Page 96 of Bound By Blood and Lies

“It’s depressing,” he shoots back instantly. “You’re marrying Roman, not being buried.”

“Riggs,” Fiona says from behind me, her tone calm but threaded with amusement, “if you don’t stop being dramatic, I will personally dress you in that ‘sad beige’ and make you stand at the front.”

I turn slightly, watching her as she moves around the kitchen, completely unbothered by the chaos we’ve created around her. There’s a cake on the counter in front of her, half decorated, and she smooths the icing over it. Riggs scoffs as he turns around.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he narrows his eyes.

Fiona doesn’t even look up. “Try me.”

I grin, shaking my head as I reach for one of the swatches, only for it to be pulled out of my hand.

“No,” Riggs says firmly. “You’ve lost decision-making privileges. Clearly.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said yes to Roman. That alone tells me your judgement is questionable at best.”

“Oi,” I snap, but there’s no heat behind it. “I’ll remind you that you were the one encouraging it.”

“That was before I realised it would involve me wearing linen,” he mutters, flicking through the swatches again.

Fiona lets out a soft hum and turns toward me, cutting a small piece from the cake before holding it out.

“Taste.”

I don’t hesitate, stepping closer as she feeds it to me. The sweetness hits instantly. The chocolate is soft but rich, and the tartness of the strawberries cuts through the sugar. My eyes close briefly as I take it in.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, opening them again. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?” Fiona questions with a smile.

“My cake,” I say, pointing at it. “I want that at the wedding.”

Riggs looks up. “Of course you do. You’ve gone full domestic, but we need a professional.”

“Riggs,” Fiona gasps.

“No offence, mumzy, it’s just you deserve to sit and relax and, you know…”

“No…”

“Do girly shit with the bride,” he shrugs, “not bake cakes.”

I roll my eyes at him, nudging his arm with my elbow. “God forbid I want nice things on my wedding day.”

“You’re marrying a psychopath,” he says, deadpan. “Nice things are not guaranteed.”

“Riggs.”

“What?” He shrugs, completely unbothered. “You’ve seen him. The man threatened Felix over the seating plan yesterday.”

“That is not what happened,” I laugh, even though it’s not far off. Fiona glances between us, clearly entertained now, and sets the knife down.

“For the record, he was correct. No one should be sat behind a pillar.”

“Thank you,” I say quickly, pointing at her. Riggs stares at us both like we’ve betrayed him.

“I’m surrounded by enablers,” he whispers to himself and Fiona chuckles.