Page 71 of Craving

Caterers were busy scraping plates and cleaning stations. Dishwashers sprayed and organized trays in the back corner. Servers in black vests arranged slices of the big sheet cakes onto plates, ready to be carted out to the guests after the tiered cake was ceremonially cut and photographed.

And in front of a wheeled trolley holding Camilla’s creation, Percival held the gold-and-diamond cake topper in white-gloved hands, bringing it down slowly to the top of the cake.

Amelia was there, holding her phone up. She turned when Marlon burst through the door, making a small noise of surprise. “Hey! I’m getting a video for Camilla,” she explained, but Marlon was scanning every face in the room, looking for the man who had terrorized his woman. That asshole was here somewhere, waiting for his chance to get the cake topper.

Medium height, slight build, brown hair. Male. Estimated twenty to thirty years old. He scanned once, twice. Saw no one who jumped out at him.

Percival glanced up from his work, the cake topper not yet touching the top tier of the cake. He frowned at Marlon. “Is there a problem?”

Cormac split from the crowd clustered around the cake and approached. “What’s up, St. James?”

“The cake topper. That’s what the break-in was about.”

“Break-in?” Percival asked, frowning.

A harried-looking wedding planner came in behind Marlon. “It’s cake time, people. Fred and Nadia are waiting. We need it out there, stat.”

“Wait,” Marlon said, but Percival was dropping the cake topper on top of the cake and nodding to the two staff members on either side, who began to roll the trolley toward the doors.

It was a beautiful cake, iced in smooth, rich-looking frosting. Camilla had made swoops of hard caramel that arced and framed the cake topper beautifully. There were pieces of poached pear carved into tiny pear shapes at the base of the cake, with more hard caramel swoops decorating every tier. It was ornate and elegant and absolutely beautiful. The cake topper stood on top of her masterpiece, glittering. Camilla had designed the whole cake to look in harmony with the jewel atop it. She was a genius.

Amelia kept filming, but she threw another glance at Marlon.

Cormac frowned. “What’s going on?”

Marlon shook his head, watching one of the servers push the trolley out of the kitchen door. “Gut feeling.”

“Come on,” Cormac said, jerking his head. “You watch the rear. Luke, you got the left side. Let’s go.”

They fell into place, three big, burly men guarding a wedding cake like it was the President and they were Secret Service.

Amelia walked backward, filming the movement of the cake and narrating as she went. “It looks so good, Camilla. The light is glittering off the tiny tiara, and the caramel looks so fine and delicate it could be spun gold. You did such a good job. Nadia and Fred are going to lose their minds.”

As they walked back along the long corridor, Marlon took deep breaths and listened to Amelia’s voice. Everything would be okay. His heart was hammering, but that didn’t mean danger was imminent. He’d had a long day; maybe his gut was wrong. Maybe he was stressed about having hurt Camilla, and it was coming out in a weird way.

But—the security footage. He’d seen the guy grab the replica cake topper and crush it when he realized it wasn’t the real thing.

They made it to the reception room, and the security team dropped back so photos could be taken.

Fred and Nadia approached, admiring Camilla’s confection. Despite the apprehension churning in Marlon’s stomach, he felt a glow of pride.

He’d get on his knees and beg her for forgiveness. She hadn’t wanted to leave the bakery because this was the reason she baked. Who was he to insist she give that up? Who was he to push her around when she so clearly had a calling, a gift? Marlon wished she were here to see the tears in Nadia’s eyes.

Fred smiled at the cake, kissing Nadia’s temple. Then he took the proffered knife and began cutting into the middle tier of the cake to raucous applause. On the big screen at the front of the room, the cake, topper, and knife were broadcasted in high definition.

Despite his thoughts about Camilla and the revelations he’d experienced about his own fault in their fight last night, Marlon itched all over. Something was wrong. He could feel it under his skin, in his bones. The cake topper was the key to it all, but he couldn’t exactly get up there and snatch it so it would be safe.

He scanned the room. Scowled. Saw nothing out of the ordinary. All the guests had been accounted for, and the building was secure.

“I’d like to say a few words,” Fred said into the microphone, and the view on the screen changed to his and Nadia’s faces. “My grandmama was married on this day nearly sixty years ago. She couldn’t be here with us today, but I know that she would have adored Nadia…”

Marlon shifted his weight, staring at faces, jumping at shadows. The speeches went on and on and on, and finally, Fred and Nadia fed each other bites of cake. The photographer’s camera went click-click-click. Guests held their phones up to capture the moment for themselves. Nadia closed her eyes and leaned against Fred as they enjoyed another bite of cake, a look of bliss on both of their features.

Then they straightened and nodded at the wedding planner. It was time to remove the cake so the guests could be served the pre-prepared slices.

They could finally secure the cake topper, and he could rid himself of this dread. Soon, he’d be pulling up to his house and finding Camilla. He’d be apologizing, fixing the mistakes he’d made. This was nearly over.

With a breath of relief, Marlon followed the cake trolley back out the door and down the hallway. They met an army of wait staff carrying trays of cake. Five hundred guests required five hundred slices, and the long row of caterers were ready to serve them all within minutes.

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