Page 25 of Of Oaths and Secrets

“Almost,” my mother replies, her tone softer now as she eyes me with concern. Is she aware of my fatigue? “We just need to pick out the cake, and I’ll handle the catering.”

I offer her a smile. Despite everything, her gesture is kind. I love choosing cakes, and truthfully, she’s the best person to manage the catering.

At least I don’t have to worry about the venue—the wedding will take place at San Miguel Church, as is customary, with the reception at the capo’s estate. The entire event is being organized by a top-tier wedding planner who seemed thrilled by the challenge of pulling everything together in just four weeks.

"The bakery is just at the bottom of the street. Let’s go,” my mother says, already moving forward with Maria by her side, both of them deep in conversation about the catering.

Lucia and I lag behind, walking in a comfortable silence until I finally muster the courage to speak. “Thank you.”

She glances at me, raising an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For being my ally,” I reply, grateful for her support, even if it’s just in small ways.

She waves a hand dismissively. “Please, I’d pay you just to annoy Aunt Maria. She’s so stuck up. Wait until you meet mycousin Sofia—she’s even worse. But her husband…” Lucia sticks her tongue out to the side, mimicking someone choking.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, a little shocked.

Lucia snorts. “Don’t be. He was a pig.”

I can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, and she grins, clearly pleased to have lightened the mood.

“Honestly, I don’t care what people say about Rafa. He’s not half bad, you know. Sure, he’s scary, and yeah, he’s tough, but if you’re loyal to the famiglia, he’ll always have your back.”

Her words are meant to be comforting, but they only remind me of the secret I’m hiding, the thing Rafaele doesn’t know about me. The thought gnaws at me, a constant worry that one day, it will all come out and be seen as a betrayal.

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. It’s too late to change anything now. All I can do is hope that the truth stays buried.

We arrive at the bakery, a quaint little shop on the corner of the street. The scent of freshly baked bread and sweet confections wafts through the air as soon as we step inside, instantly lifting my spirits. The baker, a kindly older woman with flour dusting her apron, greets us with a warm smile.

“Ah, Ms. Falcone! I’ve been expecting you,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “We’ve prepared a few options for your cake tasting. Please, have a seat.”

We’re led to a small, cozy table at the back of the bakery, where several small plates are already laid out, each holding a different flavor of cake. My mother and Maria take their seats first, both eyeing the offerings with thinly veiled disapproval.

“Let’s start with the classic vanilla,” the baker suggests, cutting small slices for each of us. I take a bite, the subtle sweetness melting on my tongue. It’s simple, delicate—everything a wedding cake should be. But when I think of the man I’m marrying, something about it feels… lacking.

“It’s nice,” I say politely, glancing at my mother and Maria. Both nod, clearly approving of the choice, but I can tell they’re already ready to move on to something else.

“What else do you have?” I ask, and the baker smiles, moving to the next plate.

“This one is a bit more unique—espresso.”

My heart skips a beat as I take a bite, the rich, bold flavor of coffee filling my senses. It’s unexpected, daring even, and I can’t help but think of Rafaele. It’s the kind of flavor he would appreciate—strong, intense, not overly sweet.

“I like this one,” I say, feeling a small surge of confidence as I look up at the baker.

My mother makes a face, clearly unimpressed. “Espresso? For a wedding cake? That’s a bit… bitter, don’t you think?”

Maria raises an eyebrow, clearly on the fence. “It’s unconventional, Nora. Are you sure?”

“Could we have a layer of each?” I ask the baker. “Balancing the bitterness of espresso with the sweetness of vanilla?”

The baker beams. “Yes, let’s try that.” She takes a little of each cake and layers them on a plate.

I take a bite, and I can’t help but smile. The combination is perfect, each flavor complementing the other in a way that feels right. If this were a real wedding, it would have been even more fitting—the sweet vanilla marrying the bold espresso, just like the contrast between Rafaele and me.

Lucia grins, clearly enjoying the fact that I’m making a decision that isn’t purely based on tradition or expectation. “I think it’s a great choice.”

The baker looks relieved, nodding as she makes a note on her pad. “Espresso and vanilla it is, then.”

---