Page 131 of Cakes for the Grump
“You might as well be. It’s a good life, is it not?”
“It…is.” There isn’t a way for me to disagree, considering the lush paradise around us.
“You would never have to work again.” Mr. Duncan curls a finger at a server who bounds over to us immediately. The order is given to replenish our chocolates.
“I have ambitions too,” I say when we are alone again.
Mr. Duncan drains his own drink. “Luke is generous. He’ll fund any hobbies because there’ll be enough money to go around. More than enough. And if you’ve got kids in mind, Ms. Singh, you can have them with him and not worry. Nannies help. Chefs help?—”
Nannies?! Chefs?!“I’m a chef.”
Mr. Duncan’s face is all but quivering with impatience. “Yes, yes. Like I said, with the nannies, you’ll have time. Money. Anything. Buy yourself a restaurant to run if that’s what you need. Or better yet—” He snaps his fingers as if struck with instant brilliance. “Dinner parties! He’ll need a lot of those, and what better way to feel relatable than to host those together? You can oversee the menu like the proper chef you are.
“I can see you are surprised and maybe worried,” Mr. Duncan continues. “Don’t worry. I heard you with that old bat, Agatha. She likes you. She likes that you don’t fit in. There’s no need to stress about being like everyone else. We have Vistoria. She’ll keep being our safe hands. All you have to do is be the nice wife. Vistoria will be our clever little shark.”
What he’s describing is another life. Utterly foreign. Pressing down on me. Pressure, so much pressure.
Off to the side, a man has already had too much to drink. He’s being helped off the terrace.
I reach for the water, but curl my hand away when I see it’s shaking.
Mr. Duncan reaches out and grabs it. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on Luke. Nothing will happen between him and Vistoria. What I meant was strictly professional. He would come home to you.”
“Rita. Duncan.”
Luke’s on the patio, walking over to us, coming in from the foyer doorway.
Heads turn to watch him. He’s changed in anticipation of dinner. The formal black fits his leaned muscled body like a gladiator suit. His hair waves softly in the wind, framing a Renaissance figure in the aftermath of battle. Joyous, glutted on endorphins. A man who has run his enemies down by sword.
Mr. Duncan stands up. “Did you get it done, boy?”
He sits beside me, finds my hand under the table and interlaces our fingers. “I did.”
Champagne is ordered to the table. Bottles and bottles. We pay for it to be served to the rest of the guests on this floor. No one knows why, but anybody watching can tell we are celebrating.
At some point, Mr. Duncan claps Luke on the shoulder. “You’ve got me working so hard, I have neck pains.”
“It isn’t over yet, but when the ink is dry,” says Luke, “spend a month in Mexico at my villa. You’ve more than earned it.”
“How do you feel?” I ask Luke when we have a whisper of a private moment.
“Tired, darling,” he murmurs. “I’m trying to move everything along as fast as possible. Only a bit longer, all right?”
“Sure.” The conversation I’ve had with Mr. Duncan is a rock in my brain, but I’m not going to unload it on Luke. Instead, I smile and look at the gathering group of a dozen men and women, formally dressed, who are circling Luke, hungry to make his acquaintance. Something must show on my face before I smooth it away, because Luke reassures. “I promise I’d rather be alone, Rita. With you. Only with you.”
But he can’t be. He’s on the brink of destroying his rotted father’s legacy, and what comes after is the laborious soldering to form it into something new. That doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t even finish after this conference is over.
My stomach clenches.
Mr. Duncan is right. So right. Everything he has said is true.
There is no time to panic or think too deeply on the lumbering, terrifying, stone-weighing picture of the future trying to be painted for me because there’s an afternoon soirée to attend. I’m dressed in a slinky but tasteful gown that sprouts a flower at my neck. According to whatever tastemaker was hired to mastermind my clothing, it’s the latest in fashion trends to sprout extra fabric in that spot. New diamond earrings dangle from my ears, matching the glitzy bracelet on my wrist. I must be wearing thousands and thousands of dollars.
Luke kisses the middle of my palm. “I miss you. I miss us.”
My heart skips a bloated beat.
“When is this all done?” I ask him, knowing myself, knowing I’m comparing his answer to Mr. Duncan’s blatant view on the matter.
