I take with me everywhere to make notes and to-do lists.

On my part, I check my list, and things seem to be going according to plan.

So far, even better than I had planned.

I lift my eyes from my list, and my gaze ends up on someone from the Ferreri table picking up hors d’oeuvres from the platter set on their table. My eyes narrow in on Cesare Ferreri, Barbara’s sixty-something-year-old father in a black tux with a white inner shirt, his balding black hair ambushed by some strands of gray.

Cesare suavely takes a bite from what he is holding and drops the rest back on the platter before standing with the napkin in his hand to mingle with some guests.

I keep watching his every chewing move, waiting to see if he will give anything away. I need to know if he is satisfied with the food, my service, and the entire presentation.

I have seen Riley around, and she seems to be loving everything about it. Most people at the groom’s family table seem to love everything, albeit in their stiff way.

“You think he likes it?” Ruth whispers into my ear, and I flinch.

“Stop doing that,” I move a step away from her, steadying my heartbeat as best as possible. I’m jumpy, and she knows it.

“Sorry,” she smiles stiffly. “I’m sorry.” She lifts one hand as if making an oath, and I roll my eyes. She will do it again.

I nod and I turn my eyes away from glaring at her to resume my observation of Cesare.

“I will try,” she smiles. “But what do you think?” She closes the distance, making sure our shoulders brush against each other. “I think they are satisfied with the service, but I’m not sure about the food. They haven’t really started eating yet.”

I nod. “I agree,” I puff. I know I’m good at what I do, but sometimes, waiting for a client’s feedback can mess with your confidence. The hard part is understanding that some feedback has nothing to do with your service; it is just the client’s preference. “I think…” Ruth pockets her jotter in her cream jumpsuit. “I think Sofia likes it,” she nudges with her chin in the direction of the bride’s sister, who is far away from the family table.

I see her eating and talking with a man, so I smile as I glance at her. She appears to be at ease with the older man, who is dressed in a nicely fitted tux. He is slightly shorter than her father but has more hair .

Despite having a similar outfit to the other bridesmaids, Sofia’s dress has a distinct flair. She has an athletic build and is the shortest of the bridal party. Barbara’s train included most of her famous model pals, and although Sofia is the smallest, she is by no means the least attractive.

“She does,” I smile some more.

“And he is…,” Ruth nudges again in a different direction, and I catch Pietro Ferreri, the bride’s brother, wiping his hands clean with a napkin as he pushes out of his seat, one he shares with some of Boston’s high-profile single ladies.

He struts to Sofia in his pitch tux, short breezy ebony hair, and classic family latte eyes. They took after their father in their physical features.

“Good observation, Ruth. Thank you,” I lower my head as I smile. She does this kind of thing, always searching for ways to wash the tension off me.

“It’s my job,” she shrugs.

Speaking of her job, she needs to be up and about, not standing here gossiping. I flip my wrist to check my gold watch.

“Ruth, it’s time to serve the cupcakes,” I snap. “Go make sure the servers know what they are doing, and where to take what type of cake.” My tone is clipped, and she knows it’s business time.

“Yes, ma’am,” she tips her head in a teasing bow and struts away.

I breathe as my peripheral vision piques the bride and groom, strutting side by side to some of their guests.

I’m happy for Barbara, but this wedding has taken me back in time, and I wish… I wish so many things hadn’t turned out the way they did. I wish I hadn’t been so proud about my choice at the time. I wish I didn’t feel as humiliated as I felt.

My grandmother had advised me to try to see things from his point of view, but I ignored her advice, and I never went back to try to fix what I had ended. Right now, thinking about it, I regret all of it.

We were high school sweethearts and best friends. We were madly in love all through high school. Then, when graduation drew near, I was accepted with a full scholarship at my dream school in Paris, to become a pastry chef.

I found out that Ronan was behind it all, that he had paid for my admission, knowing that I was stressing out about whether I could get in, let alone afford it. When I found out what he had done, I was blinded by my anger and my pride was hurt. I didn’t want him to think he could just use his money and decide for me.

I never stopped to think that his gesture was truly heartfelt as opposed to controlling.

He, on the other hand, didn’t understand why I wasn’t happy and he was hurt by my reaction.

Neither of us gave in and by the time he came to look for me I had left for Europe and we never saw each other again.

Ronan is dressed simply in a black shirt and black dress pants, exuding confidence and poise.

Whereas Barbara is wearing a short white eggshell dress adorned with stones from the point where her heart-shaped neck cut curves to the fringe line that falls just past her knees. Like Cinderella, she is wearing shoes with matching Swarovski crystals.

She donned a different outfit for the ceremony. Elegant yet uncomplicated. With an elongated tail and veil, the A-shaped, pure cotton-white gown managed to reach the end of the runway.

She was the perfect bride.

How would I have looked if I had been the one getting married to Ronan?

Would he hold me like that if I were his bride instead of her? The way he is holding her hand is like he never wants to let her go. Would he go above and beyond to give me this kind of wedding?

Yes.

That has always been Ronan. He is complicated, no doubt, but he always goes above and beyond for the people he loves, and he loved me at some point. Oh, he did.

I sniff, trying to keep my tears at bay. I should be happy for him.

I return my attention to Ronan and Barbara, who are standing next to a guest who appears to be a bit older than Ronan. His eyes betray an experience beyond his years. I bumped into him earlier, but he said nothing and neither did he acknowledge my apology. He shouldn’t have this much gray hair for his age, yet he does. He has dark eyes, wears a black suit, and is constantly tinkering with a gold totem on his outfit.

Barbara offers her hand in a handshake, but he waves her off and takes her into a side embrace instead. When he pulls back, she straightens herself and steps away from Ronan and the guest and moves towards the cake with admiration in her eyes.

Barbara loves cake.

I feel Ronan’s eyes on me for a second, but when I turn to look at him, he looks away immediately. I stare at him a little longer, pining for him to turn and stare right back, but he keeps his attention on the guest in front of him.

It is then that I notice something strange, a long line of people waiting to go to the restroom.

Is something wrong?

I hear clattering and gasps as I skate past tables and people to get there. I abruptly stop and turn to face the commotion, only to discover that a server has dropped her cupcake tray—her eyes are focused on something.

My eyes widen in shock.

Barbara is on the ground, passed out. God, oh God.

Since I’m closer, I rush across to her, but then I stumble back when I notice that she has a small smear of frosting on her bottom lip and a scoop on her index finger. The wedding cake.

Help me, Lord. Please.

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