Page 9 of The Unwanted Wife

Skylar

"What would you do if a man walked in the door and asked you to marry him?" I scowl across the table at my friend Zoey. I opened The Fearless Kitten a year ago, and a few days later, Zoey flounced in. She loved the pastries, ooh’d and aah’d about their names, then bought a bunch to take back for her office colleagues. She kept coming back, and we formed a friendship. It’s thanks to her, I’m not completely alone in this town, especially after what had happened to Hugo. It’s because of her, I have a small friend circle.

It's also why I didn’t hesitate to close the shop early today, to accommodate the weekly meeting of the book club run by Zoey’s friend Penny. Besides, given traffic to the shop trails off after six p.m., it seemed like a good idea to me.

I probably shouldn’t keep it open until nine p.m. every day. I probably should also take Mondays off, but I need every penny I can make, and I’ve kept the shop open long hours in the hopes of bringing in more customers. The business that the viral media post brought in helped pay the bills for a few weeks, but the money ran out several weeks ago. Without another viral post, I have no choice but to agree to Nate’s proposition…

No. I cannot. How can I marry him when he doesn’t love me? Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s clear he hates me for having thrown myself at him. Honestly, during our meeting two days ago, I got the impression he was barely listening to what I was saying. He was too busy wondering if the names I’d given my desserts were a joke. Ha. He has no idea what works and doesn’t work to sell pastries. Not that I’ve had much success with it. No, correction, I have had success with it… on occasion. I haven’t found a way to keep the sales consistent, is all.

“Well? Would you marry him?"

“That depends." She surveys her nails.

“On what?

“The size of his bank balance. Then the size of his dong balance.”

I burst out laughing. “Dong balance?”

“Call it the Ding Dong Bell which I need for my Pussy to be welI.”

I snort.

“Question is, does he have a lot of money?” Her eyes gleam.

“Enough to help me save my business from going bust, yes.”

“And how about his other asset?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Does it match up?”

“I haven’t seen it, but from what I’ve perceived? More than.”

“So, what do you have to lose?” She eyes the array of goodies spread out on the table between us.

My heart, for one? Also, I don’t think Ben is going to be amused when I tell him about my pact with his best friend.

“I sense a hesitation, babe.” She gives me her full attention. “By which, I assume that wasn’t an academic question.”

“Probably not.”

She scans my features and her eyebrows knit. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I raise a hand.

“But I will. I promise. Once I’ve thought things through in my head.”

“It’s okay to share, Skylar. You don’t have to try to solve everything yourself. That’s what friends are for. You tell us your problems, and we try to find answers together. That’s how it works.”

Tears prick my eyes. I’m too damn independent. Probably comes from having to entertain myself on my own for hours once Ben joined the Marines. I’d never begrudge my brother his stellar career with the Marines, but it did mean I spent a lot of time in my head. I was never good at making friends in school, was always a bit of a loner. Then I discovered my love for baking in Home Economics and threw myself into learning everything I could about it. I practiced every recipe I found, the results of which I shared with my class. The boys, especially, would gladly eat up everything I made. But so would I.

I grew in all directions, and by the time I was eighteen, I was a size sixteen. Somehow, it consolidated my reputation as a baker. I fit the stereotype, after all—big girl who loves to make cakes and eat them. Which only isolated me further. Which meant, I gravitated toward food even more. Good thing is, it didn’t eat into my confidence—pun intended. I didn’t care much that the girls made fun of my size. The boys loved the food I created. They were kinder toward me. Treating me more like a pal. Not that it made any of them want to ask me out.

I went to the prom alone… and danced with myself on the dance floor. And you know what? I didn’t care. I already had a scholarship to the Master Baker Program. I was on my way to fulfilling my dream, while the rest of them were too busy following the call of their hormones and getting into each other’s pants. Everything was on track. After I graduated college, I worked at a well-known bakery while I saved money and searched for my own place. I was building momentum. Then, I started my own patisserie a year ago. And everything went downhill after that.

My heart squeezes in on itself. My pulse pounds at my temples. But I’m not going to give up. I can’t give up. “I promise, I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

To avoid looking at Zoey, I reach over, grab a C!itasaurus, and stuff the entire cupcake into my mouth. The chocolate sinks into my palate, and the gooey goodness of the cream in the icing instantly laces my blood. Endorphins fire in my brain. I feel that familiar flush of happiness invade my cells. A comforting feeling envelops me. It’s as if a soft blanket has been wrapped around my shoulders.

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