Levan, I was surprised to note was being quite chatty. My recollection of his childhood personality was completely different. Maxim was dour and said nothing at all and Levan was reserved and watchful. I wondered at the brightness of his new persona.
“Levan said you were allergic to cinnamon, but there is no cinnamon in chocolate cakes,” Bianca said nervously, still holding the package out to me.
Britney walked up to me and nudged me hard enough to make me stumble. I glared at her then turned towards Bianca.
“Thank you,” I said, and received the homemade chocolate cake that she had apparently baked herself using a new recipe. I shouldn’t be horrible to her. It was not her fault I was being forced to marry the demon. If anything, she was to be pitied.
Bianca took a step back and turned to Levan. I could have sworn I saw his eyes sparkle as their gazes met. He wasn’t even touching her, both his hands were in his pockets, but they stood as though they were one. She moved again and let herself rest against him as though that was all she’d ever known, and he … he towered over her protectively, as though the world needed his permission to even approach. Suddenly, I understood the light in his life. He had found his soulmate. And suddenly, I had never felt more jealous in my life of another woman.
“Thank you,” I said again, and walked away with the cake. Britney stepped in and led them towards our small living room, apologizing for how cramped everything was because we had to store our stock in our living room.
Bianca laughed and told her our apartment was charming.
I put the cake on the kitchen table. From my position I could see right into the living room and I watched them jealously and saw how when they sat down, Levan’s arm automatically slid around her waist while her hand rested intimately on his thigh. They were so in love. Something inside me felt bereft. If I married Maxim I would never have that. Ever.
“When are you getting married?” Britney asked.
As I watched they turned to gaze into each other’s eyes. “In five weeks. November 23rd,” she answered.
“Wow, that’s close,” Britney commented, her eyes wide and full of curiosity.
“Not close enough for me. I can’t wait to get my ring on her finger so the whole world will know she’s mine. And only mine,” Levan stated proudly.
Bianca tightened her lips to hide her blush and looked away from him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
I brought out a knife, and began to slice up the cake to serve, my movements were jerky. I had to ask. “How did the two of you meet?”
“At my bakery,” Bianca answered. “Levan was a…” she stopped, and tilted her head while she thought of the appropriate word, and he laughed out loud. I wanted to hear the story behind that look.
“Well at the time I thought… well he told me he was a Masters student at NYU where I was attending too. But later found out that was not the case at all.”
He lowered his head to hide his smile and she gave him a playfully sour look. “Anyway, I had a crush on him, and being the naïve fool I was, I told him about it, which made him disappear for two years.”
The shock on Britney’s face was amusing. “Why?”
I had a good enough guess as it most definitely had to do with someone’s death, perhaps even almost his.
“Well some family issues made him leave the country,” she said, her voice still haunted by that old pain. “But he came to his senses and came back to me, and we got together again.”
I scoffed at the explanation as I lifted the tray to take it to them.
Levan heard me. “Why the sneer?”
“Britney is not a stranger, and neither is Bianca. You can say what actually happened.”
Rather than taking offense she turned to me with an excited surprise. “What do you think happened, or are you aware?”
“Wait,” Britney suddenly said. “I’m just realizing that you seem a bit familiar,” she said to Levan. “Have I seen you somewhere before?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
She looked away to dig into her memory bank, while I placed the cake on the coffee table. I winced at the slight pain from the effort and Bianca immediately sprung up to help me.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “We’re meant to be the ones helping out.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “What do you all want to drink?”
“I’ll come with you and we’ll do it together,” she said decisively.
“Thank you,” I said, and we headed back into the kitchen. I smiled at her as I opened the fridge and took out some orange juice. “Is this alright?” I asked.
She nodded. “It’s fine for me, but Levan hates orange juice so some water will be fine.” She retrieved a glass from our drying rack and filled it with tap water for her fiancé, which she then put on the tray with the other glasses and the jug. She insisted on carrying the tray too.