Chapter 4 - The Wedding Cake with Vanilla Frosting
At 11:00 PM, the grand ballroom reception was in full swing, but the atmosphere remained thick with unspoken currents of tension.
A massive banquet table was laid with vintage Chianti, roasted meats, and delicacies, yet in the center of the terrace stood an empty silver pedestal.
Julian Vance had canceled the luxury pastry delivery from Milan two hours before the ceremony, assuming there would be no wedding to celebrate.
When I heard the caterer panicking in the hallway, I only laughed.
"Give me forty minutes, an apron, and the commercial kitchen," I told Marco.
Now, standing on the sunlit terrace under the midnight stars, Luca and I stood before a two-tiered, rustic sponge cake frosted in whipped vanilla buttercream, adorned with wild rosemary sprigs and fresh blackberries gathered from the estate’s hillside garden.
It wasn't symmetrical. It bore the unmistakable mark of a baker who worked fast, laughed often, and cared about taste over perfection.
The council elders gathered around, intrigued.
Uncle Silvio, the eighty-year-old senior patriarch of the council, took a small silver fork and sampled a bite.
The old man closed his eyes, chewing slowly. A slow, genuine smile spread across his weathered face.
"Vanilla bean and dark rum," Silvio murmured with deep nostalgia. "This tastes like the old kitchens in Palermo before we traded flour for gold."
Silvio raised his glass toward me, bowing his head with ancient, aristocratic respect: "To Donna Sophia Moretti. A woman of substance."
The room erupted into cheers.
Luca stood beside me, his hand resting securely against the curve of my lower back.
"You baked our wedding cake in thirty minutes?" he murmured against my ear, his voice rich with amused wonder.
"I told you," I grinned, leaning back against his chest. "I make wedding cakes. And I don't let bullies ruin a party."
From across the ballroom, Beatrice glared at us over the rim of her champagne flute, her fingers gripping the crystal until her knuckles turned white.
May you like
Julian slipped into the shadows of the garden corridor, his phone pressed tightly to his ear.
"The girl didn't run," Julian hissed into the receiver. "Deploy the second contingency tonight. Seal the boathouse and trigger the transport raid before sunrise."
