Read The Pre-Nup for Free Online Page B

pulled out a huge oval serving platter, which she lifted high above her head. “Watch out for shrapnel.”
    Jen flinched as the platter slammed into the floor.
    “Okay.” Mara seized Ellie’s shoulders and spun her toward the doorway. “Time out. Go wash your hands and get a box of Band-Aids. Jen, start the car. We’re going—
all
of us—to have cake and regroup.”
    Ellie resisted for a moment, then relaxed and nodded.
    Jen had to ask. “How exactly does one vandalize with vomit?”
    “Never mind the vomit—you actually keyed Michael’s car?” Mara regarded Ellie with newfound respect.
    Ellie hung her head. “I don’t know what came over me. Hannah got carsick and Michael was standing there giving me the puppy-dog eyes and denying everything, and I just lost control. And it wasn’t Michael’s car, it was hers. Her cheesy, cliché red convertible with vanity plates that actually said, swear to God, VIX MD.”
    “No way.” Jen started to laugh. “You’re making this up.”
    “I wish I were.” Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I was so angry, I scared myself. The whole thing was, well…it was very unladylike. I’m turning into the kind of woman they gossip about at Pampered Chef parties.”
    Mara slung one arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Welcome to the other side, babe. We’ve been waiting for you.”
             
     
    “So we’re here to taste wedding cakes but we’re not allowed to talk about the wedding?” Ellie clarified as the three women trooped into the Golden Tulip Bakery in an upscale shopping plaza in North Scottsdale.
    “Correct.” Mara opened the door, letting the mouth-watering aroma of vanilla and cinnamon waft out. “Sugar good, men bad.”
    “But…” Ellie glanced to Jen for guidance, but Jen just shook her head and muttered, “Leave it. Trust me.”
    Mara waved to the white-aproned pastry chef behind the counter and announced, “I have a three-thirty appointment for cake-tasting. Last name Stroebel.”
    The baker ducked into the back room and emerged with a silver serving plate adorned with paper lace doilies and an assortment of cake slices.
    Jen’s salivary glands kicked into overtime as she eyed a thin wedge of what the chef described as Bavarian lemon with raspberry filling. “I can feel my thighs expanding already.”
    “Me, too.” Ellie threw up her hands. “And I was so good this week. I did three days of cardio and two days of circuit training, and now it’s all going to be erased with two bites of…Oh, dear lord, what is that pink one with the white frosting?”
    “That’s the strawberry champagne cake. Our specialty,” the baker said proudly.
    Jen winced. “Dare I ask how many calories?”
    “Don’t ruin this with calorie talk.” Mara seized a fork and dug in. “We may live in Mayfair Estates, but we don’t have to drink the sugar-free Kool-Aid and give ourselves eating disorders.”
    “Just because I eat healthfully doesn’t mean I have an eating disorder,” Jen protested. “I happen to like quinoa and carob chips. There’s nothing pathological about that.”
    Mara snorted. “I beg to differ.”
    “I don’t have an eating disorder, either,” Ellie muttered. “Unfortunately.”
    “Well, you better keep your guard up,” Mara said. “That fundraising lunch you dragged me to last month? I’ve never heard such hullabaloo about carbs in my life. One chick spent literally ten minutes—I checked my watch—agonizing about whether the fructose in grapes would blow her diet. Panic in the produce aisle!”
    Ellie wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “Is that wine on your breath? At three in the afternoon?”
    “An entire bottle’s worth.” Jen tsk-tsked.
    They lapsed into a chocolate-fueled feeding frenzy for a few minutes, then Ellie put down her fork and slumped back in her chair. “You should have seen her at the café today. Vixen_MD. Whose real name is Victoria, by the way. She actually is a physician, did I tell