Page 32 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“Okay, my queen.” Hunter claps his hands, facing us. “Liza and I have got it figured out.”
“Okay,” Tabatha says, drawing the word out.
“We are going to do a different flavor for each layer. And have extra sheet cake in the kitchen for the flavors we think will be the most popular. My groom’s cake will be—”
“I hate to interrupt,” I say, not really hating to. “But shouldn’t the bride and the groom be deciding the flavors? Not the groom and the wedding planner.”
“It’s fine,” Tabatha says at the same time Hunter responds, “Tabatha doesn’t do cake.”
“No offense, Mr. Simpcox.” I feign shock. “But I’ve got pictures of her eating cake.”
“I’m so sorry, my queen.” Hunters takes Tabatha’s hands, his eyes searching hers from across the small table. “What would you like to do about the cake?”
“I don’t really care,” she says.
“Are you sure? Because I only want for you to be happy. And if there is anything—”
“It’s fine, darling.” She gives him a small smile. “Do you really think the photographer’s opinion matters in this?” Skimpycock raises his brows at me and he sits back in his chair, satisfied with what she’s told him.
The Tabatha that I know would never stand for not getting a say on any kind of event with her name on it. Why is she so muted with this? When we eloped, she wouldn’t even let me pick out my own jeans.
I take a good look at her. She’s aged a bit since we were together. Not in a bad way, mind you. Tabatha will be one of those women who ages gracefully, growing more beautiful as she goes. But she’s much thinner. She’s always been lean, but a voluptuous lean at the risk of sounding oxymoronic. Gone are her beautiful curves and luscious ass, and in their place the thin and more skeletal physique that women think men find so appealing.
I’m not afraid to say it—there is nothing attractive about pounding into hipbones or tailbones when you are fucking a woman. Tabby has never been this thin. I hope it’s not Simplecock’s influence that has her starving herself to skin and bones. I may be straddling a thin line between love and hate where Tabs is concerned, but that doesn’t mean I want her jeopardizing her health or getting involved with anyone who encourages such a behavior.
The cake tasting begins to wind down. Decisions having been made. Next up apparently is catering and venues. I get a few shots of the happy couple shaking the hand of the baker, walking through the bakery, and out the front door. Then I follow Tabatha to her car.
I have to jog a couple feet to get in line with her pace. “You must be the most low-maintenance woman in the world to just let a guy keep making all the decisions for you. Either that or you don’t have any original thoughts in that pretty little head of yours.”
She looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” Then stops. “Did you just imply that I’m not thinking for myself?”
“Well, no offense, but yeah, that’s kinda how it’s looking from here.”
“Because I don’t care about the cake?”
“Sure, that and the wedding planner and photographer too.”
“What makes you think I don’t care about those things?” she asks.
“Well, for one, your name never came up when I was dealing with Liza, which tells me you don’t care about the photographer, and two, each time that I’ve talked to her since about anything else, it’s been Mister Simplecock this, and Mister Simpcox that.”
“Did you just call him Mister Simplecock?”
It’s all I can do to hold in the laughter. I tried to say it fast so she wouldn’t hear it. But I should have known Tabby wouldn’t miss a thing.
“No, ma’am. I believe I said Simpcox.”
“Hmmm.” She narrows her eyes, obviously not believing what I’m saying. “Are you going to let me see the pictures now?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then kindly leave me be. And stop calling me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mumble and continue to follow her for another half a block. She stops suddenly, so I do too.
“Why are you still here?”
“Here?”
