CHAPTER TWO

 

Twenty minutes later, the bells on the front door of the bakery were set in motion again. Without even turning around, I sensed it was my handsome fiancé. Full of anticipation, I turned around eagerly to acknowledge his presence—those midnight blue eyes that always captured my heart, the dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck, his tanned, handsome face, and—

My jaw almost hit the floor.

Mike's face was blackened with dirt, and his T-shirt and jeans were covered with dark stains. He was standing by the front door and wasn't smelling that great, even from a distance. Two women customers who were in front of the display case stared at him openmouthed then cautiously avoided him on their way out of the shop.

Mike grinned and flashed his gleaming white teeth at me. "I warned you."

Josie burst into laughter. "This is the only time I've ever actually seen women run away from you."

I wanted to pull my hair out of my head but instead pointed to the wooden stairs behind the counter. "Upstairs to the shower. Now."

"Sal, we should forget about this," he protested. "We've got about five minutes to spare, and that's if I hit all green lights on the way."

"The air conditioner first," Josie whined and pushed him into the back room. "Please. I'm dying in here."

I sighed heavily and watched Mike disappear into the back room, dropping dirt behind him every few steps. Well, maybe being late was better than not showing up at all. Perhaps DeAngelo's was running behind schedule today. I could only hope. I took a minute to look up their number on my phone. I dialed it, and the call immediately went to voicemail.

"Where are your filters for this thing?" Mike hollered.

"There's one under the sink somewhere," Josie yelled as she ran back to show him. I took the moment to leave a hasty message that stated we would be about ten minutes late and apologized for the inconvenience.

Unlike my shop, DeAngelo's Bakery specialized in wedding cakes. Besides the cakes, they sold a very small variety of pastries as well. I hadn't been in there personally, but Josie had since she always enjoyed scoping out the competition. She said it was a snooty, high-end place, so perhaps they couldn't be bothered with something as trivial as answering phones in the middle of the day. I couldn't imagine doing that myself, but hey, to each his own.

Mike came out of the back room. "All set. I just had to replace the filter. Josie's standing in front of it cooling herself off."

Gianna sat down at one of the tables. "Do you have clothes with you?"

"I've got shorts and a tank somewhere in the truck that I use for the gym, but that's all. Looks like I'm going extra casual." He winked at me. "Is that okay, boss?"

I remembered Josie's description of the elite bakery and winced inwardly. "It'll have to be. Hurry. I'll go grab your clothes."

He leaned down to kiss me, and I started to gag while also giggling in the process.

"My bride doesn't want to kiss me? How come?" he teased.

"Get upstairs!" I laughed and then went outside to Mike's truck. After rummaging around inside it for a minute, I found the clothes in a gym bag under the seat. I ran upstairs with the bag and placed it on the bathroom sink. The water was already running in the shower.

"Your stuff is on the counter," I called out.

Mike stuck his wet head out from around the shower curtain, and his blue eyes darkened as they fixed on my face. "You could join me, you know."

He did make it difficult to refuse. "Tempting, but I don't think this is a good time. And not in my sister's bathroom, either."

He stuck his head back inside the curtain and laughed. "It's always a good time, princess."

All we had to do was get through one more week, and then we would be joined together for the rest of our lives. Why did things take forever to happen when you longed for them so? I ran back down the stairs and found Josie and Gianna studying the newspaper, deep in conversation.

"Did you know that you and Mike were in the bridal section today?" Josie asked, holding it out for me to see.

"Oh! My mother mentioned it. I don't understand why she even bothered to put the announcement in. No one even pays attention to those little blurbs."

"Little blurbs?" Josie echoed incredulously. "Your mother paid for the elite package, girlfriend. There's half a page devoted to you and Mike, your wedding, honeymoon destination, blah-blah. There's even a line about your cake testing today. I'm surprised she didn't insert an extra paragraph about baby making for the honeymoon."

I grabbed the paper from Josie's hands and stifled a groan. "Why does she do these things to me?"

"Okay, I don't think I ever want to get married," Gianna announced. "If I do, maybe I'll keep it a secret for ten years or so before I actually tell Mom."

I glanced at the picture of myself and Mike. He looked his usual handsome self, in a striped, blue and white dress shirt, staring at the camera with his arm around my shoulders. I was wearing a white linen blouse and also grinning at the camera—while I held a fork to my mouth with a piece of cake on it. Ugh. I was mortified. "Really? She had to take a shot while I was eating?"

Josie's grin widened as she stared at the picture again. "Aw. You guys look cute. And happy. That's from your birthday party a couple of weeks ago."

Mike came jogging down the stairs. He was dressed in blue Nike shorts, a white tank top, and a ratty looking pair of Nike sneakers. Okay, not my outfit of choice for him, but at least he was clean.

"Your boots are on the front porch," Josie said. "Gianna cleaned them off while you guys were busy fooling around upstairs."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Like we had time for that."

"Thank you, ladies." He grinned. "I'm sure Sal's also grateful for your efforts to make me look like a gentleman."

He sat down on a chair to tie his shoes, but I grabbed his arm and tried to push him toward the door. "We're already late. See you guys in a bit."

Gianna shook her head as she continued to stare at the newspaper article. "Our mother. She does take the cake—literally."

 

*   *   *

 

As we stepped through the entranceway of DeAngelo's, I glanced at my watch for about the fifth time in as many minutes. The time read 2:12, and I sighed. Well, it was the best we could do. I glanced around with uncertainty, wondering if my mother might be lurking in the shadows somewhere, ready to lecture us for being late. Thankfully she was nowhere to be seen.

There were a few people waiting at the counter, placing orders for items such as cannoli and croissants. A young girl in a spotless white jacket was behind the marble veneer countertop that supported the gleaming multitier glass display case. The case ran almost the entire length of the room and was at least twice the size of my own. The walls were a white marble, and crystal light fixtures hung from the high-raised ceilings. Glass-topped tables had been strategically placed by the large front window. A carousel sat in the center of the window seat, spinning around merrily. Wow. As much as I loved my little bakery, it paled in comparison to this sophisticated one.

Pepe DeAngelo came scurrying from the back room. He bowed and smiled at us and then made a not so subtle practice of checking his watch. Great.

"I'm terribly sorry we're late," I said. "I did leave a message. My fiancé got held up at work."

Pepe was short, about my five-foot-three-inch height, with a handlebar moustache and thinning black hair that surrounded a wide bald spot on the top of his head. He wore a white dress shirt and black pants that were immaculate. I'd met him once before when he had come into my shop to purchase cookies. Perhaps that had been Pepe's own attempt to size up the competition. At least I hoped so. I surmised that Pepe didn't do much baking himself and probably stood at the pastry chef's side all day hollering orders in Italian.

"This is my fiancé, Mike Donovan." The pride in my voice was apparent.

Pepe's eyes settled on Mike, and I saw the expression in them change. It looked like disbelief, or even panic, as his gaze traveled over Mike's impressive biceps in the tank top, then to the shorts, and finally the worn-out sneakers minus socks. I thought I heard him suck in some air.

Mike held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Pepe's nose wiggled slightly, but he accepted Mike's hand. His manners, like his shop, were impeccable, and he bowed before Mike then held out chairs for the both of us. We settled at a table directly in front of the glass window.

"Your mama," Pepe crooned to me in a heavily accented voice. "She come to see me last week and explained the problem with the other bakery. They close, no?"

I nodded. "They went bankrupt."

"Such a shame." He made a tsk-tsk sound. "Your mama—a wonderful woman. We have coffee and talk for long time. She magnificent—one in a million."

"That she is." Mike grinned wickedly.

I shot him a warning look. "We decided to go with the traditional cake, and she said you had some suggestions for the filling."

He nodded eagerly. "I recommend the white chocolate ganache frosting. Is good? You like?"

I glanced at Mike, who merely shrugged in response. "Sounds doable to me."

Pepe shot Mike an incredulous look. From the horrified expression on his face, he acted as if Mike had passed gas in his bakery. He didn't understand that this was just my fiancé's way. Mike was more than happy to leave all the wedding details to me and my mother. Perhaps part of the problem was that he had never had much of a family. He'd grown up in a hurry, with a drunken mother and abusive stepfather. He was no frills all the way and couldn't have cared less if the cake had come in a Hostess Twinkie wrapper. It was one more thing that I loved about him.

"Your mama was unsure which filling you would prefer, so my chef has personally designed two mini cakes. One is with raspberry filling and another with chocolate mousse." Pepe's eyes gleamed as he said the words. "You will try both."

Mike rocked the chair on its back legs and grinned. "Great. I didn't have lunch today, and I'm starved."

Pepe narrowed his eyes then turned on his heel and disappeared into the swinging doors behind the display case.

I nudged Mike in the ribs. "You're going to be the death of him, you know."

He shook his head. "That guy is way too pretentious. He needs to loosen up a bit."

The front door of the bakery opened, and a woman about my age strolled in. She was tall and slender, dressed expensively in a designer blue suit and shoes that bore the distinct mark of Versace. Her hair was dark like mine and almost as curly. Icy blue eyes rested on me briefly for a minute before they turned and did a full body scan of Mike. Instantly I was on my guard.

"Is Pepe here?" she asked with an authoritative air.

"He'll be back out in a minute," I said.

She wrinkled her nose at me and then continued to stand there with arms folded, her right foot tapping a steady beat on the linoleum floor. Her eyes traveled back to Mike, and I bristled inwardly. She looked as if she was undressing him with her eyes. He didn't appear to notice as he took my hand and brought it to his lips while checking his phone with his other hand.

I didn't know who this woman was, but her actions weren't exactly scoring any points with me.

Pepe came back into the bakery with two china plates. He placed one in front of me and the other in front of Mike then clasped his hands together in delight. "Buon appetito."

The woman cleared her throat loudly and tapped Pepe on the shoulder. "Don't you remember who I am?"

"Miss Alexandra Walston," he replied smoothly and bowed. He ran over to the adjoining table and held a chair out for her. "You are early. Please sit down, and I will be with you shortly."

Her nostrils flared. "I don't have time to wait. I have a final dress fitting in an hour and need you to assist me. Now."

Pepe examined his watch. "I am so sorry, signora. Your appointment is not until three. I will finish with this couple and then attend you. Would you like a pastry while you wait? Chef Georgio is putting the finishing touches on your cake. It will not take long."

Alexandra's face turned crimson. "Perhaps you aren't aware of who I am or who my parents are? My father owns several businesses in the state, as well as a restaurant and hotel."

I hated when people pulled out the "do you know who I am" card. In my opinion, no one was better than anyone else. Alexandra suddenly turned and narrowed her eyes at me, almost as if she'd heard my inner thoughts. I boldly stared back at her with unabashed defiance.

Pepe looked distressed. "Please, Miss Walston. I will take excellent care of you and promise that the wait will not be long."

Alexandra's thin lips formed into a sneer. "If my cake is not out here in five minutes, my mother will find another bakery to make it."

"But your wedding is this Saturday," Pepe protested. "How would you find another one in such short time?"

"Leave that to me. There are plenty of establishments that would welcome my business. Do you want the order or not?"

Mike and I exchanged a glance. He was most likely thinking the same thing as me. A spoiled little…

Pepe nodded and bowed before her royal highness. "I will talk to the chef. Please do not leave. I will have something for you right away."

I wasn't hungry, so I decided to wait a few minutes before sampling the cakes. The intense heat from the bakery earlier had killed my appetite. Mike had already polished off his piece of cake with the chocolate mousse filling and had started right in on the raspberry torte. He was oblivious to Alexandra who continued to eye him like he was a piece of cake himself.

Mike fed me a bite of the raspberry torte off his fork. "Try this one, baby. Pretty good stuff."

I couldn't help thinking that Pepe might have a cow if he knew patrons were referring to his masterpiece as "pretty good stuff." I accepted the bite and watched as Alexandra turned her head away in disgust. The raspberry filling burst with the fruit's natural flavors and ignited my taste buds. It mixed wonderfully with the chocolate, and I fought an urge to moan as I savored it in my mouth for as long as possible. "Oh, I think this is the one. It's absolutely delicious."

Mike's phone buzzed. He looked down at the screen and frowned. "I'm going to run outside and take this call. It's Greg, the customer whose basement I'm working on. He's probably wondering where I ran off to." He gave me a light kiss on the lips and then strode out of the bakery with the phone pressed to his ear. I watched as he walked around to the side of the building and then turned back to walk in the other direction. I'd discovered that when discussing anything work related, Mike was quite the pacer.

I turned my head and noticed that Alexandra was watching him too. His outfit looked a bit out of the ordinary for the shop, but there was no denying how good looking he was with the shorts and tank top enhancing his lean, muscular body. Mike could have been dressed in a paper bag, and it wouldn't have made any difference.

This woman was really starting to annoy me. If she was going to check out my fiancé, did she have to be so blatantly obvious about it?

Pepe came hurrying in from the back room with another china plate that held a piece of red velvet cake with white frosting. He placed it in front of Alexandra and bowed again. She stared down at the cake and then at Pepe with a look of annoyance.

"I don't want this kind."

Pepe bit into his lower lip. He must have wanted to smack her across the face—how could he not? Instead, he smiled politely. "But signora, this is the cake that you ordered."

She thrust a finger at the untouched raspberry torte on my plate. "I want to sample that kind."

Pepe looked pained. "Please, signora, I do not have any more of the raspberry torte ready for you right now."

The poor man. If this had happened in my shop, Josie would have thrown Alexandra out on her butt by now. I picked up my plate and offered it to Alexandra. "I didn't touch this piece. I don't have much of an appetite today, so please feel free."

She looked at me like I had offered her arsenic. Then to my surprise she grabbed the plate out of my hands. "I hope you didn't breathe on it."

My patience had worn thin with this woman. "What exactly is your problem? I was only trying to be nice."

Alexandra took a bite from the cake and glowered at me. "I don't do nice, so suck it up, cupcake." She closed her eyes and made a moaning sound. "Oh, yes. This is the one I want."

There must have been steam coming out of my ears. People like her with their arrogant and condescending attitude sickened me to no end. Alexandra gave new meaning to the term bridezilla, and I pitied her fiancé.

A man in a white jacket who I assumed was the pastry chef stuck his head out of the double doors. "Pepe, I need to have a word with you."

Pepe looked from me to Alexandra nervously. "Ladies, please excuse me." He bowed and hurried away, leaving me alone with her royal bitchiness.

Alexandra devoured the rest of the piece within seconds. She brought her napkin to her face and dabbed at her lips daintily. When she stared out the window at Mike again, I could have sworn I saw a bit of drool trickle out the side of her mouth.

"My word," she said in a low, breathless tone. "How did someone like you wind up with someone like him?"

Heat rose in my face. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, honey," Alexandra purred. "You're okay, but that man is so hot that I'm melting just watching him." As if to illustrate the point, she rose from her seat and walked in front of my table, blocking my view of Mike as she stared unabashedly out the window at him, hands on her hips.

Alexandra waved a hand in front of her face. "If I wasn't engaged myself, I'd go outside and wrap my—"

She never finished the sentence. A loud popping noise filled the air, and the front window shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. The shock caused me to jerk back in my chair which then toppled to the floor, forcing me to smack my head painfully against the tiles. I uttered a groan and had a brief glimpse of Alexandra crashing into a nearby table.

Terrified screams filled the air as I lay there too stunned to move. I tried to make sense of what had occurred, but my brain was a mass of jumbled confusion. When I attempted to scream, no sound came out. What had just happened? Had someone thrown an object at the window?

The sound of the bakery bells jingled merrily as the door slammed open into the wall with a deafening sound. In seconds Mike was by my side, his face white as powdered sugar as he stared down at me. He sank to the floor and pulled me into his arms. I tried to sit up, but he threw his body over mine.

"Don't move. Stay down, Sal!"

Pepe was screaming in Italian, and a woman was crying—probably the young lady who had been working behind the display case. I couldn't see her from where I lay, so there was no way to tell for sure.

"Call 9-1-1!" a man's deep voice yelled—maybe the pastry chef?

Mike ran his hands over the sides of my face. "Are you all right, baby?"

"Wh-what was it?" I asked, my entire body trembling.

"Someone shot at the shop. Stay down," he ordered.

I turned my head toward the wall, still in shock, and that was when I saw her. Alexandra was lying on her side underneath an upended table, the lower part of her body hidden from my view. Her dark hair had chards of glass embedded in it. The effect was alluring and mesmerizing as the sun settled on the pieces, making it seem as if she was wearing a veil of sorts. A bridal veil. Her icy blue eyes were wide open and stared vacantly into space.

Then I spotted it—the perfect round hole in the middle of her forehead. Blood was seeping down the side of Alexandra's face. She was pale—lifeless, in fact.

I glanced down at my arms and saw blood. There was no pain, so I was unsure where it was coming from. I whimpered aloud and clung tightly to Mike who whispered reassurances in my ear. Despite the blackness that was closing in around me, I forced myself to turn and stare at her one last time—the silent face of a bride who would never see her wedding day.