Page 5 of The Forever Match

In moments, Desmond appeared and poured tea, then arranged a selection of the cakes on individual plates for them all.

“If I may,” he said, giving Ash her plate. “I rather enjoyed the chocolate with Italian buttercream. But then, I am a chocoholic.”

“Let’s see if I agree.” Ash grabbed her fork and took a bite of the chocolate cake. She nodded and closed her eyes, then made dreamy sounds.

Why did those sounds make Victoria’s clit throb? That, in turn, drained the blood from her brain and gave her a piercing headache. She closed her eyes. She needed sugar. And to not be having these thoughts in front of her mother.

“You’re right, that is good.” Ash elbowed Victoria gently. “Try it.”

“Remember, though, your grandmother isn’t keen on chocolate cake, and neither is your father,” the Queen added. “In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a chocolate cake at a royal wedding in my lifetime.”

Victoria took a bite: it was sensational. Rich, oozy, light, orgasmic. She didn’t necessarily want chocolate cake, but she wanted the option. “Whose wedding is this, Mother?”

“The country’s, as you know full well,” her mother replied. “And because your wedding is not traditional, we have to make sure all the details are as they should be.”

“You really think the monarchy will be overthrown because of chocolate cake at our wedding?”

The Queen sighed. “I don’t. But the small things all add up. The last thing we need is an anti-royalist backlash.”

Victoria’s stomach curdled, but she knew her mother was right. The ceremony was being held in a marquee in the Palace gardens because she and Ash couldn’t legally marry in a church. Every religious head around the globe had an opinion on their union, only a handful of them charitable. Their wedding was being discussed on every TV and radio show throughout the UK and beyond, and she was fed up of her life being dissected every ten seconds through the lens of her sexuality. The common thread tying together religious bigots was always the same: a complete lack of empathy. She had no time for it.

“What cake did you have at your wedding, Debra?” the Queen asked, lightening the mood.

Ash’s mum furrowed her brow. “It was a long time ago, and a little less fancy than what you’re arranging here.” Nevertheless, her face grew soft as she remembered. “But we didn’t have a choice: we had fruit cake with white icing. Everyone did back then. As I recall, my Auntie Dot made it as her present, and we were very grateful. It was also one less decision to make.”

Victoria could see the logic, even though she hated fruit cake.

“They’re all delicious.” Ash forked another mouthful, this time of salted caramel banana, and Victoria wondered whether her fiancée was somehow more hungover than she was.

A crumb hit the carpet. Truffle materialised like a furry black hole and vacuumed it up.

“What about a four-tier cake?” Ash said, mouth still half full. "Different flavour on every layer."

“A fruit cake would be nice and traditional,” the Queen said. “Perhaps as the base?”

Perhaps as the base in that tone meaning definitely, non-negotiably, as the base.

“Fine by me. So long as one tier is salted caramel banana.” Victoria wasn’t about to let cake become the hill she died on. Not today. Not with this head. “Fruit cake, salted caramel, red velvet, chocolate?”

Ash nodded. “Bake Off Worthy.”

“Great.” Victoria’s shoulders dropped a full inch. One decision down. Only 900 to go. “What did you have at your wedding?” she asked her mother.

The Queen frowned, then shook her head. “I don’t recall. But I think it might have been a fruitcake. It was traditional back then, as Debra said.”

Debra grinned. “The same cake as royalty! That makes me feel better. I thought you were going to say you had gold-leafed something or other.”

The Queen laughed. A real laugh, not a forced one. The Woods effect was real, and happening right in front of Victoria’s eyes.

“Nothing so grand. I recall we had prawn cocktail as a starter, too,” her mother said. “Beef for main. Not that I ate much of it. You never do on the day. You’re too nervous about everything going right.”

Sometimes, Victoria forgot that her mother had been through all of this before her. Knowing that she was the next in line to the throne when she got married. Understanding the responsibility on her shoulders.

The Queen put her plate on the table, then wiped some imaginary crumbs from her lap. She clapped her hands. “Now that’s done, we just have to work out where everyone’s sitting at the reception. It seems to change on a daily basis, and the staff are in a state about it. The Arch Bishop of Canterbury is coming, but the Pope has declined, as has his envoy, along with the US president and vice-president.”

This really wasn’t helping her hangover. “More cake for us,” Victoria replied, deadpan. “If they don’t want to come, I don’t want them there.”

The Queen nodded. “I agree, it’s just tricky for international relations when morality is used as a reason. But the Prime Minster is on your side. I told Mother about the Americans, and she said good riddance.”