Hilary Fields: Bliss

“What?” His words rocked her back. This job—her career—was all she had. He couldn’t…. “But I… we’re partners in this venture, Blake. I have a contract. You can’t just fire me without cause. I could sue you!”

Austin shook back the longish black hair she’d once thought so debonair. With a shrug and a lazy smile crossing his hawkish features, he dropped the bomb on her. “Oh, I think I can make a fair case for ‘cause’ after today’s misconduct. Fooling around in the food prep areas? Forgetting the wedding cake? Those are just the final nails in your culinary coffin, Serafina. I’ve been documenting quite a pattern of erratic behavior on your part over the past several weeks, much to my regret.” Blake smiled down at her, enjoying his moment of power. “And if you’re thinking you’ll just take a position with one of my rivals, don’t bother applying. The two-bit bloggers, the big reviewers… they’ve all been tipped off. In fact, right now, all anyone’s talking about in the culinary world is my deep distress over your fragile mental stability and your troubling substance abuse. Everyone with gustatory pretensions and a soapbox will be buzzing about you, if they aren’t already. Of course, I’ve also made it known that I was so concerned about your conduct in the kitchen that I’m being forced to boot you out of our catering outfit.” His smirk was working overtime now. “So my name won’t be associated with this fiasco. No, sweet pea, this one’s all in your lap.”

Serafina’s defiance crumbled. The sheer malice on Blake’s face was enough to steal her breath away. The booze-born courage deserted her, her confidence fleeing faster than the fleeting high the 80-proof liquor had provided. Her knees buckled and tears formed in her red-rimmed eyes. “But… I… You can’t…”

She was trying to catch a breath, holding on to the edge of a counter for support, when a vision in white silk swept in.

The bride. Lexi Anderson stopped stock-still as her gaze took in the pirate ship cake, then swung to witness the gray-faced, sweaty baker practically sobbing at the feet of the handsome restaurateur who’d earlier been dazzling her party guests with bon mots over cocktails on the club terrace. Lexi’s beautifully made up face took on a look of almost comical bewilderment.

“Hi, Chef Austin,” she began hesitantly. “I just came in to check how things are going—the natives are getting a bit restless out there and wondering when they’re going to get their canapés. Plus,” she continued with a dimpled smile, “I couldn’t wait to get a peek at Serafina’s cake. I just know it’ll be perfect.” Vera Wang dress rustling, she crossed to the Simpson ship, taking in its three dark chocolate masts and miniature corsairs dubiously. “What’s this?” she asked. “Is it a groom’s cake? You didn't have to do that, though it’s awfully sweet—Carl just loved Pirates of the Caribbean . Funny, I don’t remember mentioning that to you during our consults.”

Sera’s heart sank, and a fresh wave of remorse washed over her, threatening to swamp more than just the buccaneer cake. Just as much as Blake’s spite, it was her own poor judgment that was about to ruin this sweet lady’s big day. The last of her buzz fizzled out, and she felt her stomach lurch. Sera opened her mouth, searching for some sort of explanation or apology that could begin to address the magnitude of the disaster. But Blake cut her off before she could begin. He swept an arm familiarly across Lexi’s shoulders, managing to ogle her slightly more than politely even as he guided her away from the cake—and its creator.

“My dear, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. I’m afraid Ms. Wilde is having an unfortunate…” He circled his wrist, hand waving descriptively as he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “… breakdown. She seems to have committed herself beyond her capacities and imperiled your nuptial feast. Indeed, I arrived just in time to witness my former protégée displaying both criminal forgetfulness and some disgraceful behavior of a rather… personal nature. Fortunately, I am here. And I assure you, as my name is Blake Austin, I shall not allow any unpleasantness to mar these festivities.”

As he towed Lexi across the kitchen, Sera heard Blake telling her not to worry, he always prepared plenty of extra food when cooking for important, high-profile clients like the Andersons—food that he could personally guarantee had not been contaminated by a certain young lady’s shocking misbehavior. And never fear, he happened to have a friend—yes, that Trump—who would loan him his pilot and have the correct cake choppered in before the band even had a chance to mangle “Celebration” and the guests began drifting off the dance floor in search of dessert.

One look at Lexi’s dismayed, betrayed face made Sera realize she’d never convince the woman that Blake was responsible for the cake mix-up and that it was his high-handedness (well, except for a platter or two of hors d’oeuvres and one unfortunate salmon mousse) causing the other comestible snafus. Instead, he would end up looking like a hero for swooping in and saving the day, while she played the role of the fuckup who’d almost condemned the Anderson family to total social ostracism.

Helpless rage and shame inundated Sera, making her head spin and her guts churn. She barely made it to the nearest sink before she was violently ill.

At least, she thought as tears overcame her, I didn’t puke on the $30,000 wedding dress. A dry-cleaning bill like that could ruin a person’s whole day.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” Wedged into the corner of her bathroom floor next to the tub, a half-empty fifth of vodka tucked by her side, Serafina chanted into the phone like a mantra, sending a prayer out along the long-distance line. “Please pick up. Please be there.”

“Hel-looo!”

Sera had never heard anything as comforting as her aunt’s signature trill. “Aunt Pauline?” she fairly slobbered. “It’s Sera.”

“Bliss! Hey, kiddo! I was just thinking of you. I was at my wheel this afternoon, throwing a fabulously phallic new vase, and I thought, ‘This would be perfect for my niece.’ Maybe in the living room, by that god-awful sofa of yours.”

Serafina choked on a sob that was half laughter. “That’s really sweet of you, Aunt Paulie,” she said in a strangled tone. “But you don’t have to go to all that trouble.” Keep it together, Sera, she told herself woozily. Willing as her aunt had always been to give of her time and her life experience, she didn’t want to burden Pauline with her troubles—she’d just needed to hear her voice.

“Nonsense, Baby-Bliss. The only trouble is packing and shipping the damn thing, and I wouldn’t have to do that if you’d just come and visit like you’ve been promising…”

A great, raw-edged sob tore free from Sera’s throat, despite her best efforts to contain it. The sleepless night, the booze, and the awful, accusing look in that poor bride’s eyes… It was too much.

“I know, Auntie. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. For everything. ” For several minutes Sera was incoherent, sobbing and sniffling into the phone.

Her aunt allowed the wailing and gnashing to go on for a few more breaths before interjecting a dose of reality. “Now let’s not be dramatic, kiddo. You haven’t killed anyone, have you?”

Pauline’s pragmatism surprised a watery laugh out of Sera. “No.” But I feel like I’m dying.

“So what’s going on, Baby-Bliss? It’s not that creepy boyfriend of yours, is it? I know you asked me not to trash-talk him, but I just can’t get myself to like that one. I hope it’s good between you in the sack at least, because I can’t think of another reason to keep such a smarmy snake around.”