Chocolate cake and breakups

Chapter 1: Chocolate cake and breakups

Gwen

“Hey baby! Earth to you Anth!” I snapped my fingers as I looked at the half-eaten chocolate cake—our anniversary cake.

Anthony hadn’t touched it and I knew that something was wrong because he loved the chocolate cakes I made.

“What… what were you saying?” Anthony responded, blinking rapidly.

I forced a smile, twirling my fork. “Are you okay my love? You’ve been quiet all night. Come on cheer up, it's our anniversary.”

Anthony exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Gwendolyn, we need to talk.”

My stomach dropped. He never called me by my full name, whatever this was had to be really important.

I sat up, leaned on my arm and whispered, “Okay…?”

He didn’t look at me. “This isn’t working anymore.”

I laughed, looking up at him. “What do you mean baby? Are you trying to play a prank on me?”

“We need to break up, like I said, this…” He said pointing to the both of us, “... isn't working anymore.”

The room spinned, what did he mean? I've given two years, two damn years to make this relationship work. “What? You're joking right?”

“I’m not happy,” he said, voice flat. “I haven’t been for a while, you're choking me.”

I choked out a laugh. “You have to be joking. Today’s our anniversary.”

“I know.” His jaw tightened. “That’s why I’m doing it now. A clean break.”

Clean break? Like I was some chore he’d finally decided to tackle.

I stood, my chair screeching. “So, what? This dinner was just…what? A pity party?”

He finally met my eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Too late, you already did.” My voice cracked.

I grabbed my purse, my hands shaking too hard to zip it. Anthony didn’t stop me nor did he call after me. He just sat there, watching me leave, my whole world falling apart.

I got home and immediately slammed the door behind me, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The tears came then ugly, heaving sobs that made my ribs ache.

I fumbled for my phone, dialing the only person who’d understand me and what I was going through.

Nico picked up on the second ring. “Gwen, darling? Why do you sound like you’re drowning?”

“Nico… Anthony…” I hiccuped. “He dumped me.”

There was silence, then I heard shuffling and then he responded, “What? On your anniversary? That spineless piece of merda.”

“Just come over,” I whispered. “I’m not… myself.”

“Give me twenty Amore.” He exclaimed then the line went dead.

I slumped onto the couch, wiping my nose with my sleeve. My gaze landed on the framed photo on the coffee table, it was me and Nico at graduation, arms slung over each other, grinning like idiots.

We met at St. Agnes Orphanage when we were six. Nico had stolen my pudding cup and I had punched him in the nose. Sister Maggie made us clean the chapel together as punishment. We’d been inseparable ever since.

He was there when I got my first kitchen burn, when I aced culinary school, when I cried over my first failed soufflé. And I was there when he came out at sixteen, shaking but determined, telling the world, “This is me. The real Nico.” I was nothing but proud of him.

A knock jerked me from the memory.

Nico didn’t wait for an answer. He barged in, took one look at my puffy face, and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. “That bastard,” he muttered into my hair.

I sniffed. “He said he wasn’t happy. That I didn't make him happy.”

Nico scoffed, pulling back. “Oh, please. Anthony’s version of danger is not labeling his leftovers. You’re way too good and exciting for him.”

I managed a weak laugh.

Nico smirked. “You know what you need?”

“To drown in ice cream?” I asked, looking up at him

“Better, Amore!” He grabbed my hands, yanking me up. “We’re going to Prism.”

Prism. The hottest gay club in the city.

I balked. “Nico, I look like I got run over by a truck.”

“And?” He tossed me a hoodie. “No one’s gonna hit on you at a gay club, babe. That’s the point. You get to drink, dance, and forget that waste of oxygen ever existed.”

I hesitated. “Yeah, you're right, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Nico winked. “Exactly.”

We got to the bar that evening and it was a whole mess. The bass from the speakers hammered through my chest, the neon lights painting the crowd in streaks of pink and blue. Nico had vanished ten minutes ago to ‘get us drinks’ but I knew better, he was off to look for a handsome lad to spend the night with, leaving me wedged between a drag queen in sequins and a guy grinding on his boyfriend.

Okay. This was… definitely something.

I sipped my vodka cranberry, scanning the dance floor for Nico. That’s when I noticed three girls edging toward me, all smirks and sharp eyeliner.

The tallest one leaned in, shouting over the music, “what a cute bag you got there!”

I clutched my crossbody tighter. “Thanks?”

The second girl giggled, too high-pitched. “Let me see it!”

Alarm bells rang in my head. Oh, hell no.

I stepped back. “I’m good.”

The third one flashed a blade under the dim lights. “Just hand it over, sweetheart.”

My throat closed. “Think, Gwen. Think…”

“Problem here?” A voice, deep and rough, cut through the noise. The girls stiffened.

I turned and… Oh. My. God.

The man looming behind us was so not sober. His dark eyes were glazed, his black shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing a tattoo snaking up his collarbone. But even drugged out of his mind, he was beautiful— he had sharp angles and his lips; They were sinful.

The girls bolted and I wondered why they left after seeing this drunk stranger.

I exhaled shakily. “Thanks. They were about to…”

He swayed, gripping my shoulder to steady himself. “You’re… pretty.”

I blinked, shaking my head and pointing at him. “And you… are wasted.”

His thumb brushed my jaw. “Not wasted enough.”

Then his mouth crashed into mine and—holy shit—I fucking kissed him back.