David had no answer.
I remembered the bakery.
“Why were you there with her?”
“She wanted to see something connected to the wedding.”
Ryan’s mother interrupted.
“I knew I wasn’t invited.”
“I asked David about the cake. He told me where it was being made.”
David sighed.
“I shouldn’t have taken her there.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
Weeks earlier, David had accompanied her to the bakery, where she saw the cake designs and discovered who was handling the order.
I turned to her.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
Then she said, “Laura.”
Suddenly, the instruction at the bakery made sense.
The cake wasn’t to be released to Laura. No surname or mention of the bride’s mother.
“You called the bakery.”
She remained silent.
“You pretended to be Emma.”
“I called.”
“And told them not to give me the cake.”
“I told them not to release it to Laura.”
