PASTRIES AND PROPOSALS

The banter between this unlikely pairing is top-notch and they kept me laughing for the whole book. –Kristen, Amazon

The story is an enticing combo of cute, funny, charming, heartfelt, zany and prickly that had me laughing out loud again and again. Super fun!! –Gladys, Goodreads

Add in a 700 pound pet hog and a cast of crazy characters and you get a hilarious, steamy romance. –Cheryl, Amazon

Chapter 1

Sophie

“I can hear you typing on your keyboard, and I want you to add ‘customer is very irate.’ Hello? Hello? Fine. Hang up on me and see if you ever get my business again. Argh!”

The only thing worse than dealing with the insurance company had to be trying to deal with them while prepping for a wedding. Fortunately, today was just a cake delivery to a family reunion followed by a cupcake drop-off to a tasteful evening baby sprinkle.

“Too bad I can’t go home after this,” I muttered to myself as I carefully maneuvered the 1950s-inspired two-tiered pink-and-yellow cake out of its insulated travel box.

There was something particularly unsettling about waking up to see water collecting in your ceiling fan light then having it collapse and drench you.

“We’re going to be fine. Ivy said you could sleep in the office,” I reminded myself. I could have had a nice cozy evening in my tiny apartment to rewatch comfort TV and eat leftover cake. But terrible landlords who didn’t maintain their properties and charged criminal amounts of rent had struck again.

Since this was just a family reunion, though, I hadn’t actually baked an emergency cake. But I did have some extra cupcakes to split with me, myself, and I later. 

“You probably should cut back on the cake,” I told myself as I unloaded the confection from the refrigerated truck. If this were a wedding, I would have several people helping me with a multitiered cake, but fortunately, the stakes weren’t as high.

I carefully made my way up the stone stairs into the historic home, expecting to see a friendly family gathering with everyone in matching T-shirts. Instead…

“Oh my god,” I whispered, taking in the scene. Flower arrangements, a gift table, bridal portraits—this was a wedding. Someone was having a freaking wedding and lied to me, claiming it was a family reunion.

A tall, dark-haired, handsome man glowered at me.

Apparently, they didn’t like the help going through the front door. Of course, if one of those cheapskates had told me this cake was for a wedding, I would have had a route all mapped out and been wearing my nice catering uniform. I also would have had an extra cake baked, done a different icing design, brought handmade sugar flowers, and—oh my god! Someone was going to see this cake and tell all their friends how terrible it was, and then I would never be hired for any high-society weddings ever again.

I normally didn’t even take on events like reunions, but the insurance company had screwed me over, so I needed every penny I could get.

This is why you have to stick to your boundaries.

This cake was not appropriate for a wedding. It was garish and bright. I had really dug deep on Pinterest for retro cake inspiration, thinking the matriarch of the family would appreciate the bold statement. This cake was making a statement, all right.

The bride, wearing a fifties-inspired tea dress, rushed over to me, waving her bouquet angrily.

I put on my best unflappable-wedding-cake-baker face.

“I see someone’s getting married,” I said, my smile more a baring of teeth.

“This cake is hideous,” the bride shrieked at me. “I said I wanted a retro-inspired cake. This looks like someone killed a Sesame Street Muppet.”

“This is a historically accurate 1953 cake featured in Women’s Home Living magazine,” I said, trying to make my way around the bride so I could off-load the heavy cake and get on with wallowing and seething about the state of my apartment.

“This doesn’t look like a wedding cake,” the bride complained.

“I assure you it’s very tasty.”

“I can’t put this on my Instagram,” she berated me. “You need to go make me a new cake.”

“Waits for wedding cakes are eight months,” I chirped, sidestepping her.

“You stalker. Someone call the police!” an older woman yelled from across the room.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. This was why my team, Weddings in the City, and I typically stuck to high-end weddings—even if the brides were demanding, at least they paid well.

Not sticking around for that, I decided.

“How dare you show your face here?” The middle-aged, well-heeled woman came rushing at me.

I stared, confused. They think I’m a stalker?

“I’m just here delivering the—holy shit. You’re… You’re…” I stammered, looking between the middle-aged woman and the angry bride behind me, who, now that I put two and two together…

“You’re my half sister,” I blurted out, then clamped my mouth shut.

“Mom, what is she talking about? She ruins my cake, and now she’s here ruining my wedding,” the bride complained.

The handsome man in the tux was hovering around us, intensely interested.

Eleanor, my bio father’s wife, and the woman who had intercepted my correspondence to him and told me in no uncertain terms to get lost, glared at him then turned her anger back at me.

“You need to leave. Now,” she snarled at me.

“I’m not here stalking,” I squawked. All I had wanted since learning I was adopted was to find my bio family, to finally be somewhere I actually belonged.

“No, see,” I said, turning to face them and shuffling backward as the two women advanced on me.

The handsome man kept pace, eyes dark, features sharp with anger. Was he a cousin? Stern family friend? Whoever he was, he was making me nervous.

“See, I thought I was here for the Tremblay family reunion. I swear, honest,” I babbled. “I didn’t know. I fu—” I swallowed the F-bomb as I tripped on the edge of an area rug.

The man in the tux neatly sidestepped me as I tipped backward. The cake flew up into the air then hurtled down and covered me with cake and frosting. I wheezed, the wind knocked out of me.

The handsome man pulled out the pocket square from his tux to offer to me—

Oh wait, no.

He was just wiping an imperceptible speck of pink buttercream frosting off his pocket watch. Rich people always treated you like the help. Since Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dick Face did not offer to assist me, I stared up at the ornate ceiling.

My bio family was here. I was going to meet them—was meeting them. I was going to meet my bio dad. And I was covered head to toe in cake.

The bride was screaming, “She ruined my wedding. She ruined it!”

I rolled over, the cake plopping off me. I tried to do an inelegant worm to keep it from ruining the carpet.

“I think you need to leave,” the dark-haired man stated, brow furrowed.

“Yes, that would be best,” Eleanor hissed.

“Is my dad here?” I asked hopefully.

“You will not sully our good family name with your cake and your nonsense,” Eleanor stated, chin wobbling. “I told you when you first came around sniffing for money that my husband doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Her voice faded away as I stared past her. Through the frosting globbed on my eyelashes, I saw him—my dad, my real one, not one of my adoptive mother’s boyfriends, each one more egotistical and self-aggrandizing than the last. He walked like me, he was heavyset like me, and his nose was a little wonky, like mine was.

“Leave now,” the dark man snarled.

But I couldn’t. I just soaked in the sight of my father as the cake dropped off me, ruining the Turkish rug.

“What’s going on here?” Roger boomed.

“Dad?” I squeaked. I wiped the frosting off my face. “I mean…” I cleared my throat.

The dark-haired man growled low under his breath.

“You’re my birth father. I saw your name in the adoption paperwork,” I explained.

My dad’s face lit up like he had just won a lottery jackpot.

“A daughter?” he asked, getting a little teary-eyed.

“Fuck,” the dark-haired man muttered.

“I have another daughter. I have another daughter!” my dad whooped, then he hugged me, frosting and all, and kissed both my cheeks.

I was crying now. It was exactly like I had always dreamed, being welcomed like a long-lost child, with hugs and happiness.

“Yep, I’m your daughter. I’m Sophie Martin. It’s so good to finally meet you,” I gushed.

“You are perfect,” he said, taking my hand. “I am so happy to see you.”

The man in the impeccable tux was furious.

“I wish I had made a better first impression,” I joked.

“Don’t worry. I like my dessert,” my dad said with a laugh and patted his ample stomach.

“Me too.” I grinned so hard I thought my face would split.

“Atta girl.” He hugged me again. “You have made me so happy today.”

“Me too,” I replied into his shoulder.

He pulled back. “Could you do something for me, something very important?” my dad asked earnestly.

“Anything,” I said sincerely. I would do literally anything for him.

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart.” I drew an X in the smashed cake and frosting all over my chest, feeling it squish in my shirt. Guess I ruined that bra. Why are they so freaking expensive anyway?

Roger took a deep breath and let it out. “You need to marry Wolfram Van de Berg. Tomorrow.”

Uhhh… “I’m sorry, who?”

Chapter 2

Wolf

Dammit.

All my carefully laid plans, the intricate threads I had woven through the upper-class social scene, were now crashing down around me because of a baker—and not a very good one, judging from that monstrosity of a cake.

“You can’t count her as your daughter,” I insisted to Roger. “She’s not legally your daughter.”

“I didn’t know about the adoption,” he insisted. “I never signed any paperwork. It was a fraudulent adoption. Any judge would side with me. You know I would never have willingly signed over the first daughter in a hundred and twenty years with this much money on the line.”

Sophie looked a little alarmed.

Good. Maybe she would back out. I just had to twist the knife.

I’d come so far. In two more months, we would be at the one-hundred-fifty-year mark, and my company would be safe. Then I was going to fly to England and piss on my ancestor’s grave for even putting our family’s company in this position in the first place.

Sophie stood before me in shock. I stepped around the pieces of cake on the floor. The frosting melting on her shirt dripped off her.

“You’re hardly suitable to be my wife,” I told her. “You don’t look anything like the wife of a billionaire. You’re an embarrassment.”

“You?” she choked out. “I’m not marrying you. You’re an as—you’re an awful person,” she amended.

“You’re right about that,” I told her.

Roger turned on his daughter, berating her. “If you’re going to be part of this family, you need to make sacrifices. You will marry Wolf. There are billions of dollars on the line. Don’t act like your worthless sister. I can’t believe Colette. The first girl in over a century, and she falls in love with some no-account prince.”

I bit back a smirk. I was in the insurance business, and I prided myself on finding any loophole, going to any length to grow my company and secure our market share. But the chess game I had played with Roger and Colette was a work of art.

I had carefully, so carefully, placed Prince Gabriel Tremblay in our high-society set, feeding him money in a steady drip, letting him flash it around, working up interest among other women so that Colette would feel like she was in love and had landed the catch of a century. Meanwhile, I wouldn’t be contractually obligated to marry her, since the Victorian Age contract, penned after one of the Astleys had won a bet against a Van de Berg with a gambling problem, stated that it was the woman’s choice of whether she wanted to marry a Van de Berg.

I had come to the wedding to gloat, with a very expensive and tasteful gift, of course. I was going to drink on Colette’s father’s dime and toast to the bullet I’d dodged. Then Sophie had shown up, and I’d been hit by a missile. Now Roger had the upper hand.

“You promised, Sophie. You promised you would marry him,” he scolded her.

“I, uh, marriage is a big commitment.” She flapped her hands.

“You’re my daughter, aren’t you?” Roger wheedled. “You want us to have a good relationship, don’t you?”

“What about your real family?” I drawled. “The ones who raised you, who sacrificed to take care of you. You don’t want to be ungrateful, do you?” I needled her. “You’re going to break your real mom’s heart. A real mom is the woman who wiped away your tears, who was there as a shoulder to cry on. What a slap in the face. Such an ungrateful daughter.”

Sophie’s face went dark. “Screw you,” she spat—literally spat, because there was still frosting dripping off her face.

I grimaced as a few crumbs landed on my tux. It was imported Italian, tailored from a bolt of fabric purchased in the forties and saved in my family’s archives.

“You don’t know me; you don’t know my mother.” Sophie whirled back to Roger, sending more frosting and cake crumbs flying. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry that jerk. See you tomorrow, butt face.”

Damn.

***

“I feel like you’re losing your touch,” Hunter Svensson drawled as I paced around the law office.

“You should have seen her. She was literally covered in cake, this hideous, bright-yellow-and-pink cake. It was toxic. She had it all over her. It was down her shirt and in her hair. I can’t marry her. A hundred and fifty years. The Astleys hadn’t had a daughter in a hundred and fifty years after Mary Elizabeth Astley ran off with that viscount instead of marrying my ancestor. I just needed that luck to hold out two more months.”

“Fortunately,” Hunter said, cutting off my rant, “this is not Victorian England. This is the twenty-first century, and the New York judicial court is a little more lax about their divorce rules. Here’s what I propose: The contract states that in order for the marriage to count and require you to hand over thirty percent of your company, you and the Astley girl have to be married for two months. To keep Roger from making a huge stink and tanking your stock prices, you’ll get married quietly, then I’ll call in some favors with a judge and have the marriage annulled in a few weeks.”

I glared out the window with Manhattan spread below me. I hated to lose. And marrying Sophie felt like losing. “Fine.”

“Just don’t move her into your house,” Hunter instructed, “and we’ll get working on the annulment. If you decide you really like her, we can offer her a settlement. It will be cheaper than handing over a chunk of your family’s company to her dad.”

I ran a hand through my hair then clenched my fist. I hated this, hated that I was going to have to be tied to that messy baker for even a few weeks.

“You better,” I warned Hunter—because if I had to spend the rest of my life with Sophie and hand over part of my company, I was going to lose it.

Chapter 3

Sophie

“Will you marry me?”

“Uh, I don’t know, I… yeah, I guess. Wait, no, I don’t even know you. Also, where did all my teeth go? Did you make that engagement ring out of them?”

I woke up with a snort and pawed the sleeping bag off my face. Then I looked about the office from my spot on the rug.

“Oh God. I need to stop eating so much late at night. Ow!” I banged my elbow on an empty wine bottle. “And stop late-night drinking, apparently.”

Wincing at the sunlight streaming in from the huge windows of the Weddings in the City office, I stumbled around in a half panic, trying to clean up my stuff and get dressed before the rest of my friends or—even worse—a client showed up for a morning meeting.

“You have to get it together,” I told myself as I blearily brushed my teeth.

“I know. I can’t believe it,” my friends and fellow wedding planners were chattering when I walked back out into the main office from washing my face and changing in the bathroom.

Ivy had started Weddings in the City as a collaborative so that brides could have a one-stop shop for  beautiful, high-class weddings. She was the head wedding planner. Amy created beautiful, locally grown flower arrangements. Elsie cooked the tastiest catering ever. Brea designed and sewed one-of-a-kind, ethereal wedding dresses, and Grace was the wedding photographer extraordinaire. Yours truly baked delicious wedding cakes decorated with my signature sculpted sugar flowers.

“They thought he’d never get married,” Elsie was saying. “I wonder who landed him?”

“Oh!” Amy jumped up and down. “Do you think we’ll plan that wedding?”

“The Van de Bergs own that huge sprawling mansion in the mountains outside of Harrogate. Can you imagine a wedding in that amazing garden, fairy lights everywhere, the flowers in bloom”—Ivy swooned—“the Gilded Age mansion as the backdrop?”

“We have to do a fairy-in-the-woods-meets-Queen Victoria wedding dress,” Brea insisted, whipping out her sketch pad.

“Rough night?” Grace asked when she saw me. “How was the family reunion?”

“Anna really liked the cupcakes that you brought. She’s been posting pics on Insta,” Ivy said. “Everything looks yummy. You and Elsie outdid yourselves, as usual!”

“Yup,” Brea said, biting into a leftover cupcake I had missed during my wine-and-sugar binge last night. “Is there a hint of cherry in the frosting?”

“It’s lychee,” I said faintly.

“What kind of cake do you want to bake for the Wolfram Van de Berg wedding, assuming we land it?” Ivy asked me.

“Like his fiancée is going to pick any other wedding planner!” Grace remarked.

“Wolf?” I asked faintly, the memories peeking through the hangover. “Shit.”

“Do you know him?” Ivy asked, confused by my reaction.

“I, uh… I, um…” I looked around desperately for more wine.

The elevator dinged. I hoped it was a delivery person with more wine or something stronger.

You can’t be engaged to Wolf. That’s, like, not a thing that happens. You’ve been stressed lately. Surely you made the whole thing up. I had had dreams before that felt super real, like I had mistakenly delivered the wrong cake to a wedding, or I was back in middle school, trying to explain the merits of various American Girl dolls to a bunch of tweens who were so over toys and only cared about boy bands. I always woke up, thankful to be back in reality.

Just wake up.

“There you are. I see you did get my message after all. Why didn’t you answer your phone? Astleys answer their phone. Since you insist on calling yourself one of us, you will need to conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to your social station.” 

I stared in shock at the nauseatingly familiar, well-dressed middle-aged woman.

It’s all true. My eye started twitching. I pressed my index finger to the corner of my eyelid while my stepmother peered around the office, a sour look on her face.

Ivy immediately jumped into wedding-planner mode. After working in the upper echelons of society, planning high-end weddings, we all knew money when we saw it. And old money had entered the office.

“Good morning! We’re so glad to have you with us. Coffee? Tea? Muffin?”

Like a puppet, I mechanically laid out an artful spread of savory and sweet pastries while Elsie mixed up mimosas and brewed espressos. Wolf’s face, angry and dark, hovered in my vision. Had I really agreed to marry him?

“And how is our bride today?” Ivy asked as I brought over the tray of goodies.

“She’s the bride,” Colette snapped, pointing at me.

Ivy’s smile only barely flickered.

I knew I was never going to hear the end of it after my family left.

“But Sophie doesn’t need a wedding. I bet she lives in a cardboard box with pet pigeons,” my half sister added snidely.

“I insist on having a real wedding,” my dad interjected, accepting a mimosa from Elsie and selecting a spinach-and-feta pastry from the tray. “Wolfram is going to try some judo move to run out the clock on this contract—I’m sure of it. I know he had something to do with you and Gabriel.” He frowned at Colette.

My half sister huffed. “Gabriel and I are in love, and now I’m a princess! It’s official.”

My mouth felt dry. I was going to marry a stranger. No, not just a stranger—a complete asshole who hated my family.

“I don’t really think a big wedding is necessary,” I croaked.

Ivy gave me a concerned look.

“Can’t we just go down to the courthouse?” I begged.

“That’s what I said,” Eleanor declared. “However, my husband insisted.”

“Spare no expense,” Roger boomed at Ivy. “My daughter’s marrying Wolfram, and I’m finally getting what’s rightfully mine.”

“We at Weddings in the City are happy to help you with your wedding-planning needs. We have several examples of weddings we can show you,” Ivy said, opening a carefully composed book of wedding photos.

“Ivy,” I hissed, “I’m the one getting married. We don’t have to go through the whole dog-and-pony show.”

She kicked me under the table.

Brea dumped a pile of fabric in front of me. “I’ve already started sketching the dress. Are you all having it at the Astley estate or the Van de Berg estate? Depending on the venue, we could do a more Victorian-inspired dress or go full Gilded Age themed.”

“Sophie’s too fat for either of those,” Colette said, turning up her nose.

“And though I’ve seen your skill with needlepoint,” Eleanor said, taking a neat sip of her espresso, “even you would be hard-pressed to make that dress by tomorrow.”

Brea sucked in a breath, and the tray of mimosas rattled ominously as Elsie passed out the drinks. Anyone other than Elsie would have dropped that tray of drinks all over the table.

I drained my glass. I was the bride. I got to drink at nine in the morning. Elsie automatically handed me another one. Amy grabbed it before I could suck it down.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy said. “Did you say you’re getting married tomorrow? You want a high-end wedding tomorrow?” Her fingers were clenched on her pen.

“Like I said, let’s not make a big deal about it.” I grabbed an apple turnover off the tray.

“She doesn’t need a big wedding, Daddy. You didn’t pay for a big wedding for me.” Colette pouted.

“Because you refused to marry Wolf.” Roger shook his finger at her.

“He’s mean,” Colette cried. “How could you want me to marry someone like him? Don’t you remember when he was at Asby’s dinner party and glowered the entire time and would barely talk to anyone except to insult them?”

Oh my god, I’m going to be marrying an antisocial grump. We were going to sit in silence at restaurants and be that couple everyone felt sorry for and made parties incredibly awkward. 

Wolf sounded uncivilized and miserable. I didn’t like drama. I mean I did, but I liked it on Netflix, where I could pause and grab a snack. I didn’t want to live with it. I definitely didn’t want to marry it.

“Maybe I was a little hasty on the whole wedding thing…” I trailed off.

My father ignored me. “Can you produce a high-quality wedding by tomorrow evening?” my father asked Ivy in that tone rich men had when they expected without a shadow of a doubt to be able to pay for and receive whatever they desired. “I understand there will be a rush fee.” 

“Absolutely,” Ivy assured him.

“You’re of course going to marry Wolf,” my father said to me in that same tone.

I wanted to say no, but all my friends were sitting around the table, game faces on, notebooks at the ready, primed and loaded to produce a high-end wedding in twenty-four hours. I knew that if anyone could do it, we could.

But marry Wolf?

Just say no.

But it was like I was on autopilot, fully in wedding-planner mode, ready to make miracles happen and wedding dreams come true.

I plastered on my best customer-service smile and chirped, “Of course! We’re going to have a beautiful wedding. Don’t you worry. We have it all under control!”

Chapter 4

Wolf

“Is she hot?”

I ignored Aaron and continued to inspect the rings.

“Or is she not hot?”

Sophie certainly wouldn’t be considered hot in my social circle. Those high-society women tended to be on a martini-and-one-salad-a-day diet, while Sophie must be eating nonstop cake. To be fair, she had certainly had the nicest tits of anyone in that room.

Fuck you. Don’t think about her like that. What is wrong with you? She’s not hot. She doesn’t have nice tits.

I turned to Aaron. “She looks just like her father.”

“Ouch,” my friend and business partner remarked, pressing a hand to his chest. “Guess your luck really has run out—forced to marry a woman from the family you hate, about to lose part of your company, and she’s not even good-looking? Tell me what stock you’re buying this quarter so that I stay far away.”

“All I’m buying are wedding rings.”

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this. Buying a ring?” Aaron shook his head. “I thought I would be going to your funeral before your wedding. Yet here we are.”

“Good morning, sirs,” the clerk greeted us. “We have just received a new shipment of rings from the new Danielle Vail collection, freshly arrived from France. One of a kind.”

“I’ll just take the plain gold band,” I said.

The clerk blanched. The gears ground in his head as he tried to come up with a tactful way to ask if my fiancée knew I was buying her a plain gold wedding band instead of a large diamond wedding ring like I was sure other men bought their wives-to-be. Of course, other men loved or at least, I assumed, liked their fiancées.

Not I.

“Did you all discuss the option of matching her engagement ring?” the clerk finally asked.

“I have not discussed it with my fiancée,” I spat, feeling the anger rising at the contract, at Roger, and of course at Sophie, the same type of weak-willed woman as my mother. She couldn’t even stand up to her father, who’d bullied her into marrying a man she’d never even met. Now I had to clean up the mess.

I tried to force myself to stay calm. Get a handle on your temper. This is not permanent.

“In all seriousness, though,” Aaron said, frowning, “you can’t show up with a plain-ass gold band. People will think our company’s about to go down the toilet if you can’t even swing a ten-carat diamond ring.”

Fuck, he’s right.

“Fine. Bring me a selection of your most expensive rings,” I asked the clerk.

“Right away, sir.” The clerk practically skipped off.

Guess the only person not benefitting from this wedding is me.

“Are you going to Europe for your honeymoon or the beach?” Aaron asked, slowly meandering around the glass cases.

Incredulous, I said, “I’m not taking that woman on a honeymoon. She’s not even going to move in with me, let alone make me spend my valuable free time traveling with her.”

“Shit, man. You really do need to buy an expensive ring, then.”

“I don’t see why it matters,” I growled. “I’m sure everyone knows all the sordid details of why we’re marrying.”

“You still have to keep up appearances,” Aaron joked, slapping me on the back. “Think of your good family name. You don’t want your aunt to complain that I’m a bad influence, do you?” He draped an arm around my neck.

I scowled.

My aunt had been displeased at the news, to say the least. She’d offered to have the butler “take care of” Sophie. I had told her I would think on it.

“I just have to survive the wedding, then Sophie will continue with her life, I’ll continue with mine, and hopefully Hunter will come through with the annulment.”

“We have several options.” The clerk was back with the rings. “What is the theme of the wedding?”

“Shotgun themed,” Aaron deadpanned.

“No one is pregnant,” I clarified hastily.

“Are you just going down to the courthouse?” Aaron asked, inspecting the tray of sparkling rings.

“Roger is insisting on a wedding at his house.”

“A classical wedding at home,” the clerk said, latching on to something that would help him make a sale. “May I suggest this ring?” He picked it up, gave the large diamond a polish, and handed it to me.

“Shiny,” Aaron said over my shoulder.

It wasn’t the largest on the tray, but it did have a wide band with multiple smaller diamonds.

“What is your fiancée’s coloring? Does she normally wear gold or silver?” the clerk asked, taking out another ring.

“I—” I didn’t know. I tried to remember. Did Sophie have brown hair? All I could remember was the pink frosting all over her.

“She’s just average,” I said finally.

My watch chimed. I had a meeting to be at.

“Just buy the biggest one,” Aaron said, pointing.

“A lovely twenty-two-carat pear-cut diamond with a triple micropavé band. A lovely choice. Your bride will be very happy.”

I handed over my American Express Black Card and tried not to scowl as five million dollars left my bank account to pay for the wedding ring for a woman I hated.

Aaron took the small navy-blue box and put it in his pocket. “I hope the food is good at the wedding.”

“I hope a meteor crashes into the Astley house and puts everyone out of their misery.”

Chapter 5

Sophie

“And you said yes?”

“I’m a people pleaser, and I want my dad to like me,” I wailed.

“Could be worse. At least Wolf is handsome,” Grace said.

“And rich,” Brea added from where she was sorting through wedding dresses.

“He’s crazy,” I said flatly. “You heard Colette. He’s a brute.”

“No offense,” Elsie said, “but your half sister doesn’t seem like the most reliable narrator. The fact that she lied about having a wedding so she could get a discount on a cake doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“I never saw anything online about him being an asshole,” Ivy added, pouring me a drink.

“Don’t speak too soon,” Grace said grimly, turning her laptop around to face us.

On the screen was a YouTube video of Wolf verbally flaying someone at a shareholders’ meeting.

“Of course you don’t understand my methods. From the look of you, it’s shocking you even managed to make it in here. And since you clearly weren’t paying attention, we’re running a real company here. If you can’t handle it, the penny stock shareholders’ meeting is down the street at the Taco Bell.”

The guy he was sneering down at from the stage in the video looked to be near tears.

My stomach churned as I recalled my own altercation with Wolf.

“Are you sure you want to marry him?” Amy asked in alarm.

No. No, I do not.

“We already accepted the down payment,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself.

“It’s not like we’re hurting for money,” Ivy said gently.

I winced. “I am.”

“Is the insurance company still giving you the runaround?” Amy asked sympathetically. “You know you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

“I don’t think there’s enough room for Arnold and me there,” I reminded her.

“The more the merrier!” my friend chirped.

“That saying has limits in New York City,” I said dryly then ran a hand over my forehead. “All my stuff was ruined, and I need to replace it. Not to mention, this is what I wanted my entire life, right? If I do my bio dad a solid, maybe he’ll accept me into the family fold. Christmases in a historic manor house sound a lot better than the Christmases I spent with my adoptive mom.”

My friends had heard the horror stories, and Ivy had even bravely spent one Christmas with Mom and me.

“I don’t want to ruin my chance to have a good relationship with Roger before we even start getting to know each other. And besides, how bad can Wolf be? From the way he was glowering at me at the wedding yesterday, I doubt he’s going to let me move in with him. Maybe my dad will let me move into his house. This might be a good thing, right?” I said weakly.

Ivy gave me a strained smile.

“For those who were wondering,” Elsie said after a moment, “this is what toxic positivity looks like.”

“We all know how those old-money families operate. It’s basically Victorian England,” I said in a pained tone. “You meet up once a year for the wife to get pregnant then go your separate ways once you have an heir, a spare, and a girl.”

“You’re not going to sleep with him, are you?” Elsie was horrified.

“What? No!” I exclaimed, flailing my arms. “Sleep with Wolf? Even if he is hot, there is no chance of that ever happening.” 

Brea perked up. “Ooh! This could be like the start of one of those Regency romances.”

“I thought you were on an alien ménage kick lately?” Amy wrinkled her nose.

“Been there, got the T-shirt.” Brea waved a hand. “I’m off tentacles.”

“She’s right, though,” Grace joked. “Sophie, you could be the one who tames the beast.”

“Taming beasts is for women who don’t have jobs and have enough free time to float around a drafty manor,” Elsie said as she made notes on her menu spreadsheet. “We have the Esposito wedding weekend extravaganza coming up, the Harris wedding, where they want three different sets of cake and catering because of all the allergies, not to mention all the little stray wedding disasters you’re picking up here and there. Sophie doesn’t have time to help Wolf self-actualize. We have weddings to plan.”

“I’ll just get in, get married, and get out,” I promised. “Honestly, my life probably won’t even change that much.”

“And on that very depressing note,” Brea said, “let’s find you something to wear! I’ve been working on a plus-size bridal collection, and you can be my model!”

“Champagne!” Amy called, running to the fridge while Brea laid out the dresses.

“I think I’ve probably drunk too much.”

Ivy squeezed my hand. “You’re going to have the full high-end bridal experience. Well, a condensed version anyway.”

I accepted the glass of champagne while Brea launched into her very detailed explanations of the origins of the dress designs. My friend was talented, and the dresses were beautiful, but as I tried on one after the other, I just felt sick.

“It’s the champagne; you drank too much,” I told myself as I dutifully spun around in the first dress, a voluminous ball gown.

Tomorrow, I was going to be a married woman. For most women, their wedding day would be the best day of their lives. For me, it was going to be the worst.

Chapter 6

Sophie

“What are you wearing?”

Not what a bride wanted to hear from her dad right as he was going to walk her down the aisle.

“A wedding dress,” I hissed at him, willing myself not to be heartbroken.

I had agonized with Brea about which dress to pick. We were aiming for a design that was traditional enough to fit with the Astley manor house décor, one that my father and stepmother would approve of, and also one that was someone flattering on my figure.

Guess you picked wrong.

I tensed up. I’d had such high hopes. My mother I knew would have found any excuse to pick apart my choice of dress, but I was hoping that even if Roger wasn’t effusive with praise, he would at least be uninterested enough not to say anything negative.

Clearly not.

“You just look so…” He sighed. “Plain. And…” He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.

If I were getting married for real to the love of my life, I definitely would have planned the wedding far enough in advance to go on a cold-turkey, no-cake diet. Still, I thought I looked pretty good in the off-the-shoulder satin ball gown.

I tried to keep a wan smile plastered to my face. My mental state was that of the baker willing to make this the bride’s best day ever. It was easier to pretend I wasn’t the bride so I didn’t completely lose it.

“I’m sure no one will remember the dress,” I told my father, my voice only wavering slightly.

He looked concerned and started to backtrack. “I didn’t mean—well, you look fine. You look beautiful. It’s just that this is the first time my friends, business partners, and acquaintances have seen you, and you know first impressions are important.”

“Guess I blew it already,” I said weakly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Like I said,” my father told me, patting me awkwardly on the shoulder, “I like cake too.”

The music started. I had been to enough weddings that I could, after drinking enough alcohol, give a full rendition of a wedding ceremony, complete with the music. I mentally hummed along, imagining the groom and best man heading down the aisle, followed by the flower girl. Finally, it was my turn.

Ivy handed me a bouquet, and Brea adjusted the dress. I kept my arms clenched firmly to my sides, wishing I had not, in fact, chosen a satin dress, because I was sweating like a pig.

There’s a tastefully catered reception with cake at the end of this, I reminded myself as I concentrated on kick-walk, kick-walk as I headed down the aisle. I didn’t want to step on the train and trip for a second time in front of my father.

And Wolf. He loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon, dark eyes angry. He curled his lip back when he saw me.

Maybe you should have just worn a pantsuit, my mind babbled. Who do you think you are, really? Showing up to a wedding in a big white dress. And on a Thursday, no less.

The fabric felt constricting, and I took quick, shallow breaths, trying to get some air. I fanned myself with my flowers. Wolf shot one more death glare at my father. I fussed with the veil while people in the audience stared at us.

Usually, weddings had a buzz of joy and anticipation. This one? There wasn’t one teary eye in the audience. It was mostly tension mixed with confusion.

Up close, Wolf was even larger than I remembered. Tall, broad-shouldered, and square-jawed—everything about him was huge. I felt small and dumpy next to him.

You could just walk out now, I told myself as the priest began the wedding ceremony.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t betray my father. My dad was trying, clearly.

I looked back at him. He gave me a big smile and mouthed, “You’re awesome!”

You can do this, I told myself.

“Do you, Wolfram Van de Berg, take Sophie Martin to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

His jaw flexed. He reached out.

Was he going to attack me?

But Wolf grabbed my hand instead and shoved a big piece of tacky costume jewelry on it. I mean, really, it was insulting. It looked like he had gone to Party City for a big fake diamond ring.

Whatever. You’re a baker. You’re not going to wear it ever anyway.

“And do you, Sophie Martin, take this man, Wolfram Van de Berg, as your lawfully wedded husband?”

I looked up at the dark eyes of my soon-to-be-husband. I had thought they were brown, but they were actually a very deep and angry blue.

I fiddled with the ring then reached for his hand. Before I could take it, he grabbed my wrist.

I may have made a terrible mistake.