Finding Forgiveness: Second Chance Romance/Enemies to Lovers, page 21
“This is the one,” Jacinta says as her gaze moves from the mirror to us.
“It’s perfect,” I manage to squeak out.
“You look beautiful, sweetie,” Grace whispers, dabbing her eyes. She rises and crosses the short distance to her daughter, where they hug it out in the middle of the room.
I feel blessed to be experiencing this mother-daughter exchange. Unfortunately, I’ll never get to share a moment like this with my own, and that saddens me more than I care to admit.
Even though Jacinta and I often fantasised about marrying best friends and bringing our kids up together, deep down I knew she was only going along with it for my benefit. Because back then, marriage was never on the cards for her. Due to the extensive damage she suffered in the first twelve years of her young life—growing up with an abusive father—men were never on her radar.
The significance of this moment is not lost on either of us. Not only is she defying the odds by marrying the man of her dreams, but she’s also carrying his baby.
My best friend is living my fantasy. Even though Connor and I expressed our love for each other this morning, I’d be a fool, given everything that we’ve been through, to bank on a happy ending for us.
I can’t guarantee it won’t happen, but after sitting down with Connor and his father last night to discuss what happened, the cold hard truth is I have no proof to substantiate my claims, just my word. Common sense tells me that won’t stand up in court. As confident and competent as they seemed despite this, it left me feeling like a dark cloud was looming over us, because nothing in life is a certainty. If my mother has anything to say about it, we’ll be lucky if we walk out of this as a couple.
I feel high on life by the time we arrive back at our building. The dresses are chosen, including mine and the mother of the bride’s. The things that still need doing are extensive, but we went over Jacinta’s list during lunch and have decided to divide and conquer. I’m confident between the three of us we’ll smash this out of the park.
We exit the lift on my floor, and when I unlock the front door, I’m greeted with a scene that instantly deflates me. I’m again coming home to a house full of people. Aside from Jim, it’s not the same crowd from last night. Logan Cavanagh—Brooke’s husband—two other men in suits, and an elderly, casually dressed man, whom I’ve never seen before, sits alongside my father, going through a stack of papers.
“Daddy,” is the first word out of my mouth.
“Pumpkin,” he says, rising from his chair and crossing the room. When he opens his arms, I immediately fall into them. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m okay,” I lie. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping in any way I can.”
I tilt my head back and smile up at him. Although I’m not overly confident there’s anything anyone can do, it’s comforting to know I have his support and all these people in my corner.
Connor gets up to greet me next, cupping my face in his big hands and brushing his lips against mine. There is a sparkle in his eyes, one that I haven’t seen in a very long time. I’d like to think I’m the one who put that there.
“Come,” he says, reaching for my hand and leading me towards the table. “I’ll show you what we’ve been up to since you’ve been gone.”
He introduces me to everyone I don’t know, and I greet the ones I do. The men in the suits are two of Logan’s top lawyers, one who specialises in criminal cases, and the other who deals with medical malpractice. The old guy is Mike, Logan’s private investigator.
I’m grateful to have all these competent men on my side, but I’m still having doubts.
Connor pulls out the chair beside him. “Sit,” he commands.
As soon as I’m seated, Logan starts talking. “We’ve been in contact with the police in Melbourne and faxed down the detailed statement you gave Jim last night. They’re putting together a task force to investigate. At this time, your mother has not been arrested because we’re still trying to gather all the evidence to build a case. We want this charge to stick. Regardless of the police involvement, we will still be doing our own investigation from this end, we want to cross all our t’s and dot all our i’s.”
My head is spinning as I listen to him, but the word that stands out the most is we. It’s comforting to know I’m not going through this alone.
“We’re not bringing in the hospital where she works, or the medical board at this stage,” he continues, “we don’t want to do anything that may tip her off until we get all our ducks in a row, but once we do, things will start to happen pretty quickly. We’re also making plans to have her audited at some point, to try and find out how she came into possession of the medication she prescribed you, and what it was. Hopefully, there’s some kind of paper trail.”
My hope continues to dwindle when he says that because it sounds like a lot of what ifs. “Okay,” I squeak, sounding like a frightened mouse. Connor’s hand moves under the table, coming to rest on my leg.
“She’s denying you were even pregnant,” my father chimes in.
“She’s lying because I was.”
“We believe you,” Connor says, lightly squeezing my leg.
“After I took a pregnancy test, I went to see a doctor. He did both a blood and urine test and confirmed I was.”
All the men around the table sit up straighter in their seats. “With your father’s help, we are getting all your medical records from your general practitioner, as well as the paediatrician you were under.”
“I didn’t go to my regular GP,” I state, bowing my head. “He was a friend of my mother’s and I was scared he’d tell her. I went to a medical centre a few suburbs over … the same place I’d gone to get birth control when Connor and I became sexually active.” My face heats having to admit that in front of all these strangers, but mainly my father. I was young, I know—sixteen—but to me, there was nothing dirty, wrong, or sinister about what Connor and I did. We genuinely loved each other, and it was simply our way of expressing that. My eyes hesitantly move to my dad, and I mouth, “Sorry.”
I’m not apologising for my actions, but I am sorry if any of this news hurts him. He’s probably disappointed to hear his teenage daughter was doing all these things behind his back.
“It’s okay, baby girl.” My father leans forward in his chair and reaches across the table to place his hand on mine. “You were young and in love, you have nothing to apologise for.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” I say, choking on my words.
Having my father here means the world to me. I know this can’t be easy. Especially considering his job. Scandals like this can ruin politicians; you see it all the time.
Connor removes his hand from my leg and drapes it around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. When he places a soft kiss on the side of my head, a tear rolls down my cheek.
Logan clears his throat. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Cassandra, and I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve been through, but trust me when I say you have the best legal minds in the country on your side. Your mother will pay dearly for her crimes. I won’t rest until she does.”
“How does the table look?” I ask Connor as he exits the kitchen.
Coming up behind me, he slides his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. “It looks great … very professionally done.” He turns his head and places his lips against my cheek. “You did well, Princess, I’m proud of you.”
I spin until I’m facing him and snake my arms around his neck. “Thank you.” I’ve dined at enough fancy restaurants over the years to know how to do a perfect table setting.
The last three weeks, here with him, have been a dream come true. I’m living my best life, but there’s been the odd occasion where I’m hit with a fear so intense it’s debilitating. My therapist thinks they’re anxiety attacks, stemming from my mother. But they come from nowhere … even when I’m not thinking about her, or worrying about what she’s up to.
I wonder if it’s because things are too good … I’m too happy, and I’m not used to this kind of bliss. Growing up, my mother was always lurking on the sidelines ready to drag me back down to reality whenever life was going too well for me.
“Have you ever considered doing something like this professionally? You have the knack for it.”
“No, I like my job at the studio,” I answer as my fingers play with the short hair at the nape of his neck. “How’s dinner coming along?”
“Good. The chickens are almost ready to come out of the oven and rest. The vegetables should be done by the time everyone arrives.”
We’ve resumed our cooking classes at the culinary school and seem to be improving every week … well I do. Connor is a natural. Last weekend, we made roast chicken and baked vegetables. It turned out so good we decided to spring a surprise dinner party. Our guests think we’re ordering in and discussing the final preparations for the wedding—which is just under two weeks away—but instead, they’ll be dining on a beautiful home-cooked meal prepared by us.
Tonight’s going to be an adult-only get-together. Grace, Jim, Jacinta, Mason, Brooke, and Logan are all coming. Blake’s spending the night at the Cavanagh’s residence with their kids. Logan’s niece, Lara, is babysitting. Mason and Jacinta recently pulled Blake out of the school he was attending due to the bullying. He’s now going to the same one as CJ and Angel.
Connor did most of the cooking for tonight, but I helped him with all the prep. My main job was decorating and making the kick-arse cocktails that I plan to serve on arrival.
“Poor Henry and Henrietta,” I say, pouting.
“Who’s Henry and Henrietta?”
“The chickens … the ones in the oven.”
“You named them?”
“It felt like the right thing to do. God rest their sweet little souls.”
When I do the sign of the cross, Connor shakes his head and barks out a laugh. “Fuck I love doing life with you, Cass.”
“Me too, Con. You make me so happy.”
He leans in and covers my mouth with his, kissing me so passionately it makes my toes curl in my heels. When he draws back, he rests his forehead against mine and smiles. “I love you, Miss Lewis, more than you’ll ever know.”
He doesn’t profess his love often. He doesn’t need to. I know how much he loves me; I feel it in every kiss, every touch, every gesture, and it’s something I’ll never take for granted. “I love you too, Mr Maloney.”
Chapter 26
Connor
I lean my shoulder against the entrance to the kitchen and observe my girl—the hostess with the mostest—greet our guests at the door.
She’s in her element, I can tell, and fuck if it doesn’t make my heart sing seeing her smile like that. She deserves it all, and I’ll make sure she gets it. I always thought I couldn’t love her any more than I used to … I was wrong. The feelings I have for this woman run so damn deep they scare me sometimes.
Cassie spent hours yesterday looking up the perfect drink recipes for our dinner party and ended up choosing three: Raspberry and Passionfruit Martinis, Cranberry Sours, and Bourbon Cocktails—complete with garnishes—and a mocktail for Jaz since she has a bun in the oven, which she’s now perfectly balancing on a large silver tray.
“What’s this?” Jacinta asks, taking the drink she’s offered. “And why are you dressed up? I thought this was a casual thing.”
“Don’t worry, this one has no alcohol. And Connor and I decided to host a dinner party tonight … we wanted to surprise you all with our awesomeness.”
“Yum,” Jacinta says after taking a sip of her mocktail. “You know you’re supposed to serve nice food at a dinner party, right?”
Cassie juts out her chin. “I know, Jacinta.”
“What are we eating then?”
“Connor and I have cooked.”
She throws back her head and laughs. “Yeah right.”
“It’s true,” I say, stepping forward and grabbing a Bourbon Cocktail off the tray.
Mason reaches in and follows my lead, grabbing one too and bringing it to his mouth. “Mmm, what’s in this?” he asks.
“Bourbon, lemon wedges, mint leaves, maple syrup, soda water and crushed ice … shaken not stirred,” Cassie recites.
“You made this?” he asks. She nods her head proudly. “It’s delicious.”
“Thank you, Mason,” she says, raising her chin a little higher and giving Jaz the side-eye. I bring my glass to my mouth to hide my smile.
“What’s in mine?” my sister asks.
“Pineapple wedges, thinly sliced orange, fresh passionfruit, cranberry juice, ginger beer, fresh mint, pomegranate seeds and ice cubes.”
“Impressive,” she says.
“Cass and I have been attending cooking classes at a culinary school.”
“Since when?”
My eyes move to Cass. “A few months now,” I say.
“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?” my sister gripes.
“We don’t have to tell you everything,” Cassie grumbles. “I’m sure you and Mason do lots of things we don’t know about.”
“Like how he just brought me to orgasm with his fingers in the lift on the way down?”
The mouthful of drink I’ve yet to swallow goes spraying across the room. “For fuck’s sake,” I manage to get out in between racking coughs. Mason chuckles as he leans in to tap my back. “Get your fucking hand off me,” I bellow, slapping his arm away.
“Relax, I used the other one,” he says, like that makes it okay. When I narrow my eyes at him, he shrugs. “This baby has made your sister insatiable.”
“La-la-la-la,” I sing, trying to drown out his words as I spin around and stomp towards the kitchen. I swear these two do shit like this on purpose.
“I think they actually cooked it,” I hear Jacinta say to the rest of our guests sitting at the table. “I saw the dirty dishes in the sink, and Connor was making gravy with the pan juices. It doesn’t appear to be staged.”
I look over at Cassie who’s in here helping me place everything on the serving platters, just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Why is it so hard to believe?”
“Probably because it’s something we’ve never done. Don’t worry, Princess, they’ll be eating their words soon enough … the proof is in the tasting.”
“Ugh.”
“Jacinta’s pregnant. Is it even safe for her to eat their food?” Mason chimes in.
Do they not realise we can hear every word they’re saying?
A tiny growl permeates in the back of Cass’s throat as she grabs one of the baked potatoes from the platter and runs it across her tongue, licking it. I give her a strange look as she places it back down on top of the others. “That one is Mason’s,” she grumbles.
Chuckling, I proudly lean in and place a kiss on the side of her head. “That’s my girl.”
“For the record, I like being your girl, Maloney.”
Those words have my heart swelling in my chest. All that heartache I went through seems so pointless now. I’d go through it all again if it led me right here, to this moment, with her.
We pick up a platter each that has a chicken sitting in the middle, surrounded by a plenitude of baked potatoes and roast pumpkin. Cassandra is grinning as she puts hers down at the end of the table where Mason is sitting, and I place mine in front of my parents.
“Wow, it looks delicious. I’m proud of you both.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
We both head back into the kitchen to grab the rest of our meal. We have honeyed carrots and a broccoli and cauliflower cheesy bake.
Jacinta sits forward in her chair, inspecting everything we’ve laid down. “It looks really good.”
Cass rolls her eyes again as I pull out her chair. “The table setting looks beautiful too,” Brooke chimes in.
“Cass did all that, and she made the cocktails from scratch.”
“Good job,” Brooke says, leaning in to nudge her shoulder with Cassie’s. When a pink hue forms on her cheeks, I give her leg a quick squeeze. “We should get you to do the place settings for the upcoming wedding.”
“The company I hired is taking care of that,” Jacinta states.
“O ye of little faith,” Cassandra mumbles under her breath.
“You’re cooking and quoting bible scripture now? Who are you?” Jacinta retorts.
“Your ex-BFF if you insult me one more time tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “These pregnancy hormones are playing havoc with me.”
Mason places his closed fist against his mouth and coughs, so I give him a dirty look. “I hope you washed your hands,” I bite.
My father clears his throat. “Would you like me to carve the chickens?” he asks.
“Please,” I reply. “But I have a few words to say first.”
“Go ahead, Son.”
I reach for Cassie’s hand under the table and lace my fingers through hers. “I’d just like to say a special thanks to Henry and Henrietta.”
“Who’s Henry and Henrietta?” Jacinta asks. Cassie points to the chickens with her free hand and Jaz’s eyes widen. “You knew them personally?”
“No.”
“Are they from Martha’s?”
“Woolworths,” Cassie says.
“Can I finish?” When my sister nods, I continue. “They lived a long and happy life on the farm … they spent their days frolicking in the sun, pecking for food and scratching around in the dirt. At night they’d snuggle up together, safe and cosy in their coop … we appreciate the sacrifice they made for us tonight.”
Mason throws his head back and laughs. “How much did you two have to drink before we got here?”
“Rude much,” Cassie mumbles before tightening her grip on my hand. “That was beautiful, Con,” she says, looking over at me and smiling. “Thank you. Henry and Henrietta would’ve appreciated it.”
I’ll be the first to admit what I just said was a dumb, stupid and completely ridiculous thing, but I did it for Cass and her alone. Some may say she’s a little wacky—I prefer unconventional—but her quirks are just one of the many things I love about this woman. It’s what makes her, her.
“It’s perfect,” I manage to squeak out.
“You look beautiful, sweetie,” Grace whispers, dabbing her eyes. She rises and crosses the short distance to her daughter, where they hug it out in the middle of the room.
I feel blessed to be experiencing this mother-daughter exchange. Unfortunately, I’ll never get to share a moment like this with my own, and that saddens me more than I care to admit.
Even though Jacinta and I often fantasised about marrying best friends and bringing our kids up together, deep down I knew she was only going along with it for my benefit. Because back then, marriage was never on the cards for her. Due to the extensive damage she suffered in the first twelve years of her young life—growing up with an abusive father—men were never on her radar.
The significance of this moment is not lost on either of us. Not only is she defying the odds by marrying the man of her dreams, but she’s also carrying his baby.
My best friend is living my fantasy. Even though Connor and I expressed our love for each other this morning, I’d be a fool, given everything that we’ve been through, to bank on a happy ending for us.
I can’t guarantee it won’t happen, but after sitting down with Connor and his father last night to discuss what happened, the cold hard truth is I have no proof to substantiate my claims, just my word. Common sense tells me that won’t stand up in court. As confident and competent as they seemed despite this, it left me feeling like a dark cloud was looming over us, because nothing in life is a certainty. If my mother has anything to say about it, we’ll be lucky if we walk out of this as a couple.
I feel high on life by the time we arrive back at our building. The dresses are chosen, including mine and the mother of the bride’s. The things that still need doing are extensive, but we went over Jacinta’s list during lunch and have decided to divide and conquer. I’m confident between the three of us we’ll smash this out of the park.
We exit the lift on my floor, and when I unlock the front door, I’m greeted with a scene that instantly deflates me. I’m again coming home to a house full of people. Aside from Jim, it’s not the same crowd from last night. Logan Cavanagh—Brooke’s husband—two other men in suits, and an elderly, casually dressed man, whom I’ve never seen before, sits alongside my father, going through a stack of papers.
“Daddy,” is the first word out of my mouth.
“Pumpkin,” he says, rising from his chair and crossing the room. When he opens his arms, I immediately fall into them. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m okay,” I lie. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping in any way I can.”
I tilt my head back and smile up at him. Although I’m not overly confident there’s anything anyone can do, it’s comforting to know I have his support and all these people in my corner.
Connor gets up to greet me next, cupping my face in his big hands and brushing his lips against mine. There is a sparkle in his eyes, one that I haven’t seen in a very long time. I’d like to think I’m the one who put that there.
“Come,” he says, reaching for my hand and leading me towards the table. “I’ll show you what we’ve been up to since you’ve been gone.”
He introduces me to everyone I don’t know, and I greet the ones I do. The men in the suits are two of Logan’s top lawyers, one who specialises in criminal cases, and the other who deals with medical malpractice. The old guy is Mike, Logan’s private investigator.
I’m grateful to have all these competent men on my side, but I’m still having doubts.
Connor pulls out the chair beside him. “Sit,” he commands.
As soon as I’m seated, Logan starts talking. “We’ve been in contact with the police in Melbourne and faxed down the detailed statement you gave Jim last night. They’re putting together a task force to investigate. At this time, your mother has not been arrested because we’re still trying to gather all the evidence to build a case. We want this charge to stick. Regardless of the police involvement, we will still be doing our own investigation from this end, we want to cross all our t’s and dot all our i’s.”
My head is spinning as I listen to him, but the word that stands out the most is we. It’s comforting to know I’m not going through this alone.
“We’re not bringing in the hospital where she works, or the medical board at this stage,” he continues, “we don’t want to do anything that may tip her off until we get all our ducks in a row, but once we do, things will start to happen pretty quickly. We’re also making plans to have her audited at some point, to try and find out how she came into possession of the medication she prescribed you, and what it was. Hopefully, there’s some kind of paper trail.”
My hope continues to dwindle when he says that because it sounds like a lot of what ifs. “Okay,” I squeak, sounding like a frightened mouse. Connor’s hand moves under the table, coming to rest on my leg.
“She’s denying you were even pregnant,” my father chimes in.
“She’s lying because I was.”
“We believe you,” Connor says, lightly squeezing my leg.
“After I took a pregnancy test, I went to see a doctor. He did both a blood and urine test and confirmed I was.”
All the men around the table sit up straighter in their seats. “With your father’s help, we are getting all your medical records from your general practitioner, as well as the paediatrician you were under.”
“I didn’t go to my regular GP,” I state, bowing my head. “He was a friend of my mother’s and I was scared he’d tell her. I went to a medical centre a few suburbs over … the same place I’d gone to get birth control when Connor and I became sexually active.” My face heats having to admit that in front of all these strangers, but mainly my father. I was young, I know—sixteen—but to me, there was nothing dirty, wrong, or sinister about what Connor and I did. We genuinely loved each other, and it was simply our way of expressing that. My eyes hesitantly move to my dad, and I mouth, “Sorry.”
I’m not apologising for my actions, but I am sorry if any of this news hurts him. He’s probably disappointed to hear his teenage daughter was doing all these things behind his back.
“It’s okay, baby girl.” My father leans forward in his chair and reaches across the table to place his hand on mine. “You were young and in love, you have nothing to apologise for.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” I say, choking on my words.
Having my father here means the world to me. I know this can’t be easy. Especially considering his job. Scandals like this can ruin politicians; you see it all the time.
Connor removes his hand from my leg and drapes it around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. When he places a soft kiss on the side of my head, a tear rolls down my cheek.
Logan clears his throat. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Cassandra, and I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve been through, but trust me when I say you have the best legal minds in the country on your side. Your mother will pay dearly for her crimes. I won’t rest until she does.”
“How does the table look?” I ask Connor as he exits the kitchen.
Coming up behind me, he slides his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder. “It looks great … very professionally done.” He turns his head and places his lips against my cheek. “You did well, Princess, I’m proud of you.”
I spin until I’m facing him and snake my arms around his neck. “Thank you.” I’ve dined at enough fancy restaurants over the years to know how to do a perfect table setting.
The last three weeks, here with him, have been a dream come true. I’m living my best life, but there’s been the odd occasion where I’m hit with a fear so intense it’s debilitating. My therapist thinks they’re anxiety attacks, stemming from my mother. But they come from nowhere … even when I’m not thinking about her, or worrying about what she’s up to.
I wonder if it’s because things are too good … I’m too happy, and I’m not used to this kind of bliss. Growing up, my mother was always lurking on the sidelines ready to drag me back down to reality whenever life was going too well for me.
“Have you ever considered doing something like this professionally? You have the knack for it.”
“No, I like my job at the studio,” I answer as my fingers play with the short hair at the nape of his neck. “How’s dinner coming along?”
“Good. The chickens are almost ready to come out of the oven and rest. The vegetables should be done by the time everyone arrives.”
We’ve resumed our cooking classes at the culinary school and seem to be improving every week … well I do. Connor is a natural. Last weekend, we made roast chicken and baked vegetables. It turned out so good we decided to spring a surprise dinner party. Our guests think we’re ordering in and discussing the final preparations for the wedding—which is just under two weeks away—but instead, they’ll be dining on a beautiful home-cooked meal prepared by us.
Tonight’s going to be an adult-only get-together. Grace, Jim, Jacinta, Mason, Brooke, and Logan are all coming. Blake’s spending the night at the Cavanagh’s residence with their kids. Logan’s niece, Lara, is babysitting. Mason and Jacinta recently pulled Blake out of the school he was attending due to the bullying. He’s now going to the same one as CJ and Angel.
Connor did most of the cooking for tonight, but I helped him with all the prep. My main job was decorating and making the kick-arse cocktails that I plan to serve on arrival.
“Poor Henry and Henrietta,” I say, pouting.
“Who’s Henry and Henrietta?”
“The chickens … the ones in the oven.”
“You named them?”
“It felt like the right thing to do. God rest their sweet little souls.”
When I do the sign of the cross, Connor shakes his head and barks out a laugh. “Fuck I love doing life with you, Cass.”
“Me too, Con. You make me so happy.”
He leans in and covers my mouth with his, kissing me so passionately it makes my toes curl in my heels. When he draws back, he rests his forehead against mine and smiles. “I love you, Miss Lewis, more than you’ll ever know.”
He doesn’t profess his love often. He doesn’t need to. I know how much he loves me; I feel it in every kiss, every touch, every gesture, and it’s something I’ll never take for granted. “I love you too, Mr Maloney.”
Chapter 26
Connor
I lean my shoulder against the entrance to the kitchen and observe my girl—the hostess with the mostest—greet our guests at the door.
She’s in her element, I can tell, and fuck if it doesn’t make my heart sing seeing her smile like that. She deserves it all, and I’ll make sure she gets it. I always thought I couldn’t love her any more than I used to … I was wrong. The feelings I have for this woman run so damn deep they scare me sometimes.
Cassie spent hours yesterday looking up the perfect drink recipes for our dinner party and ended up choosing three: Raspberry and Passionfruit Martinis, Cranberry Sours, and Bourbon Cocktails—complete with garnishes—and a mocktail for Jaz since she has a bun in the oven, which she’s now perfectly balancing on a large silver tray.
“What’s this?” Jacinta asks, taking the drink she’s offered. “And why are you dressed up? I thought this was a casual thing.”
“Don’t worry, this one has no alcohol. And Connor and I decided to host a dinner party tonight … we wanted to surprise you all with our awesomeness.”
“Yum,” Jacinta says after taking a sip of her mocktail. “You know you’re supposed to serve nice food at a dinner party, right?”
Cassie juts out her chin. “I know, Jacinta.”
“What are we eating then?”
“Connor and I have cooked.”
She throws back her head and laughs. “Yeah right.”
“It’s true,” I say, stepping forward and grabbing a Bourbon Cocktail off the tray.
Mason reaches in and follows my lead, grabbing one too and bringing it to his mouth. “Mmm, what’s in this?” he asks.
“Bourbon, lemon wedges, mint leaves, maple syrup, soda water and crushed ice … shaken not stirred,” Cassie recites.
“You made this?” he asks. She nods her head proudly. “It’s delicious.”
“Thank you, Mason,” she says, raising her chin a little higher and giving Jaz the side-eye. I bring my glass to my mouth to hide my smile.
“What’s in mine?” my sister asks.
“Pineapple wedges, thinly sliced orange, fresh passionfruit, cranberry juice, ginger beer, fresh mint, pomegranate seeds and ice cubes.”
“Impressive,” she says.
“Cass and I have been attending cooking classes at a culinary school.”
“Since when?”
My eyes move to Cass. “A few months now,” I say.
“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?” my sister gripes.
“We don’t have to tell you everything,” Cassie grumbles. “I’m sure you and Mason do lots of things we don’t know about.”
“Like how he just brought me to orgasm with his fingers in the lift on the way down?”
The mouthful of drink I’ve yet to swallow goes spraying across the room. “For fuck’s sake,” I manage to get out in between racking coughs. Mason chuckles as he leans in to tap my back. “Get your fucking hand off me,” I bellow, slapping his arm away.
“Relax, I used the other one,” he says, like that makes it okay. When I narrow my eyes at him, he shrugs. “This baby has made your sister insatiable.”
“La-la-la-la,” I sing, trying to drown out his words as I spin around and stomp towards the kitchen. I swear these two do shit like this on purpose.
“I think they actually cooked it,” I hear Jacinta say to the rest of our guests sitting at the table. “I saw the dirty dishes in the sink, and Connor was making gravy with the pan juices. It doesn’t appear to be staged.”
I look over at Cassie who’s in here helping me place everything on the serving platters, just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Why is it so hard to believe?”
“Probably because it’s something we’ve never done. Don’t worry, Princess, they’ll be eating their words soon enough … the proof is in the tasting.”
“Ugh.”
“Jacinta’s pregnant. Is it even safe for her to eat their food?” Mason chimes in.
Do they not realise we can hear every word they’re saying?
A tiny growl permeates in the back of Cass’s throat as she grabs one of the baked potatoes from the platter and runs it across her tongue, licking it. I give her a strange look as she places it back down on top of the others. “That one is Mason’s,” she grumbles.
Chuckling, I proudly lean in and place a kiss on the side of her head. “That’s my girl.”
“For the record, I like being your girl, Maloney.”
Those words have my heart swelling in my chest. All that heartache I went through seems so pointless now. I’d go through it all again if it led me right here, to this moment, with her.
We pick up a platter each that has a chicken sitting in the middle, surrounded by a plenitude of baked potatoes and roast pumpkin. Cassandra is grinning as she puts hers down at the end of the table where Mason is sitting, and I place mine in front of my parents.
“Wow, it looks delicious. I’m proud of you both.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
We both head back into the kitchen to grab the rest of our meal. We have honeyed carrots and a broccoli and cauliflower cheesy bake.
Jacinta sits forward in her chair, inspecting everything we’ve laid down. “It looks really good.”
Cass rolls her eyes again as I pull out her chair. “The table setting looks beautiful too,” Brooke chimes in.
“Cass did all that, and she made the cocktails from scratch.”
“Good job,” Brooke says, leaning in to nudge her shoulder with Cassie’s. When a pink hue forms on her cheeks, I give her leg a quick squeeze. “We should get you to do the place settings for the upcoming wedding.”
“The company I hired is taking care of that,” Jacinta states.
“O ye of little faith,” Cassandra mumbles under her breath.
“You’re cooking and quoting bible scripture now? Who are you?” Jacinta retorts.
“Your ex-BFF if you insult me one more time tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “These pregnancy hormones are playing havoc with me.”
Mason places his closed fist against his mouth and coughs, so I give him a dirty look. “I hope you washed your hands,” I bite.
My father clears his throat. “Would you like me to carve the chickens?” he asks.
“Please,” I reply. “But I have a few words to say first.”
“Go ahead, Son.”
I reach for Cassie’s hand under the table and lace my fingers through hers. “I’d just like to say a special thanks to Henry and Henrietta.”
“Who’s Henry and Henrietta?” Jacinta asks. Cassie points to the chickens with her free hand and Jaz’s eyes widen. “You knew them personally?”
“No.”
“Are they from Martha’s?”
“Woolworths,” Cassie says.
“Can I finish?” When my sister nods, I continue. “They lived a long and happy life on the farm … they spent their days frolicking in the sun, pecking for food and scratching around in the dirt. At night they’d snuggle up together, safe and cosy in their coop … we appreciate the sacrifice they made for us tonight.”
Mason throws his head back and laughs. “How much did you two have to drink before we got here?”
“Rude much,” Cassie mumbles before tightening her grip on my hand. “That was beautiful, Con,” she says, looking over at me and smiling. “Thank you. Henry and Henrietta would’ve appreciated it.”
I’ll be the first to admit what I just said was a dumb, stupid and completely ridiculous thing, but I did it for Cass and her alone. Some may say she’s a little wacky—I prefer unconventional—but her quirks are just one of the many things I love about this woman. It’s what makes her, her.
