She inhaled and held her breath for a moment, before releasing it slowly. “Well, I’m asking now. Not for you to move to DC with me, but to give us another chance, here in New York. To finish what we started.”

And with that, Clarke knew how he felt about this woman: gently indifferent.

“You’re too late, Liz,” he said softly, standing to indicate the end of the conversation. “I’m marrying Audrey.”

“Oh, please,” she snapped. “You’re only pretending to marry her to get back at your mother for bossing you around, and maybe to punish me, but—”

“You’re wrong,” Clarke interrupted sharply. “My relationship with Audrey doesn’t have anything to do with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to meet my fiancée for a cake-tasting appointment. I’m sure you remember your way out.”

The bakery was elite, even by Manhattan standards. Clarke had to get past a security guard in the lobby, an intercom outside a locked door, and now a receptionist who seemed to be on the verge of asking for identification after he’d said his name.

“Ms. Tate didn’t indicate that anyone would be joining her,” the blonde said coolly, giving him a once-over.

“I told her I couldn’t, but I managed to rearrange my schedule.”

“Hmm.” The receptionist looked less than impressed.

“Is she here yet?” Clarke asked patiently. “Actually, you know what? I’ll just call her and let her explain to you that I’m her fiancé, and then you can explain why I’m late to join her because I’m still out here in the lobby.”

He pulled out his phone, and the receptionist relented with a sigh. “This way, please.”

Clarke followed her down a short hallway, unsurprised to see that the space, while small, was swanky. Glossy photographs of elaborate cakes lined the walls, and the lighting was soft and strategic instead of the usual harsh fluorescent light in a Midtown high-rise. It looked nothing like any bakery he’d ever been in and didn’t smell like one, either.

“It doesn’t smell like cake,” he pointed out.

The icy blonde didn’t turn around. “This is our showroom and tasting space. The baking takes place elsewhere.”

She didn’t add the word obviously, but Clarke heard the silent addition just the same.

The receptionist stopped and motioned him through a doorway.

Audrey sat at a round table, preoccupied with her phone, and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

The blonde pounced. “You weren’t expecting him?”

“Oh, for the love of…” Irritated at being treated like a person of interest at a wedding cake shop, Clarke marched toward Audrey and, planting both hands on the arm of her chair, bent down and stamped his mouth over hers.