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Authors: Julia Gabriel
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silk-covered table. Alanna's paintings were large abstract landscapes, great washes of vibrant saturated color on the canvas. The cupcakes were frosted in similar vivid colors—bright turquoise blue, deep forest green, glowing sun-orange—to resemble one of her paintings. Suzanne had brought with her a photograph of one of Alanna's paintings that they had used as a guide when frosting the cupcakes. She and Karen traded the photograph back and forth as they arranged the hundreds of cupcakes on the table.
"I'll do the sky. You do the land," Suzanne said.
Suzanne turned back to the box to grab the final few cupcakes. She smacked away the male arm reaching into the box. The arm belonged to Jerry Paige, a bartender who worked for Brent but freelanced for caterers on his off days. "If you value that arm, you'll back away from the cupcakes," Suzanne mock-warned.
Jerry responded by wrapping his arms around Suzanne in a big hug. "I didn't know you were working this reception. Does Brent know? He didn't mention it."
"Well, the artist is her sister-in-law," Karen chimed in.
Inwardly, Suzanne groaned. That was another wrinkle she hadn't foreseen. People felt compelled to tell everyone about her marriage to one of the area's most eligible bachelors. Ordinarily, that might make sense. If it had been one of her friends or employees who had married a wealthy, handsome man, she'd be bragging about it to everyone too. But these weren't ordinary circumstances.
"No way. Alanna Catterton is your sister-in-law? I didn't even know you were married," Jerry said. "Well, you have my congratulations. Stop by the bar with the lucky groom tonight. I'll snag a good bottle of champagne for you two. Something better than the usual reception stuff."
At six o'clock sharp, Suzanne and Daryle strolled into the soaring atrium entrance of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The atrium took her breath away every time she came to the museum—the tall white columns, the black and grey striped floor, the mix of textures and materials. This time was no different. She couldn't help herself. Her eyes were pulled up, up to the ceiling, several stories above.
"Daryle!" The sound of a woman's breathy voice brought Suzanne back down to earth. "I hoped you were going to be here to support your sister." Suzanne lowered her sights just in time to see a woman in four-inch heels and one of those corset-tight bandage dresses leading Daryle away across the floor, her arm hooked intimately through hers. Suzanne had suffered kitchen cuts that required band-aids bigger than that woman's dress.
Suzanne knew she should stride right after the two of them, unhook their arms and stake her claim. What was it Daryle had told her? We have to pretend this is real, and pretend it convincingly Oh this is convincing, all right, she thought. We've been here, what, thirty seconds and already you've convincingly dumped your wife for—who? The girlfriend you're keeping on the side?
Suzanne took a deep breath. Don't make a scene, she told herself. You need to find Alanna and congratulate her, then check on the cupcakes and eavesdrop on what people are saying about them. That'll make you feel better. Focus on the great publicity The Cupcakery is getting tonight. That's what all this is about anyway. Screw Daryle Catterton.
She began to thread her way into the crowd, a smile plastered to her face. She wasn't seeing anyone she knew. She wished she had invited Karen and John, just to have someone to hang out with, a little friendly company. But it hadn't occurred to her. She was usually behind the scenes at events like this. She was infinitely more comfortable there.
She felt someone touch her shoulder. She whirled around. "You'd better have a good excu—" It wasn't Daryle. It was Brent. She nearly fainted with relief and gratitude. "I didn't know you were coming to this! I'd have invited you, but ... why aren't you at the restaurant?"
"I'm going in later tonight," Brent replied. He
"I'll do the sky. You do the land," Suzanne said.
Suzanne turned back to the box to grab the final few cupcakes. She smacked away the male arm reaching into the box. The arm belonged to Jerry Paige, a bartender who worked for Brent but freelanced for caterers on his off days. "If you value that arm, you'll back away from the cupcakes," Suzanne mock-warned.
Jerry responded by wrapping his arms around Suzanne in a big hug. "I didn't know you were working this reception. Does Brent know? He didn't mention it."
"Well, the artist is her sister-in-law," Karen chimed in.
Inwardly, Suzanne groaned. That was another wrinkle she hadn't foreseen. People felt compelled to tell everyone about her marriage to one of the area's most eligible bachelors. Ordinarily, that might make sense. If it had been one of her friends or employees who had married a wealthy, handsome man, she'd be bragging about it to everyone too. But these weren't ordinary circumstances.
"No way. Alanna Catterton is your sister-in-law? I didn't even know you were married," Jerry said. "Well, you have my congratulations. Stop by the bar with the lucky groom tonight. I'll snag a good bottle of champagne for you two. Something better than the usual reception stuff."
At six o'clock sharp, Suzanne and Daryle strolled into the soaring atrium entrance of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The atrium took her breath away every time she came to the museum—the tall white columns, the black and grey striped floor, the mix of textures and materials. This time was no different. She couldn't help herself. Her eyes were pulled up, up to the ceiling, several stories above.
"Daryle!" The sound of a woman's breathy voice brought Suzanne back down to earth. "I hoped you were going to be here to support your sister." Suzanne lowered her sights just in time to see a woman in four-inch heels and one of those corset-tight bandage dresses leading Daryle away across the floor, her arm hooked intimately through hers. Suzanne had suffered kitchen cuts that required band-aids bigger than that woman's dress.
Suzanne knew she should stride right after the two of them, unhook their arms and stake her claim. What was it Daryle had told her? We have to pretend this is real, and pretend it convincingly Oh this is convincing, all right, she thought. We've been here, what, thirty seconds and already you've convincingly dumped your wife for—who? The girlfriend you're keeping on the side?
Suzanne took a deep breath. Don't make a scene, she told herself. You need to find Alanna and congratulate her, then check on the cupcakes and eavesdrop on what people are saying about them. That'll make you feel better. Focus on the great publicity The Cupcakery is getting tonight. That's what all this is about anyway. Screw Daryle Catterton.
She began to thread her way into the crowd, a smile plastered to her face. She wasn't seeing anyone she knew. She wished she had invited Karen and John, just to have someone to hang out with, a little friendly company. But it hadn't occurred to her. She was usually behind the scenes at events like this. She was infinitely more comfortable there.
She felt someone touch her shoulder. She whirled around. "You'd better have a good excu—" It wasn't Daryle. It was Brent. She nearly fainted with relief and gratitude. "I didn't know you were coming to this! I'd have invited you, but ... why aren't you at the restaurant?"
"I'm going in later tonight," Brent replied. He
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