“The chef has requested final approval on the cake,” he said, his eyes darting toward the kitchen and then back to me.
“Um . . . oh. I’m sure whatever he’s done is fine,” I said with a wave of my hand.
If there were an award for an easygoing bride, I would win, hands down. No meltdown bridezilla here.
He pulled at the neck of his collar before wiping his palms against his black slacks. “He was quite insistent.”
“Oh. Okay.” I sighed, not wanting to cause the poor thing any more discomfort.
“Do you want me to accompany you?” Jude offered, rising from his seat to take my hand.
“No, it’s all right. I’ll be right back. One of us should stay and eat. Save my plate?” I requested, kissing his cheek and he nodded.
I followed the waiter toward the back, waving and smiling as I quickly rushed by. He held the door for me, and I made my way into the kitchen. Quickly remembering the last time I’d been in an industrial kitchen like this, I smiled. Seeing the stainless steel workspaces, memories of pizza dough and marinara sauce flooded my mind. But they were quickly dashed when I saw a single place setting, complete with candles and a cloth napkin waiting for me.
“What is this?” I asked, turning toward the waiter.
“Dinner,” he answered. Then, he promptly took his leave through a swinging door, which led further into the depths of the kitchen.
I looked around, searching for answers, and then I found them.
Standing stoically in the corner, he wore his trademark smile and a designer black suit.
“Nice of you to join us,” I muttered.
“I’ve been here the entire time,” he answered. “In the background, where I belong . . . on a day such as this,” he added.
“You did this?” I asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in my tone.
“Well, we couldn’t have the bride fainting on her wedding day, could we?” Roman said, taking a step forward, as his hand slid across the cool steel of the table.
“And what about your brother?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest in defiance.
“Well, someone needs to entertain the masses.” His face curled into a wicked grin.
“Why, Roman?” I questioned, taking an angry step toward him. “Why be generous now? After all these months? Don’t you see what you’ve been putting your brother through?”
His features contorted—first with anger and then melting into something closer to pain. He studied the floor, never making eye contact, as he seemed to fight an internal battle for control.
It seemed to be ages before he spoke, “I’ve been to hundreds of these types of things.” Apparently, he decided to entirely skirt around my pointed questions.
“Weddings?” I asked.
“Weddings, fundraisers, galas—they’re all the same. Same boring people, same dull food.”
I glanced down at my second dinner. It was growing colder by the minute, and I pouted. It wasn’t dull. It was beautiful.
“If you stay in New York long enough, you’ll realize this. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you attend—they all look the same. Pompous old men will brag about their portfolios and riches while their trophy wives will admire each other’s gowns and gossip about the latest scandal. It never changes.”
“And what would you know about interesting conversations?” I challenged. I eyed my food one more time as my stomach growled.
“Nothing, I’m sure. As always, I’m just here for the booze.”
He looked at my untouched plate as he walked up to me. Our shoulders touched for the briefest moment.
“Better eat up, dear sister. They’ll start to notice your absence soon.”
Then, he was gone.
And I was left wondering just how many sides there were to my strange and mysterious new brother and whether I’d ever figure them all out.
“DO YOU REMEMBER the first time we danced to this song?” I asked.
Lailah and I slowly swayed back and forth to the haunting lyrics of “All of Me” by John Legend. Everyone was gathered around as we took our first dance as husband and wife.
“How could I forget?” Lailah answered, her warm smile lighting up the room. “You hummed the lyrics in my ear—perfectly in tune, I might add—which only added more proof to the ever growing pile of evidence that you were far too perfect to be real.” Her brief laugh interrupted her thoughts. “Then, later that evening, you asked me to move in with you.”
My grip tightened around her waist as I pulled her against me, remembering the sheer joy we’d felt that night after discovering that she was being released from the hospital. It was everything we’d hoped for—a start at something real.
“And now? Now that you’ve peeked behind the curtain and gotten to see the real Jude, am I still perfect?” I asked with a wolfish grin.
“No.” She laughed. “You snore when you’re sick, and you never put the toilet seat down. And don’t get me started on the empty cereal boxes in the pantry.”