Page 57 of Wed to the Devil

“Hey, Mrs. Morgan,” she teases. “It’s weird that you go by a different name now.”

“Not as strange as the fact that everyone seems to have assumed that I am Mrs. Morgan now. Dare and I haven’t actually talked about whether I’ll take his name or if our kids will have a hyphenated name.”

She screws up her face. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

Rolling my eyes, I nod. “I think you’re right. Do you think that we could find a quiet spot to sit down? My feet are killing me.”

She beams and guides me toward the back of the party, to where there are festive white ribboned and blush pink netted tables spread out. “Aunt Minnie has already claimed a table at the very edge of the party. She waves off anyone that sits down with claims that she’s saving the table for you.”

“Ha! She’s right, I’m afraid,” I admit. “I’m exhausted.”

We step around an elderly couple and I see my Aunt Minnie at a table by herself, an entire platter of hors d’oeuvres on the table in front of her. She pops one in her mouth just as I walk up. She looks up and sort of squeals with delight as she jumps up to hug me, her mouth still full.

I hug her gladly and then sink into the seat beside her. The white chair is the same type as the crowd of onlookers that is on the other side of the house. But it is the biggest relief to get off my aching feet and I lean back in the chair with the soft grunt of pleasure. Olive moves around me and pulls up another chair facing me. She pats the seat.

“You can put your feet up here.”

I slide my gaze to the party guests milling around. If they knew I was pregnant, I think that putting my feet up on the chair would be something that they could overlook. But because my pregnancy is still under wraps, I feel like they will judge me.

I scrunch up my face and shake my head. “No thanks. It’s better if I don’t lose my composure while all the guests are still here.”

Olive narrows her eyes at me but shrugs. She moves the chair a little so that she’s sitting between me and Aunt Minnie and then slumps into it.

Aunt Minnie leans forward, holding out a cracker with a blob of gray goo on it and a jaunty herb topping. “Would you like some pate?” she asks.

I turn a little green, shaking my head and putting my hand up like a wall to keep me separated from the offending cracker. “No way. Everything is making me nauseated today.”

Minnie pouts for a second and then looks at me slyly. “How do you feel about some chocolate babka?”

The image of a fresh loaf of the sweet bread fresh from the oven, still steaming pops into my head. In my mind, I pull a piece of the bread away and smell the rich, dark cocoa mix with cinnamon that is inside. My mouth starts watering.

God, I wish that I had a piece. I could definitely stomach that.

Aunt Minnie stands up, holding her hand out to me and smiling mischievously. “I have some in the kitchen. I showed up with a few loaves and the Butler had a conniption fit. He made me hand them over to him for safekeeping.” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s go get a piece.”

Jumping up and hugging my Aunt, I grin. “I can’t believe you brought babka to my Waspy wedding. You know that they have always been my favorite dessert.”

“Since you were a kid,” Aunt Minnie says with a smile.

Aunt Minnie beckons Olive to follow and hurries me toward the house. We go in a wide arc around the wedding guests and are soon huddled in the kitchen and slicing into the decadent dessert.

Taking a slice of dessert from my aunt, I pop a chocolatey morsel into my mouth. The pastry is full of butter and honey, the cinnamony, chocolatey goodness almost too much to take. I close my eyes and let out a moan.

“Oh my God. It’s so good,” I manage between bites.

Olivia winks at me, her mouth too full of pastry to respond. Aunt Minnie gives me a little grin and guides me over to the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. She and Olivia pull up two heavy dining room chairs and I sit down, feeling a little guilty as I try not to get crumbs on my wedding dress.

Aunt Minnie pops up from her chair and grabs a cloth napkin from a stack on the kitchen countertop, returning to hand it to me.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s hard to convince myself not to have a second slice of Babka.”

Olivia finishes her piece and dusts her hands off.

“Don’t hold back on our account. There is no one here but us chickens.” She grabs the matching ottoman and pushes it closer to the chair, smiling when I put my feet up on it.

“I’m going to get completely spoiled by the two of you taking such good care of me.”

Aunt Minnie is looking at my feet with a skeptical expression. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear heels. And yet today, you have some serious spike heels on your feet. No wonder your whole body aches.”

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