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Ronan’s mother looks like she might rip me apart.
I either latch onto these tiny details or I fear I may pass out.
Maybe I should just go take a chunk of the cake and end this. But I’m a coward and I love life. I love my life. I love doing what I do.
All that hard work for what? I think about how my life and career are over.
I won’t be surprised if some of the restaurants I work with as a consultant start to pull out and terminate our contracts.
I try to be brave and look at Ronan, but his stare is suffocating.
“Over here,” Ronan snaps his fingers, and I flinch but keep my eyes on the floor, realizing for the first time that I’m barefoot.
I'm on my feet, whimperingas I raise my gaze to meet his, knowing that I'll see an accusing glare in them.
“I have to make a call,” he dips his hand in the pocket of his dress pants. “Don’t go anywhere,” he steps aside, but I go after him, almost stumbling over as he stops and spins around to face me. “Stop following me,” he clenches his teeth, trying to keep his voice down.
“I will wait for you.”
“I have to make this call because, if I don’t, Cesare’s men won’t let you leave this place,” he clips, and I nod, not understanding anything but agreeing to everything.
“Ronan…” I start, but Ruth stops me, gripping me by the wrist.
“Let him do what he has to,” she whispers, pulling me to the side.
I see some of my interns in their uniforms sitting around a table, staring at me pitifully.
I failed them.
Or did one of them do it? But how is that possible when I tasted everything myself before bringing the food down here? Only the cake has been confirmed for now. Nothing else has been confirmed to be poisoned.
I made the cake myself and alone. Seven steps plus the crystal lights after each step making it fourteen steps of cake. Barbara wanted simple but exquisite and that cake is the visual representation of those words: simple and grand.
“What do I do?” I dip my head and ask Ruth.
Ruth shrugs, “Did you?” She lowers her head, but her voice is a little too loud.
“How can you ask me that?” I snatch my hand away from her hold and sit on a chair not far from Ronan.
“What do you want me to say?” She comes down in a crouch position, dark eyes wide and teary. “I trust you, but it’s not me you need to convince, Olivia.” She swats her hand at the crowd, now dispersing. Some men with earpieces and black suits that I had thought were security, but I can see now are Cesare’s men, stand still, staring at me.
“I did not,” I inhale, and my resolve weakens. Tears sprint down my cheeks. “I could never do something like this, Ruth. You know me,” I sniff. I could never put the lives of every one of you on the line, and how stupid could I be to poison the cake that I baked without the help of anyone?”
I did not do it.
I keep repeating this in my head as if I need to convince myself that there is no way I would have done something like this, at least not to Ronan.
I sniff and dab my cheek.
I throw my journal and pen down on thetable next to me and start crying again when I see the food tray. Some of the food was eaten, but some is also chewed as if the guests spat whatever they were eatingout as soon as the bride collapsed.
Who could have done something like this to me?
“They are taking the cake away,” Ruth gets up and drags a chair close to me to sit beside me.
“I can see that,” I watch as some of the men, that I’m assuming are Cesare’s, cart the cake away.
It was meant to break the media.
