Chapter 9 - The Wedding Cake He Couldn't Lift
Two years after our wedding, we decided to celebrate properly.
The first ceremony had been a contract surrounded by danger.
So we held another.
A real wedding.
No family negotiations.
No business deals.
No guns.
Just friends.
Family.
Lake Como in the summer.
White flowers.
Long tables.
Music.
Sunset over the water.
And a wedding cake.
My cake.
Eight tiers.
Hand-painted flowers.
Chocolate layers.
Vanilla cream.
Raspberry filling.
And because I knew my husband too well, a ridiculous little edible figurine of a very tall man standing beside a tiny woman.
Luca stared at it.
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“You made me look taller.”
“You are taller.”
“By how much?”
“Enough to require special cake measurements.”
He laughed.
At the reception, Elena gave a speech.
“The first time Sophia met Luca, she fell into his arms.”
Everyone laughed.
“She did not notice his size.”
I shouted:
“I noticed!”
Elena continued.
“But she noticed his loneliness.”
The room became quiet.
“She was the first woman who looked beyond what people feared.”
Luca squeezed my hand.
Elena raised her glass.
“To Sophia and Luca.”
Everyone joined.
Later that night, Luca and I walked alone to the lake.
“You happy?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He wrapped an arm around me.
“I still can't believe you agreed to marry me.”
“I still can't believe you thought I'd reject you.”
He laughed.
“Everyone else did.”
“They were foolish.”
“Why didn't you?”
I looked at the water.
“Because I saw you.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then he asked:
“What made you stay after everything?”
I thought about it.
“The kitchen.”
“The pastry kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you let me build something that was mine.”
He looked surprised.
“I wanted you to have a life.”
“And you gave me one.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You built it.”
I smiled.
“Then we built it.”
He nodded.
Together.
Our lives became something ordinary in the best way.
We fought about groceries.
He forgot birthdays.
I overbaked cakes.
He hated my favorite television shows.
I stole his shirts because they were enormous and comfortable.
Sometimes people still stared at him.
Sometimes strangers recognized him.
But I never saw the man they feared.
I saw the man who remembered exactly how I liked my coffee.
The man who always carried an extra hair tie because mine disappeared.
The man who stood outside my bakery before closing every night.
The man who once believed no woman would stay.
One evening, I found him waiting outside.
He held a box.
“What is that?”
“A gift.”
I opened it.
Inside was the first wooden spoon from the pastry kitchen.
I laughed.
“You kept this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You dropped it on our first day.”
“I drop everything.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
On the spoon, he had engraved something.
YOU MADE THE HOUSE FEEL LIKE HOME.
My eyes filled with tears.
“Luca.”
He pulled me close.
“I meant every word.”
I looked at him.
“I have one question.”
“What?”
“Do you still think your size scares women?”
He laughed.
“Some.”
“Does it scare you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because I used to think being different meant being unlovable.”
I touched his cheek.
“Not to me.”
May you like
He smiled.
“Good.”
