Page 68 of Turbulent Fires

“This is a hibiscus-mint lavender cake with elderflower glaze,” the man announces proudly, setting down what looks like a cube of pastel foam. I’m not impressed.

Wolf looks at the sample like it’s a bug. He picks it up and takes a smell. He looks with confusion at the man. “Is this cake or air freshener?”

The man looks highly offended, and I choke to cover my laugh. He glares at me as he places his hands on his hips. Oh crap, we might make him cry.

“You said you wanted unique,” he states. Neither Wolf nor I asked for any such thing. My mother or the Andersons or who-the-hell knows, most likely asked for unique. Wolf and I prefer edible, though I don’t dare say this. I obediently take a bite. I nearly gag as I force myself to swallow what tastes like a flower garden.

We choke our way through many more samples, some good, some okay, and some downright awful. The man doesn’t look pleased when he exits the room. I’m sure he’s off to complain to the real planners.

The florist, looking like Snow White in her overly dramatic dress and very pink cheekbones, arrives next with her arms full of cascading arrangements that look like they were designed by woodland creatures on hallucinogens. She’s beaming.

“These will dramatically spill from the grand staircase,” she tells us, her eyes dreamy as if she’s picturing it now.

“What staircase?” Wolf asks.

She waves her hand in the air as if batting away bees or birds. I’m sure in her mind they’re circling around her. “There will be a staircase,” she assures us.

“They’re bringing in a staircase for our wedding?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point.”

He leans close to me. “Seriously, I am all for eloping.” His eyes are wide as if begging me to run away with him.

I smile, tuning out the chaos for a moment. I move forward, cup his cheek, and sweep my lips across his. “I love you.”

“You’re my world,” he tells me, and a calm comes over us, giving us a much-needed reminder of why we’re here. This part might be a circus, but in the end, we’ll be married. The wedding will only last a day, but our marriage will last a lifetime.

Our moment is interrupted as another tray is swept down in front of us. “Canapé?”

“What is it?” Wolf asks.

“Duck mousse on a micro-brioche with a balsamic pearl,” the man says.

“You killed a poor duck for this?”

The man’s eyes widen in horror as if he didn’t understand an actual duck met its end for this tasty treat. I again look down to keep from laughing as the man turns and runs from the room. I can’t look at Wolf or I’ll burst out laughing.

“That was mean... and brilliant,” I mutter beneath my breath.

“I really didn’t want to eat that thing. Sounded gross.”

“Maybe that will work on fabric too.”

He laughs. “I don’t think there’s a cotton or silk animal.”

I think for a moment. “Silkworms?”

He leans back and laughs. “No one will feel sorry for worms.”

“It could happen.”

Chloe arrives carrying two clipboards and three iced lattes like she’s storming Normandy. She’s smiling with sympathy.

“I tried blocking the sound system people, but they came in through the back gate,” she says, dropping onto the couch. She can feel my pain. At least she’s on my side. “Your mom’s now requesting two soloists.”

“Two?”

“She claims your love is too powerful for a single vocal point. Those are her words, not mine.”

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