“Why, Lady Vetrov, whatever are you doing here?”
It was all Capricia could to do not simply hurl fire at the gods damned woman, but the shop was small and it was unlikely that everyone else would manage to dive out of the way. Someone would be hurt, and she’d never hear the end of it from Lucian.
With a slow, silent sigh, Capricia turned to look at Jolie Myerscough with flat, cold eyes. “Lady Myerscough.”
“Oh, did you not hear me, dear?” Jolie’s thin face creased when she gave the younger blonde an ingratiating smile. “I asked whatever you were doing here of all places.”
Capricia looked at the plate she held, still holding two samples of wedding cake. Her gaze shifted to the display cakes just to her right and then to the open book of cake designs. Lips pursed, she met Jolie’s gaze evenly. “Arranging a funeral.”
It took a moment for the other woman to blink, signaling some form of comprehension, and Jolie laughed nervously. “Oh, such a little joke, Lady Vetrov.” She stepped closer, her gaze avid. “Whatever could you be wanting with a wedding cake?”
“Oh, I thought perhaps I’d buy one and take it to the Vanguards’ training ring then strip nude, roll about in it and invite the soldiers to lick it off,” Capricia said without batting an eyelash.
Jolie’s cheeks colored instantly; her spluttering was amusing for a moment, but that moment passed quickly. “I am ordering a wedding cake, Lady Myerscough, because I am going to get married,” Capricia sighed, resisting the urge to smash one of the remaining cake samples into the woman’s face.
...it’s not like she needed them... The elementalist already knew exactly what she wanted and it was really only the designs that had to be considered. But it was something of a mischievous delight to “sneak” out and taste wedding cakes without inviting Lucian along.
He did have a sweet tooth, after all, and this would have been the perfect chance to indulge it.
Jolie’s brows shot upward. “You? Really! To whom?”
“...Logan Thackery.”
“What?”
Again, Capricia reined in her temper. She put the plate down before the desire to smack it right into Jolie’s face grew too strong. “Do I really have to tell you who I’m marrying, Lady Myerscough? I would think it blatantly obvious to all of Ebonhawke by now.”
“I’m afraid not, my dear.”
“After that letter you and the other ‘concerned ladies’ wrote to him?” Capricia quirked a brow. “All of the fuss and flutter about me seducing my ex-husband’s father?” She leaned in, noting with satisfaction that Jolie stepped back. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
Another blink came before Jolie tugged at her gloves. “You mean to say you’re marrying Baron Leours?”
Capricia threw her hands in the air. “Thank the Six! She finally comprehends!” It was dramatically exclaimed, but the elementalist’s eyes were still flat and cold. “Yes, I’m marrying Lucian.”
It was worse, somehow, than when Lucian had told her that Kryta was having White Mantle problems and because of that, Noel was sending Brooke and the Gryphonswold staff to Ebonhawke. It was worse than knowing that her ex-husband’s adorable little wife was in the same city, happily playing mother to her daughters.
The expression on Jolie’s face was strangely, painfully worse. The slow surprise followed by sheer amusement, the hint of laughing pity that was thinly veiled by a veneer of pleasure. “Oh, how lovely! When can we expect invitations?” Jolie’s voice was airy; the question was off-hand.
She didn’t expect an answer, and Capricia knew damn well it wasn’t because Jolie understood how much she disliked the entire set of Ebonhawke nobles.
The woman didn’t expect an answer because she didn’t expect the wedding to ever happen.
Capricia didn’t throw the cake samples in Jolie’s face, and she apologized with a sweet smile for the broken window as she offered to pay for the damage.
Outside, one of the Vanguard was running forward as the Myerscough matriarch flailed about shrieking amidst glittering shards of broken glass.