‘We’re supposed to be having a white Christmas this year,’ Eileen tells us, making small talk as we wait for Debbie to show up.
‘Cool,’ Dylan replies, before laughing at his own choice of words. ‘Literally.’
Eileen laughs, entirely charmed by Dylan. What woman isn’t, though?
We’re at the Bluebell Bakery in Kensington, waiting on Debbie to handhold us through our cake tasting – well, not our cake tasting, my cake tasting, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to get Dylan out of here until he’s in a coma.
It’s a beautiful place, all decked out in lilac and white. The Christmas decorations are subtle, silver and white, with sparkles everywhere. There’s nothing subtle about their cakes, though. They look beautiful – in fact they’re practically art, and it doesn’t matter where you stand in the room, it smells amazing, like icing sugar and buttercream.
Eileen escorted us through the shop and into the café where the tables were all full of people tucking into cakes and warm drinks, except for one free table at the back, reserved for the De Lucas.
With Eileen headed into the back to prepare our samples, Dylan beings to fidget like a little boy. He picks up the name card from our table.
‘De Luca,’ he says out loud. ‘You’re marrying an Italian?’
‘I know, right? What will the neighbours say?’ I reply sarcastically.
‘Mia De Luca,’ he says out loud, to see how it sounds. ‘Wait, are you Italian? With a name like Valentina?’
‘No, I’m English. Valentina is my pen name, I was born Mia Harrison,’ I confess.
‘That’s nowhere near as sexy,’ he concludes.
‘I’ll be sure to pass your feedback on to my parents.’
‘Erm…’
We’re interrupted by Debbie, who looks very confused.
‘You’re not the groom,’ she says to Dylan.
‘I’m not,’ he replies, all smiles.
‘You’re Dylan King,’ she tells him, just in case he might not be aware.
‘I am,’ he laughs. ‘Mia, you told me she was good, you didn’t tell me she was this good.’
Debbie somehow overlooks his sarcasm and takes a compliment from that, but her smile only lasts a split second.
‘Well, what are you doing here?’
‘Cake,’ he replies simply. ‘On the phone you said something about cake.’
‘I thought that was Leo,’ she says angrily, before tuning to me. ‘Mia, you can’t just bring a random man to your cake tasting. You’re supposed to bring the groom.’
‘Well, he’s working today,’ I tell her honestly. Well, so he tells me. Between all his overtime and his text from ‘Amy’, who he gave his jacket to during a lads’ night out, I’d be lying if I said my writer’s brain wasn’t in overdrive, daring to entertain the worst possible explanations. But I’ve always trusted Leo – he’s never given me reason not to – so every time my brain wanders off in that direction, I yank it back. ‘We’re here, though, so we can get on with it or we can reschedule.’
We both stare at her blankly, Dylan with hope in his eyes.
As Eileen comes out with a platter of different cakes, I see Debbie roll her eyes.
‘OK, fine, let’s do this now,’ she says, sitting down at the table.
‘We’re all set?’ Eileen asks her.
‘All set,’ she replies reluctantly.
‘So…’ Eileen says excitedly. ‘We’ve got your traditional fruit cake with white icing.’
Dylan scoffs in disgust, which lands him a dirty look from both Eileen and Debbie.
‘Next,’ he says with a flash of his cheeky smile.
‘We’ve got a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, salted caramel cake with a caramel drizzle, lemon cake with lemon drizzle, and finally, a selection of vanilla sponges with fresh fruit and whipped cream. Enjoy.’
Eileen disappears, leaving the three of us to our cake.
‘Mmm,’ I say, diving straight into the chocolate one. ‘This is amazing. Dylan, try this.’
I delicately scoop up a little with my fork and hold it out for Dylan to try, holding my hand underneath to catch any crumbs.
‘Shit,’ Dylan says, banging his hand on the table. ‘That’s good cake, man.’
He stabs his fork into a square of salted caramel cake and shoves it in his mouth, whole.
‘Mmm,’ he moans, sounding like he’s on the brink of an orgasm.
‘That good?’ I ask. Dylan nods, so I cut a little piece for myself to try. ‘Oh wow, that’s great. Do I have to pick just one?’ I ask Debbie.
Now that I’m looking at her, I realise she’s staring at us, a combination of disgusted and confused.
‘What is happening here?’ she asks me.
‘Cake,’ Dylan replies. ‘Try some.’
‘This is wrong,’ she tells me. ‘He’s here and something very important is missing.’
I smile and nod in acknowledgement.
‘A cup of tea,’ I say. ‘Eileen, can we get some tea, please?’
‘Right away, my love,’ she says as she dashes past us with an armful of empty plates.
‘What is it they do at weddings, where they feed each other cake?’ Dylan asks, picking up a slice of vanilla sponge. It’s two layers of vanilla cake with lashings of whipped cream sandwiched between them, and a big dollop on top holding a strawberry in place.
Dylan, clearly having seen too many wedding movies, squashes the slice of cake in the direction of my mouth, smearing it all over my face. The bit I do get to taste is phenomenal.
‘Dylan,’ I shriek in horror.
‘Sorry,’ he laughs. ‘I get carried away when I have too much sugar. You want some, Deb?’
Debbie jumps to her feet. Only then do I realise everyone is watching us.
‘Mia, I quit. You’re ignoring my calls, you’re refusing to book anything or tell me what you want, and now you’re turning up with strange men and embarrassing me. This is the final straw. I’ll be telling your mother exactly why I quit. I wish you all the best – but if you do get married, I’ll be amazed.’
Debbie turns on her heels and storms out of the shop.
‘Did she say she’s gonna tell your mum on you?’ he asks me.
‘Yep,’ I reply.
‘No one likes a narc, Debbie,’ he calls after her.
‘Oops,’ I say quietly, realising that everyone in the café is staring at us. Eileen is standing next to us with our pot of tea and two cups on a tray. Her jaw has dropped a little, I don’t suppose she’s had too many couples come in for a cake tasting that has ended like this.
‘Oh, Eileen, you’re here, great,’ Dylan says. ‘Can I get a four-tier cake, two tiers chocolate and two tiers salted caramel, please? Do we think that can be ready tomorrow?’
‘The… the wedding is tomorrow?’ Eileen asks.
‘No, no,’ Dylan replies. ‘This is just for me.’
‘You just want a wedding cake for you?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. Well, not just me. I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. I might let some people have some.’
The fact that Dylan wants to buy a wedding cake that isn’t for a wedding is a concept too confusing for Eileen.
‘That’s quite short notice,’ Eileen points out politely.
‘I’ll pay whatever it takes to get it made in time,’ Dylan offers.
‘I… I’ll have a word,’ Eileen stutters. She can’t really argue with that, can she?
‘You’re getting a wedding cake for the party?’ I laugh.
‘It’s just a cake, Valentina,’ he replies. ‘Anyway, someone needed to buy one. Even Debbie thinks you’re avoiding planning this wedding. What’s up? You not wanna get married or something?’
‘Shut up and eat your cake,’ I reply. Dylan happily obliges.
I don’t think for a second that Dylan did this to sabotage my cake tasting. I think he was just being Dylan – a little drunk, a lot silly, having a laugh. He doesn’t know what Debbie is like, or the problems she’s been having with me, so why would a little cake mess drive her to quit? Maybe today was my fault, perhaps I annoyed Debbie too much, but it wasn’t the deliberate act of sabotage people are going to assume it was. My mum is going to be so angry, and God knows what Leo is going to think – I mean, it does seem like something LA Mia would do. She’s no stranger to making a mess with a wedding cake.
I’ll just have to plan my wedding myself now, all alone, which is what I wanted in the first place. Maybe I can wait until after Christmas now, when things will be less stressful. And anyway, now I’ve got a Christmas party to plan at short notice. A showbiz party is always going to be awesome but, with Dylan promising me he’ll open up about his personal life afterwards, it means the book I’m writing practically depends on this party… or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself so I get to have some fun.