Chapter 8 - The Cake Sabotage
Cocktail hour was an absolute triumph. The vineyard’s signature reserve wines flowed, the charcuterie boards were devoured, and our guests mingled under the string lights strung between old oak trees. My family stayed huddled at a high-top table in the darkest corner of the patio, drinking soda water and glaring at anyone who laughed too loudly.
At 5:15 PM, fifteen minutes before guests were scheduled to transition into the grand ballroom for dinner, Lena found me in the bridal parlor where my dress was being bustled.
Her face was grim.
"Bonnie, we have another situation. It's the cake."
My heart gave a heavy thump. "What did they do to the cake?"
"Follow me," Lena said.
I gathered my train and followed her through the back service hallway into the reception ballroom. The room was breathtaking: fifty tables draped in slate gray linen, glowing with floating candles and low floral arrangements. At the far end of the room stood our wedding cake—a three-tiered masterwork of vanilla bean buttercream adorned with pressed edible wildflowers.
Except next to our cake, sitting on a silver tray that didn't belong to the venue, was a second cake.
It was an eight-inch, sloppy round cake covered in thick white frosting. On top of it, written in clumsy blue and pink piping gel, were the words: *What will Baby Carter be? Cut here to find out!*
Beside the cake tray was an unlit box of long matches and a stack of small pink and blue napkins.
"Where did this come from?" I demanded, my voice dropping an octave.
"The banquet captain caught Chloe’s ex-boyfriend—or current boyfriend, whoever he is, the guy in the leather jacket—sneaking it in through the catering loading dock," Lena explained. "He told the prep cooks he was delivering a 'surprise groom’s cake' authorized by the bride's sister. He set it on the table and tried to hide a pair of sparkler candles behind the floral backdrop."
"Where is he now?"
"Security escorted him out to the parking lot and told him if he returned to the property, the county sheriff would be called for trespassing," Lena said. "The cake is right here. What do you want to do with it?"
I walked over to the table and looked at the hideous confection. They had brought Chloe’s deadbeat boyfriend—the man who had abandoned her four months ago, the man who hadn't contributed five cents to her prenatal care—to smuggle an uninspected, home-frosted gender reveal cake into my reception hall. They were planning to light sparklers and force a cake-cutting in the middle of our dinner.
"Do you have a trash bag?" I asked Lena.
Lena reached under the service station and produced a thick, heavy-duty black contractor bag.
Without hesitation, I reached out with both hands, grabbed the silver tray, and dumped the entire pink-and-blue cake face-down into the bottom of the black bag. The frosting smeared across the plastic with a sickening squelch.
May you like
"Throw it in the commercial dumpster outside," I said, wiping a spec of blue piping gel off my thumb with a cocktail napkin. "And tell the security guard at the ballroom doors that Chloe’s tote bag needs to be searched before she enters this room."
"Consider it done," Lena smiled, tying the neck of the trash bag in a tight knot.
