Page 69 of Maximum Bet

“Don’t ever do that again.” His voice is laced with gravel as he pulls away and pins me with a look that demands obedience.

“Cassandra!” Cecilia’s exclamation breaks the tension between us. “How is Sadie? How is the baby?”

“They’re good,” I say, my attention turning to the group. “The labor and delivery were textbook. The nurse is moving them to a recovery room now, and then they’ll be able to have visitors two at a time.”

A cheer erupts, facilitated by Whitney, of course.

I settle into a chair, hit by exhaustion but too wired to doze after the miraculous experience of the night.

Someday that will be me.

And despite the pain and trauma, I know it will be worth every second.

Natalie’s bridal brochures have turned into spreadsheets and finishing touches. With flowers planned, cake picked, and dress in final alterations, all we have left to do is sign off on the catering menu.

“I like all the choices available,” Natalie says, scouring the menu that the chef from Mare Di Sicilia came up with. “You can’t go wrong with chicken, salmon, or filet.”

“I say we offer all three,” I decide. “With risotto as a side and a vegetable. The chef has an amazing bread with cloves of garlic and onion baked in. That with slices of Italian bread, olive oil, and balsamic should be good for the sit-down dining.”

“And you’re set on the appetizers for the cocktail hour?”

“Absolutely.” I lay the menu down and smile. “Oh, my God. I think we’re done.”

“You’re done.” She laughs. “My job is about to get chaotic.”

“And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’re doing.” Standing, I reach over and hug her petite frame. “Without you, this wedding would be falling apart.”

Natalie waves me off. “Don’t worry, your husband is thanking me graciously.”

“Good. You deserve it.”

Natalie sets the contract on the coffee table for finalization and hands me a pen. “When are you visiting Sadie and the baby again?”

“I’m supposed to go see her tomorrow,” I say. “I told her I’d be her mother’s helper for a few hours so she can shower and rest. I never realized how much a newborn is a full-time job.”

Natalie snorts. “And that’s why I’ll be waiting at least another five years to have a kid. I want to build a career. Can’t do that with a baby at home.”

I hum and walk her to the door.

“See you at the final dress fitting on Friday?” she asks.

“Absolutely.” With a quick hug, she’s out the door.

I head toward the kitchen to scrounge together lunch. I consider the eggplant parmesan in the fridge, courtesy of Uncle Sal, but that’s heavier than I need a few hours before rehearsal.

Sighing, I turn to the cupboard where I keep my whole grain bread.

Rehearsal.

I finished choreography for Violet Taylor’s show a few weeks ago. It opened to rave reviews. Critics say this is her big comeback. It’s the version of Violet everyone fell in love with a decade ago.

I don’t know how much I had to do with that, but I like to think her dancers are blending into the production well enough that they’re not stealing the focus from her.

She’s been vocal about her pleasure with my contribution, bringing me on as her full-time choreographer—at least while she’s stationed in Vegas.

I cut half an avocado into strips and arrange it on a toasted piece of bread.

Then there’s the show at Il Palazzo.