Page 25 of The Unwanted Wife

She nods. "You need the money to tell people about your bakery."

And to take care of Hugo.

"And you need to do it before you go into more debt," she warns me.

"Whoever said you need money to make money knew what they were talking about, eh?" I place my glass on the table.

"Have you tried other ways to raise the money?"

"The banks turned me down. Not surprising, considering my credit rating is shot. What other way is there? If Nate hadn’t come along with the offer… I’d be looking to declare bankruptcy about now."

"Shit." She pushes her glasses up her nose. "I had no idea things were this bad."

"Didn’t want to bother you guys with my problems."

She walks over to me and squeezes my shoulder. "You’re insulting our friendship by saying that. You do realize that, right?"

I flush. "I didn’t mean to."

"Well, you are. What are friends for if you don’t share your problems with them? You’re always helping us out, but you never want to talk about yourself."

"That’s not true." I shuffle my feet.

"Yes, it is. When my horrid ex broke up with me, you were the first person to reach my place. And you baked me a special batch of Macarons. You remember?"

"The Movin’ On Macarons." I smile.

"And boy, did they help me move on. The ingredients you chose spoke to the hurt in me and healed it."

"It had bittersweet chocolate, symbolic of the complex emotions with breakups, lemon zest, representing fresh starts, honey to soothe feelings and bring in sweetness, and chamomile flowers, for calm and relaxation," I say in recollection.

"And the textures… It cut through the noise in my head and helped me ground myself."

"Graham cracker crumbs for an unexpected crunch, popped wild rice to play into a sense of feeling free, crushed pretzel crisps for a salty bite, candied ginger, to add some spicy zing, and of course, dark chocolate chunks for rich intensity." I nod.

"Of course"—she laughs—"you think it’s obvious, but really, you are a genius when it comes to choosing the right ingredients and combining them all in a fashion that's unique to you. The way you baked it and the flavors you packed into it healed my heart and helped me look beyond the sorry feelings I was burying myself in."

My cheeks warm. "You’re being too nice."

"No, I’m not. The texture of the macarons alone was so light and airy, it lifted my heart and left me with a feeling of optimism, like the best part of my life was yet to come."

"I'm so pleased they helped you," I murmur.

"I never would have gotten over my breakup so quickly if it weren’t for you. Your baking speaks to the soul, to the cells of the body. You know how to appeal to the baser instincts inside—" She touches the lower part of her stomach. "It’s why I know you’re going to be successful. Once people taste your desserts, they’re going to be all over it."

I lower my chin. She’s right. A part of me, deep inside, knows I’m good. It’s not me being egotistical. It’s because all I’ve ever wanted is to bake. There’s something inside of me that comes alive when I’m measuring and mixing and creating a dessert that I know is going to soothe or excite or calm or simply help someone find their center. A cake which speaks to your soul. I know it sounds fanciful, but the mixture of flour and sugar and eggs has always been more than the parts of the whole. Infused with cocoa or herbs or essences, it takes on the powers of a lodestone, or a charm, or a talisman—something endowed with mystical powers that appeal to the emotions inside of you. Like a key to a lock, it opens up a side of you, you didn’t know existed. Like I want to do with him.

I want to unravel his control. I want to get under his skin. I want him to lose touch with his logical thinking when he's with me. I want him to go over the edge and admit he can’t keep his hands off of me. It’s why I indulged in that little skit with the ice cream. It’s why I ran out of the car—hoping he’d follow me (which he did.) Hoping he’d throw me over his lap and spank me—which he didn’t, and I don’t miss it. How can you miss something you've never had? Also, I don’t want him to spank my bum. Not at all.

That part of me, deep down, which has been so confident of my future as a baker, knows Zoey is onto something.

Once enough people taste my cakes and cookies, they’ll want more. They always do. I just need to up my marketing game. Ergo, I need money. Which means?—

I hunch my shoulders. "I don’t have a choice. I have to go through with the wedding."

She firms her lips. "Whoa, hold on, let’s not be hasty."

"I’m not. I’ve thought this through. There’s no other way." That didn’t stop me from taking off my engagement ring after Nathan left yesterday. I have another week until the wedding, a week where I can pretend I'm not about to turn my life upside down, doing something that's going to end with my heart being ripped out. I'm going to end up falling for him, and this is going to end badly for me, but I’m going through with it because that’s what one does to manifest one’s dream. One makes choices and does not shirk hard decisions.

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