Purity by Jackson Pearce Page B

me. “The princess cake! Seems like a good place to start for the Princess Ball! What was your name again, hon?”
    “Shelby.”
    “Ah, well, how about I call you Princess Shelby, then?” Wanda giggles, clearly not reading the look of horror on my face. “Anyhoo, this is our princess cake—white cake with cream-cheese frosting. That’s a creamy white, because we leave the egg yolks in. We can also do this in an almond flavor. Fairly popular for the Princess Ball, but keep in mind it’s just an option.” Wanda puts the plate in the center of the table and divides it into three slices with a silver knife. She then hands my father and me forks; we tentatively pick off tiny slivers of cake. I expect it’ll taste like the heavy perfume Wanda is wearing and tense my jaw as I take a bite.
    It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Seriously. The princess cake half melts in my mouth; the soft, buttery flavor of the cake blends seamlessly with the tangy cream-cheese icing. Its richness makes the chill from the air conditioner fade, like it’s warming me from the inside out. My dad’s eyes widen in matching delight; we make brief eye contact before greedily jumping back for a second taste. Thatseems to thrill Wanda; she loads up her own fork, smearing her bright pink lipstick when she shovels a second bite into her mouth. My dad abandons all manners and sinks his fork into a piece so large he has to take a moment to balance it. I take a page out of his book and do the same when I go back for a third piece.
    I’ve seen enough episodes of those wedding-planning shows with Ruby to know that I’m not really supposed to eat the entire slice. Nonetheless, my dad, Wanda, and I nearly decimate the princess cake. Which is when Wanda pulls out the Black Forest cake—devil’s food cake with cream-cheese frosting and cherries. Then the Italian wedding cake, which has amaretto frosting and almonds baked right in. Then German chocolate, then red velvet, then something decorated with raspberries, then something iced with a fudge ganache and sprinkled with coconut. Wanda brings out bottles of water as we continue on to lemon-raspberry torte and orange buttercream.
    By the time we hit the last few, which are basics—chocolate/chocolate, chocolate/vanilla, and vanilla/vanilla—Dad and I are leaning back in our chairs, crumbs decorating our shirts and icing smudges on our fingers. Wanda is still going strong, sampling the chocolate/chocolate with the same vigor that she did the princess cake. I swallow the rest of my water, trying to ignore the rush of sugar that’s coursing through my veins.
    “So what do we think?” Wanda asks, the same question she asked after each and every sample cake—all twelve of them.
    “Um… well…” Dad says, glancing to me.
    I shrug. “I liked the first one, honestly. If we go with any of the really fancy stuff, someone will probably be allergic or hate chocolate or whatever.”
    “The first one? The princess cake?” Wanda asks. She eats another forkful of chocolate/chocolate, seemingly disappointed—I get the impression that the princess cake is the least expensive of the set. “And what pattern?”
    I remember the yellow
Star Wars
clown cake and giggle; I get the feeling Dad is thinking of it, too, since I catch him staring at his fork and stifling a secret smile aimed at me.
    “We may need to think on that,” Dad finally says. “Unless there was something you liked, Shelby?” He asks it with a twinkle in his eyes, daring me to order it.
    “No,” I answer, holding in a snicker. “I’m good.”
    “Right, then, Wanda, I’ll just give you a call after we’ve thought on it for a few days.”
    “Keep in mind, we can make just about anything,” Wanda says as we rise and move to the door. Avoiding the giant cake displays was hard enough the first time, but now that we’re stuffed and sluggish, it’s near impossible. We somehow make it to the car without sending too many