Chef Danica Nilsson spread her knives on the long table and plucked the twelve-inch slicer from its pocket. With the bride and groom’s cake cutting ritual finished, it was time to serve the flowered and jeweled creation she had baked to the three hundred wedding guests that flew to Brazil to see her best friend Nicole get married.
“He’s looking at you again.” Liz, a longtime friend to her and the bride, leaned on the tabletop and crossed her arms.
Dani didn’t look up as she worked. “Maybe he’s crazy.”
“Crazy doesn’t look that good. That man is handsome.”
Dani half listened as she urged herself to hurry. The seven-layer masterpiece had been chilled to withstand the Brazilian heat, but even sitting under the shade of the tent, which had been spread across the entire vineyard, the icing was beginning to sheen.
“Maybe he wants some cake.”
“Oh, he definitely wants some cake.” Liz raised her brows and stared at Dani’s ass. Dani shook her head at her friend, thinking that she had enough “cake” to feed all of Brazil.
“Wasn’t he married to a model or something? He’s not trying for—” Dani looked down at her size-sixteen figure “—all of this.”
“You never know. Sometimes people go for the complete opposite of what they’ve had before.” Dani heard Liz take her therapy tone, something the good doctor did unconsciously when she was trying to make a point.
“I’m not trying to find a man here, Liz.”
“I just want you to have a little fun...and to forget about Andre.”
With just the sound of his name, Dani felt her guard go up. She’d been trying to forget, but the more she tried, the more she thought about him. Andre had refused to attend the wedding with her and had made it clear he didn’t harbor the same feelings for her that she had for him.
Andre loved running the New York restaurant together—translation: he loved that she did all the work running the kitchen, but anything more than sex was out of the question.
Dani picked up her knife and squeezed.
“Look, you go for him. I’m gonna cut this cake.”
The guests drank and danced as Dani took apart the layers and began plating slices of each. At first each cut made her feel more single, but as she worked she began to feel better.
The cake was her gift to the couple, a chef’s gift, and each layer was infused with different ingredients that told the story of their love—the bold New Yorker and the brooding Frenchman finding each other on a vineyard in Brazil.
A Brazilian chocolate sponge foundation, Nicole’s favorite, with a second layer of lavender French vanilla, Destin’s favorite. A third layer of traditional Brazilian fruitcake and a fourth layer of New York cheesecake. The last three layers she was most proud of, a Cab Franc–infused red velvet. All topped with wine-infused icing and candy jewels.
“Dio mio...is that wine? Brava! You’re an artist,” said a deep accented voice. Dani pulled her focus from slicing the cake to find Antonio Dante Lorenzetti, Destin’s best man, licking his finger.
“Did you just stick your finger in my cake?” The grip on her knife tightened.
Toni licked his lips and flashed a boyish smile. Sweat darkened his honey-colored hair around the temples, and his shirt was open to reveal a slightly damp chest. She briefly craned her neck to take in all six feet and three inches of him.
Liz was right, he was handsome. He was the type of guy that could have any girl he wanted. She wondered which one he’d choose to take back to his room.
Shit! Her cut faltered, breaking one of the perfectly two-inch cake slices in half.
“Sorry.” Toni shrugged an apology and slipped his hands in his pockets. His sleeves were rolled and a glint was in his eye, making him look undeniably masculine.
Dani set the knife down and rose to her full five-foot-eight-inch height. She quickly dabbed at the sweat on her brow with a towel. And if Toni hadn’t been standing there, she would have dabbed at her cleavage, as well. The bridesmaid dress her friend chose hugged her full frame nicely, but the open neckline showed a bit too much cleavage for Dani’s taste.
“Nice ink.” His gaze ran over the colorful swirls of flowers and symbols on the tan skin of her left forearm. Dani studied his expression; some people had a thing against tattoos, but Dani saw no signs of aversion. Still, she was certain that a woman like her was definitely not what he was used to.
Dani pulled her shoulder-length hair into a bun on her head, the shaved undercut of her hairstyle letting in more cool air. Screw decorum, she wiped at her cleavage, then tossed the towel on the table. She lifted a brow when