Sugar Rush

- | before | i

  

–

b e f o r e

(part i)

IT WAS RAINING by the time I pulled up to the driveway. Dark clouds loomed over the grand hotel, but a hint of sunlight peeked through them like a glimmer of hope amidst stormy weather.

I twisted the key out of the ignition and climbed out. Rain splattered down on me so I pulled my hood up, before I pressed the phone to my ear again.

"Are you there yet?"

I let out a laugh at Stella's question. This was the third time she'd asked me in the past five minutes. When she told me she was as uptight as wedding planners came, I hadn't believed her. Now I did.

"I am," I told her as I went around to the back of the truck. Mud had gathered on the pavement, and I gritted my teeth as I picked my way through it. Thank God I'd worn my scruffy old boots. "Where to?"

"See that green door? Right through and to the lift, up to the rooftop garden on the tenth floor. The contractors should still be there setting up. Tell them Stella sent you, they'll know."

"Got it. I'm hanging up now. Time to work."

"Call me if you need help," she returned cheerily, before we ended the call.

One hour.

I had one hour before Anton and Rosemary Müller's wedding ceremony ended and the reception began. I moved quickly, unlocked the back door and towed the cart out. It was a struggle to navigate it through the mud, but I managed somehow. I followed Stella's instructions accordingly, all the way to the garden on tenth.

The Mortezion lived up to its name. Its garden alone was gorgeous. Wisteria and lush moss; a grand white pavillion in the centre and a bar at the far end. Cocktail tables and chairs had been arranged for this occasion in an orderly pattern. The roof had been drawn to keep the bad weather at bay, but even the pitter-patter of rain seemed in sync with the live band that was tuning up.

I pushed the cart towards the buffet table and smiled at one of the men who carried a clipboard.

"Cakes?" he asked, before I could say a word. I nodded and he pointed to a nearby empty table. "Right over there."

"Thanks."

I stopped the cart by the table and began to unload the dessert. One tray after another. Macaroons, lemon meringues and eclairs on white platters to the right. Gold-edged napkins on the left. And the pièce de résistance: a three-tiered red velvet wedding cake.

I was still in the midst of adjusting the platters when a hand glossed the small of my back. I jumped, almost upsetting the cakes, just as a deep voice sounded behind me.

"Ten pounds says your face is as gorgeous as that arse of yours."

I forced out a slow breath but didn't turn around. "Only ten? That's insulting."

A rich chuckle, followed by footsteps. A flash of brown loafers and blue pants crossed my line of vision, but I didn't look up. "Clever," the man remarked. "I'm Oskar, nephew of the groom. And you are?"

"Not interested."

"Pleasure to meet you, Not Interested. Can I get you a drink from the bar?"

"No."

"Playing hard to get?"

"Playing so hard you won't get me at all."

Another laugh—this time one that sounded almost patronising. "That's cute, but you've left me hanging for a little too long now. Why don't you let me buy you a drink, sugar?"