enough.
I turned toward the wedding cake.
It stood in the center of the reception hall, surrounded by flowers and tiny lights.
Ashley had been proudly showing it off all evening.
I walked over and carefully unlocked the wheels of its display cart.
“What are you doing?” Ashley demanded.
“I’m moving the cake.”
“WHY?”
“Because I paid for it.”
A few guests laughed nervously.
Ashley rushed toward me.
“You can’t touch my wedding cake!”
“Actually,” I replied, “Grandma made it, you refused to pay for it, and I covered every
dollar. So until someone reimburses me, I think it belongs at our family’s table.”
I slowly rolled the cake across the room.
People stopped talking.
The photographer lowered his camera.
Ashley followed me, furious.
“Daniel! Make your sister stop!”
My brother stood motionless.
I parked the cake beside our table and picked up a small dessert spoon.
Ashley gasped.
“Don’t you DARE!”
I held the spoon near one of the delicate sugar flowers.
“Relax. I’m only going to taste something my grandmother spent three days making.”
“YOU’RE RUINING MY WEDDING!”
