Ganache with Panache: Book 2 in The Chocolate Cafe Series (10 page)

The fight had left her; her face and body became slack beneath Mac’s grip.

“I didn’t think—” she spoke so low that Mac had to lean in to hear her. “I didn’t understand that killing my own brother would be so much easier than coming up with my own designs.”

There was no press in attendance at Miss Amelia Moore’s wedding. There was no live Twitter feed and she received no monetary compensation for shots of the happy couple. The cream of the founding members of the town were not there and the symphony orchestra from the city did not play her down the aisle. In fact, there was barely even an aisle.

What there was however, was a breathtaking amount of beauty and so many expressions of love that even the hardest of hearts melted, just a tiny bit.

Catharine Mackenzie’s for example.

Sitting in the garden with the other guests on simple wooden benches, Mac couldn’t help but begin to rethink her position on commitment. What she saw walking down the makeshift path, her bare feet sinking into the lush green grass, was a woman gifted with love and commitment.

Amelia glowed. If the garden had somehow been plunged into darkness, she would’ve emitted enough light to illuminate the entire space. Her dress, not surprisingly, was perfect for her—crafted as an enhancement of her considerable natural beauty, cut to showcase her youth and all her hopes. Vanessa was gifted, that was certain.

Despite herself, Mac felt a lump growing in her throat as she watched Amelia and her brother make their way to where her fiancé waited at the altar. The great Dr. Zimmerman watched his bride approach with a look of absolute certainty and pride. Mac took a deep breath, hoping to push the lump down deeper into her chest.

It didn’t go down.

Would anyone ever look at her that way? Would she let them? She felt a rustling at her hand and looked down to see Louis pressing a handkerchief into her hand.

He was smiling at her slyly. A kind of ‘I caught you’ grin that made him look as far away from the door-kicking detective as possible. He looked back to the ceremony as the officiant began to speak.

Mac didn’t.

Borrowed handkerchief in her hand, she found herself staring instead at her boyfriend. Yes, she could admit it: that’s what he was. Her boyfriend. Here was a lanky puzzle of a man who had not only showed up with the key to a crime scene to save her having to break in, but who had practically made her an honorary member of the force when she decided to tackle a murderers on the cliff for kicks.

Here was a strangely beautiful, beak-nosed Brit who had a whole life behind him that he barely spoke about. A man who looked as if he had interrogated more people than she had kissed in her lifetime. A man who slept (with his socks on) between herself and a bull mastiff and didn’t complain. A man that she could imagine herself—

Mac felt a firework burst in her chest and she looked away quickly. Imagine herself what? Spending the rest of her life with?

Marrying?

That firework crackled down her neck, dissolving the lump immediately. It moved to her head, making it feel as if the top of her updo was going to launch into the stratosphere. She was in love. She was in love with a detective from England.

One thing was certain. If she did decide to walk down the aisle to Louis? Just to make Brie nuts, she would insist on a chocolate fountain unlike no other. And swans. Lots of swans.