Courtship of the Cake by Jessica Topper Page B

look like awkward teens at a school dance. With his collar open, sleeves rolled up, and his hands in his pockets, this guy was coolness personified, as if he had just decided to take a stroll around the dance floor.
    While I was positioned at ten o’clock on the perimeter of the large circular space, chatting with Posy’s best friend Emma, he was stationed at four o’clock. I moved on to give a hug and a kiss to my new brother-in-law, standing at one o’clock; this guy stepped over to seven, interacting with nobody, his eyes never leaving me. His fluid movements purposely kept him exactly opposite me. I moved in his direction, on to where my cousins were clustered at six o’clock on the dial. He turned on his heel and meandered toward midnight.
    His mask of choice had concealed the top half of his face, and its long, hooked nose and slit eyes had a sinister, eerie quality. But the way he bit back a smile from his full lips was utterly disarming, and I liked the way his hair tufted over the top of the mask, almost as dark as the black mask itself, with its gold scrolling detail.
    Feeling bold behind the cover of my own disguise, I strode to the center of the floor just to see what he would do. Within seconds, he joined me there.
    â€œOnce upon a time, women who wore masks had their reputation questioned, you know.”
    My cheeks heated beneath my mask, and I dropped my gaze demurely. I had a feeling if I wasn’t careful, I would let him ask me just about anything. Those eyes of his were powerful truth serum.
    â€œI was wondering who would end up with that particular mask,” I opened with, extending my hand. “I figured the guy who wears that must be very confident with his manhood.”
    â€œNo doubt there,” he said, lacing his fingers through mine and claiming my waist. “Now, if only I was so confident about my dancing skills.”
    I laughed. “I always get blamed for trying to lead.”
    Thinking back to prom, when I kept stepping on Jax’s shiny black shoes by accident, made me miss my old friend that much more. He was supposed to have come with me that weekend, but pulled out at the last minute. I had no doubt it was girlfriend issues. Pre-Bitch’n’Mona, his latest Little Miss She’s the One for Me, for Now, was toeing the line.
    My mysterious dance partner gazed down at me. “I would follow you.”
    His final word was stilted, as if he wanted to add more, but didn’t.
    We needn’t have worried about leading and following; Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You” thrummed through the room, closing the gap between us. I smelled bourbon and brown sugar on his skin, reminiscent of the pralines baking in shops on almost every New Orleans street corner. And we began to move as one, under the whisper dome.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    God, I really needed to stop thinking about Mick.
    It was time to file him away under “dodged that bullet” and stick that book on the back shelf of my brain. Onward.
    â€œOh, happy day. Who’s the lucky guy?”
    I started at the sound of the familiar-yet-foreign voice, my head jerking against the top row of bridal books. His timbre and lanky build were identical to his twin brother’s, but his cool stare and the woodsy musk smell of his cologne, so unlike Jax’s, tipped me off.
    Dex Davenport smirked at my choice of reading material, and locked in on the behemoth diamond. His
Who’s the lucky guy?
comment came across more like a smart-ass
Who in their right mind would marry you?
demand.
    Over one and a half million people on this island, and on the one day I happen to be in town, this is who I run into?
    â€œNo one you know,” I replied, although he was clutching a freshly signed Go Get Her CD in his hand. “Promise me you won’t tell Jax . . . I want to talk to him myself.”
    He smiled his evil twin smile. “Of