Page 121 of Rumor Has It

I’m casual and approachable in a navy smocked dress with petite flowers and dark tights. It’s ostensibly close to what I wore signing cookbooks in Manhattan yesterday and the southern home magazine interview I did. Like my muffins, these dresses are a signature of my brand.

I calm my nerves, listen for the applause, and wait for the stage manager’s signal that it’s time for me to step out from behind the curtain.

Isaiah pecks my lips me lightly, so he doesn’t ruin my stage makeup. “I’m proud of you, Cass.”

“I love you,” I say, before turning to wave at the sunny daytime show audience.

I air kiss the hostess’ cheeks and take a seat for a brief chat before it’s onto the cooking segment. I’m preparing a holiday chutney to serve with meats or as a zesty spread to enhance soft cheese with crackers. The ingredients include cranberries, apples and fresh ginger, which I’m also showing the studio how to prepare and store. Most people I’ve met avoid it in favor of the powdered spice in their spice racks. But it’s easier to cook with than you think and, since the cookbook launched, fresh ginger is something I’ve gotten a lot of emails about from novice cooks.

The interview starts off pleasant, with accolades about the cookbook’s success, and the usual congratulations on my upcoming nuptials to country sensation Isaiah Roomer. The third question is the one they probe with, seeking more answers than I’ll give about Aria.

The hostess who’s been on the show the longest holds up a copy of Benita’s Kitchen: A Legacy of Southern Family Recipes at the Kingsbrier Ranch and Vineyard.

I put a portion of my trust fund toward the initial ten thousand copy print run, warehousing, and contracting with a company that took care of the shipping. Vespa made Isaiah hold a proof copy in a social media post. My website sold out of them the next day. Then they were back-ordered on the winery website. Then reservations at the B&B and banquet hall skyrocketed. With my name attached to the recipes, Uncle Cris decided the head chef could serve them.

I stomped my feet and squealed like a teenage girl who won front row tickets to an Isaiah Roomer concert the day Gracyn texted me that the chef gave his notice.

“A portion of the proceeds of this book go to supporting foster care initiatives,” the interviewer states. “Why did you choose to donate to that cause?”

I plaster a congenial smile on, tamping down my emotions. Grief still pops up when I least expect it. I’m wary when speaking in public that I’ll exhibit the infrequent indignation I feel toward Dillon for letting us bond with a child we could never keep. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I stare at the ceiling and wonder if Kylie’s motives were as altruistic as I need them to be. My love for Aria hasn’t wavered and it makes me defensive of Isaiah. I’d never do anything to make him look bad.

Being outwardly angry won’t help my cause.

I open my palms upward. “Most everyone is aware Isaiah and I fostered. We were in a position to give that child everything they needed, but that’s not always the case. A lot of children arrive in foster care with nothing. And given the attention the story was garnering,”given my relationship with Isaiah,“it felt irresponsible that children in foster care and families that foster wouldn’t benefit from the publicity our story received.”

“How often do you see Aria now? How is she?” The second hostess leans in, ready to dish.

Other than the updates, videos, and photos Dillon sends, we haven’t seen Aria in-person. We won’t until six full months are up, or Dillon screws up. Which Steve has determined is unlikely.

Aria’s father got his first taste of the paparazzi when they rooted out who he was and descended on Kylie’s house in LA. According to Steve, it was a nightmare, but Dillon handled it.

In recent weeks, Steve has switched his allegiance from Isaiah to Aria. He’s asked to stay on as head of security. Everything Dillon and Isaiah agree to is in Aria’s best interest. So, it’s a good thing we still have Monty.

“She’s well,” I say in a practiced tone, hoping to hide how much it still hurts.