Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions. So, why did I feel so nervous and insecure as the day progressed? It wasn't just the sheer magnitude and spectacle of the event, but something, or someone, else...

My stomach churned with anticipation. It felt like I was going to be sick.

Edward, Heather's husband, was a surprisingly nervous young man; he had dropped the ring multiple times during the ceremony, smiling sheepishly and apologising profusely when a round of laughter echoed around their chapel.

It was sweet when Heather leaned across to whisper something in his ear and he beamed. On his fourth attempt, he managed to slide the ring onto her finger and there were cheers all round.

Earlier I'd seen Zachary and Heather's half-sisters Saffron and Laurel from his father's first marriage to an actress. Both were elegantly dressed and attractive women; their husbands seemed to be happy to be their arm candy. I'd heard from Heather that Peter was grooming his eldest daughter Saffron to take over his position on the board.

Zachary was sitting pretty on the front row with his parents Eve and Peter. Heather had told me that he'd purposely chosen not to be one of the groomsmen even though Edward had extended him the courtesy as his bride's brother. She'd remarked that he was pretty low-key when it came to weddings. The several times when he'd acted as a groomsmen had driven him to boredom, so she hadn't forced the issue. I only saw the back of his shoulders and head. But I knew that he was watching the ceremony, alert as a bird on a perch.

My heart sped up when he turned head around to scan the guests in the pews behind the first row, until he finally found my face amongst the others. I had purposely tried to direct my gaze to the couple, yet I always seemed to find my back to him.

He winked at me during the exchanging of the rings. And I had to bite my lip from bursting into laughter at the corniness of him mocking his now brother-in-law's extreme nervousness. My mother smiled at me knowingly while my father didn't appear to notice as he joined in with the laughter around the church.

I beamed back at him in return. He was satisfied.

* * *

We had made about 1000 brioches for the reception. They were in assorted flavours, so the guests could pick and choose. Blackberry and custard, cinnamon cream, citrus and chocolate and chocolate pecan. My father had got in extra staff to help us bake everything on time. It had turned out to be a huge team effort, but along with the time pressures, it had been a lot of fun. And a huge learning curve for me. It was a huge privilege to be allowed to help my dad with the wedding catering.

Since my dad's expertise lay in pastry and bread, he had decided to leave their wedding dinner to another chef's capable hands. He could have, but he didn't want to spread himself too thin. It had been a while since he'd planned something so large scale. At fifty-two years old, Dad had plenty of experience of creating lovely cakes for middle-scale and intimate weddings, but for a large society wedding, he had to grasp around in the dark. Luckily, he had consulted with his chef friends and contacts, so he'd managed to gather some guidance on larger event catering.

'Your father's efforts have been a great success,' a smooth, silky voice declared. The accent was English private-school through and through, but there was an Irish lilt which occasionally broke through at some words.

I turned around to face the father of the boy I was crushing on: Peter Malone.

'Very impressive. My son chose well.' Peter nodded in the direction of the cake, which took pride of place in the centre of the ballroom that overlooked the gardens, all bursting with colour and the summer flowers free and flowing like women's dresses in mid-movement. The cake was a frothy pink creation with tiny gold-leaf edible flowers decorating the icing. It had taken us an age to place them in the right positions. My dad was absolutely fastidious about presentation. It wouldn't be a Jeremy Carroll cake without his eye for detail. There were four different tiers; two were made lemon vanilla sponge while two were made of decadent chocolate sponge. My father had added the finishing touches: a monogram of the couple's initials on the second tier.

I watched the bride and groom cut the cake and feed it too each other. Photographers eagerly capturing the scene of a loving young couple as their eyes feasted on each other.

It was a delicious sight to behold.

I took a moment to take in his words, allowing the feeling of pleasure to spread through me at his compliment.

'Thank you!' I smiled. 'We're glad you like it. We had a good team behind us.'

'Good.' He took a sip from his champagne flute. 'That's the idea,' with a wink.

He looked every inch the executive — crisp haircut, crisp suit and probably a very expensive watch on his wrist. He looked very discreet although he had presence. He would look equally at home in a jumper and cord trousers perusing his estate.

'What do you think of the house?'

'It's perfect!' I said immediately.

'Fit for a princess,' he smiled mysteriously; a thought drifted into his head. A man in smart attire approached him and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and turned to me.

'It has been a pleasure meeting you Candy.' He gave me a beatific smile. 'If you'll excuse me, I must make the rounds.'

And then he was gone. I watched him greet a group of businessmen and their wives as he made his way to the centre to deliver his father of the bride speech.

As he began to speak, I sensed another person take his place. Thinking perhaps it was my mum, I was startled to find Zachary beside me. He was dressed in a patterned blue shirt, a light indigo jacket and white chinos with a pocket square the same colour of his eyes poking out of his jacket.

Amazed, I stared at him — I'd never seen him look so put together. And gorgeous.

Although, I wasn't too shabbily dressed myself. I'd chosen to specially buy a blush-pink dress which had reminded me of something a fairy-tale princess would wear. It was pink and glittery, but... edgy. The sleeves were cap sleeves and ruffled while the bodice had a sweetheart neckline. I had decided to wear the accompanying see-through pink gloves in the same material that reminded of the ones regency ladies wore. After being persuaded by Heather's hair stylist, I'd cut my hair in a cool choppy bob.

His eyes drifted over my outfit approvingly. 'Tut tut. Bad girl. You're stealing the attention away from the cake...'

I narrowed my eyes at him.

'Enjoying yourself?' he smiled at me, smugness dripped off him. 'I know I am!' He held a small plate of the brioches my father and his team (including myself) had helped bake. He was stuffing each of the rolls into his mouth, and letting out despicable sounds while he was satisfying his overzealous appetite.

'Should you be eating while your dad's making a speech?' I gave him a skeptical look.

'Well, as long as I'm not harming anyone.' He licked the filling in one of them. 'Then, yes, I should be.' He stared at me directly with greedy eyes, wiggling his eyebrows.

To his delight, I shoved his arm. 'Careful! You could have knocked these little globes of delight out of my hands. I was just getting used to the texture...' he smirked.

'You eat too much.'

He made his lips assume a frown. 'You're not helping. Pity me, poor little rich boy, adrift and helpless in the world.'

I crossed my arms and tried to focus on his father, but he would always find a way to provoke me by saying a Zach-ism (defined as a piece of insight that isn't always pleasant to hear, but is funny in a twisted way all the same).

I kept breaking into peals of laughter. Luckily disguised by the laughter of everyone else as Peter delivered his speech. Mine wouldn't have looked amiss amongst the rest. He was smiling as I finally lost it when he started ragging on a group of posh guests, glittering in their finery like peacocks. They were trying hard to appear oblivious, caught up in their own universe, but the males were shooting Zach and me dirty looks.

'Eddie's friends.' He rolled his eyes. 'We have some history.'

'Really?' I tried not to feel intimidated by them. We'd served the wealthier lot before, but sometimes their attitude stank.

Zachary guided me back to the brioche table and he began to load his plate, taking more of the blackberry and custard. 'Yes, long story, but I had a bit of a run-in with toadish looking one Crispin about his sister...'

'Not this again...' I sighed. 'By the way, that one's my favourite too.'

'No, no, it wasn't anything to do with that. She wanted to, but she was fifteen or sixteen. Just a kid. But she quickly got pregnant by an idiot banker. Well, his son, that is. I hear they're happy! The parents are crying though.' He gave me the salacious details with undisguised glee. He stuffed another brioche into his mouth. 'These are really good. Why don't you sell these at your bakery?'

'Special occasions only, but I'll let my dad know,' I smiled, relieved that even Zachary had standards of good conduct. 'You know, there's a story behind the brioche?'

'What? Tell me.'

'Apparently according to Rousseau, 'a great princess' is said to have advised peasants who had no bread to 'Qu'ils mangent de le brioche. Otherwise, commonly inaccurately translated as—'

'Let them eat cake!' Zachary replied eagerly. 'That's a good phrase to live by.'

'Well, you've ate a lot, that's true,' I giggled. I allowed myself to be led out by him into the gardens.

It seemed like he was absolutely bursting to say something to me; usually, when he was set on something, it was difficult to refuse him. We stood awkwardly by a bench. The waterfall was splashing as a steady rhythm onto the buttery cream-coloured stone.

A few uneasy seconds passed before he looked up at me.

'I am sorry about what happened with your ex. Jonny,' he said, 'It's unfortunate. Seemed like a nice guy.'

I was surprised to hear the sincerity in his tone. In truth, I was absolutely flabbergasted that he even had the capacity to apologise. For almost the whole year, I had struggled with my feelings of dislike, confusion, antipathy and respect for him. I'm sure he had felt the same about me. But to hear him acknowledge something like that, when he didn't have to, I knew that it mean a lot to me.

He may have been a difficult man, but Zachary wasn't a monster.

He was actually very nice. I had thought about his acts of kindness to my family.

'It's fine. I think I was a little bit prejudiced towards you,' I admitted. 'Where did you hear about my break up.'

'Who else?' He gave me a sheepish smile.

Realisation dawned. 'My dad?'

His face coloured as though he didn't like being caught in these kind of situations. That only made me warm to him more.

'You're trying to steal him away from me,' I teased.

'Yeah. Jeremy is fantastic. As are you,' he laughed, light and hearty. 'You're my cup of tea...'

I screamed in delight. It had turned a bit too much for me. Before I had a chance to even calm myself down, Zachary provided the perfect solution. He crept closer to me, embraced me and kissed me on the lips. The garden was forgotten. The water fountain ceased to exist. The world could have crumbled all around us, but I realised that with him by my side, I always had a friend.

When we broke apart, both breathless, content and happy, I finally realised what it had taken me a whole year to figure out. I liked him a lot. And I wanted him to be my boyfriend.

'Would you like to dance, Princess?' he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, 'Since you're my girlfriend now.'

'I'd love to.'

And like Cinderella, I allowed myself to be lead by the hand back inside the ballroom to start afresh with my friend and now boyfriend.

~ | FINIS. | ~

A/N - Well, at last!! This is the end, folks! :( :O :D *prepares for rotten fruit to be aimed at me* I'm joking, of course! XD Please don't hurt me... eek! Hope you guys enjoyed reading DEVIL'S FOOD CAKE as much as I absolutely loved writing it!

 Zandy made it!! <3 (I know how frustrated you guys were throughout this slowburn romance... XD Hope you're satisfied! ;D)

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