by Joya Ryan
“You know it can take years, if ever, to get on the list to have a wedding at The Strauss Hotel.”
“Yeah well, that’s what sleeping with the boss will get you—bumped up the list.”
She laughed and I took a sip of my drink. It was funny because it was true.
“Either way, it will be beautiful. Now, I have a lot of ideas. I think that we should tackle the engagement party first since you two are moving right along. I think Friday the fifteenth for the party then have the wedding Saturday evening. We’ll block off a few floors of rooms for your guests, and have a two-day celebration. A celebrity couple did it and it was fabulous. However, we won’t be outside.” She shuddered a little bit and her thin mouth turned down with distaste when uttering the word “outside.”
“Okay.” My quick response seemed to surprise her. If only she knew I was bound to be the easiest fake bride in the world to please. Plus, her idea made the most sense. My dad wouldn’t do well traveling once to New York for an engagement party then back a few weeks later for the wedding.
“I’ll take care of the announcement in the Times and the Post.” She flipped to another page. “Now,” she folded her hands and looked at me, “tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I was actually thinking this should be spiked.” I jiggled my glass of Diet Coke.
She smiled. “No, I mean, what do you want for your wedding?”
“Um…” I looked down. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it. It’s all happened so fast.”
“Oh, sweetie, every girl has thought about it. Tell me that vision you have. The one you’ve been dreaming about since you were little. I find that if I can get to the root of my client’s childhood fantasy, it gives me a sense of your expectations and makes for smooth sailing.”
Her words sunk in and I recalled the days when I used to be optimistic about love and the future. I guess I had thought about it a long time ago. Not in so much detail. I focused more on the idea of being in love and walking down the aisle seeing “the one” for the first time. In my dream I had been ridiculously in love, my parents were stable and my father was mentally healthy. Everyone was just…
“Happy,” I whispered.
“What, sweetie? I didn’t hear you?” Jill leaned over the table slightly.
I straightened my shoulders and looked at her. “I guess I’ve always wanted to just be happy.”
She nodded. “And do you see that in more of a ball gown or mermaid dress?”
I smiled. How did you put a feeling into a dress? “I guess more simple. Elegant.”
She nodded and pulled out another book. Running her eyes over me, she licked her fingers and began spastically flipping through the book.
“You’re tall, lean with some shape,” she paused to wink at me, “Ah, here! Look at this.”
She placed the book of dresses before me, opened to the middle. I about lost my breath. It was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. Strapless and fitted with just a slight feathering flare past the hips that made it look like it had tiny pieces of clouds woven into it. A tear stung my eye.
“Well, I’d say that’s a good start.” She patted my hand. “Now call up your girls and go dress shopping. But if this is close to what you have in mind, I can build the wedding theme around that.”
I nodded and ran a fingertip under my eye.
“I’m sorry, this is silly. I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”
“Oh sweetie, I love working with first-time brides, everything is still so magical.”
I laughed a little because I could see how wedding number three may not be as romantic as the first. As I sat there, getting questions fired at me about my dream wedding, I realized that the little hollow part in my stomach started feeling a little less…hollow. Not because of the wedding or money or even the planning. But because every time I thought about what would come two months from now, I thought of Preston. Thought of him standing at the altar. Thought of me walking toward him. And that made my heart pound a little faster and my skin heat, which, despite my fever, would have been a good thing.
Jill pulled out a color palette. “Now, let’s talk about accent colors.”
***
“I brought Chinese food,” Preston said, coming through the door. He set it down on the coffee table and looked at me balled up on the couch. “What’s the matter?”
“Not feeling so great.”
He frowned. “Why didn’t you call?”
Lifting my head from the armrest, I clutched the afghan tighter. “You were working. There’s nothing you can really do—”
The back of his fingers gently brushed over my brow before I could finish my sentence.
“You have a fever.” He walked into the kitchen. After rustling with what sounded like pills, and the faucet turning on and off, he came back with Tylenol and a glass of water.
“It’s an ear infection. I use to get them before finals a lot.”
He handed me the pills and water. I took them.
“I’ll call the physician and see if I can get you in tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“You hungry?”
“Not really.”
He sat on the couch next to me. Gently grabbing my shins, he placed my feet in his lap and pressed his thumbs into my instep, slowly moving up. I closed my eyes and fought the urge to moan in bliss.
“Megan,” press, “You said for this to work we had to work together. That goes both ways. So don’t keep things from me.” His tone was rough and something in his eyes flickered with a mixture of pain and anger. “If you’re feeling sick, you have to tell me. I can help you before it gets unmanageable. Understand?”
My throat closed up a bit and something very raw, very dark, masked Preston’s charming features.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He nodded and leaned back a little. “Good. Now get comfortable, because next up are your shoulders.”
Chapter Eight
“Hi, Daddy,” I said and clutched the phone to my ear.
“Meg-Pie!”
My heart was about to burst with relief. When my phone rang, I expected it to be the wedding planner. Jill had called on average four times a day since I met with her last week. It was fun planning a wedding, but exhausting. Clutching my small grocery bag, I walked from the store back to the hotel up the street.
“How you doing, kiddo?”
“I’m good, dad. Just running some errands.”
“Errands? Shouldn’t you be home in bed?” His voice grew concerned. “Mom said you were sick.”
“It was just an ear infection,” I explained, leaving out that it had been a bad one. And one hundred percent stress-induced. “The doctor told me to take it easy for a few days.” Which I did, with Preston right by my side the entire time. He had been so normal and sweet, like a real fiancé. Taking me to the doctor, filling my prescription and making sure I ate. But something about me being sick obviously unnerved him. As if he needed to heal me himself. Still, his attentiveness and world-class foot rubs had me pushing the edge of spoiled. “How are you doing, Dad?”
“Oh, pretty good. Wish your mother would stop fussing over me all the time.”
“Ah, she just loves you.”
God, this was wonderful. It had been a long time since I had a conversation with my father like this. Like he was there…all the way present in the moment and lucid.
“The hotel business treating you well?” he asked.
I smiled. If only he knew just how well. “It is.”
“Anyone special in your life?”
I swallowed and the spring breeze hit my face as I walked a bit faster. Now was a perfect time to tell him. Tell him that Preston and I were getting married. I opened my mouth to try, but no words came out.
“Megan,” he chided. “You work too hard. You need to take time for yourself.”
“I know, Dad. I just, I’m pretty busy. But I have a few friends at work and having Emma here has been grea
t.”
“Well, that’s good. I just don’t want you to shy away from the other stuff. What that prick did is unforgivable.”
“Daddy, I’m so sorry about Tim and the money—”
“Tim? Forget that low-life. I’m talking about Brian. He’s the real loser. No one hurts my baby girl like he did. He’ll get his, Meg-Pie. You just take care of you and don’t be afraid to get out there. You’re a treasure, honey.”
If I wasn’t juggling groceries in one hand and my cell in the other, I would have wiped the tears lining my eyes.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
“You don’t be a stranger okay? I haven’t talked to you in weeks.”
Now the tears stung for a different reason. I talked to my father at least twice a week, this was just the first time he called me and knew who I was.
“Okay, Dad. I love you.”
“Love you too, Meg-Pie.”
He hung up and something deep in my chest ached. I didn’t know when I’d hear him talk to me like that again. What if he never did? What if that was last time my father had a “good day?”
Reaching the entrance to The Strauss Hotel, I realized why I hadn’t told him about Preston. Told him while he could understand. Because I didn’t want one of the best conversations, maybe the last one in which he knew who I was, to be tainted with a lie.
I was marrying Preston. But when my father asked me if I loved him, and he would have, I would have had to say yes. Living a false reality was one thing. Admitting it out loud was another. But lying to my father?
Never.
***
“What’s all this?” Preston asked as he entered the kitchen of the penthouse.
“Just got a few groceries. I was going to make dinner tonight.” When I lifted to my tip toes to put away the noodles in a high cabinet, causing my shirt to ride up, Preston’s fingers skated along the exposed small of my back.
“I was unaware you were so domestic.” His breath danced along the back of my neck as his palm trailed around my side, resting low on my stomach.
Over the last week, I’d learned that his warmth was addicting. Okay, so I knew that after the first night. But now, my body was recognizing his as a mandatory essence. A fix I needed. When he was near, I didn’t feel so overwhelmed. So alone.
“You feeling better?”
His concern made my heart flutter a little. “Yes. Almost done with the round of antibiotics and I haven’t had a fever in days.”
“I’m glad.” His lips brushed against my ear and a flash of lust roiled through my bones and spread to every surface of my skin.
I turned to face him. His green eyes were like getting lost in Oz and for a moment, I forgot about cooking and just wanted to wrap myself around him.
“I recognize that look,” he growled and leaned in to nip my earlobe. “And while I’d love nothing more than to fuck you right here on the counter, we have to get going.”
I frowned up at him. Mostly because he just painted an exciting picture in my mind only to snatch it away. “Where are we going?”
“The Park Avenue Armory. Striker Solutions is having a gathering.”
I’d heard of Striker. It was the company that handled all of the security for The Strauss Hotel. They provided personal drivers who were really bodyguards, and closets that doubled as panic rooms. This company employed some of the top security detail money could buy.
“Looking to change career paths?” I smiled.
“Rhys Striker is the founder of the company. He’s a good friend and tonight is his annual Chairman’s Ball. Since I am one of his original clients and investors, I’m expected to attend. And,” he leaned in and tugged at my lower lip with his teeth, “since you are my fiancé everyone is expecting to see you on my arm. Although right now the only place I want to see you is naked and on me.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled so our bodies were pressed together. “How about naked on the counter?”
My mouth met his, delivering a dozen languid, yet hungry kisses before he pulled back with a frustrated growl.
He rested his forehead against mine. Both of us were breathing heavily. It took me a moment to realize that I was no longer standing on the floor, but my feet dangled off the counter and Preston stood between my thighs. Hard and ready.
“I need you to remember exactly where we are right now, how your hands are pulling my hair, how your eyes are begging me to fuck you, how your pussy is wet with want, because the second we get home tonight I am going to flip you against this counter and show you exactly where I want you.”
He took a step back and ran a hand though his thoroughly mussed hair. “Now, get moving and try on something from the closet I stocked for you last week.”
“I take it this is a fancy kind of thing.”
“It is.”
I smiled. And it felt forced and hurt a little. If I were being honest, I’d admit to the disappointment spreading through me. My plan for tonight, my world-class lasagna, a cable movie and pajamas-optional activity, was a no-go. It had been a long day. The good part had a cloud hanging over it. Hearing my father’s voice free of confusion was darkened by refraining, once again, from telling someone important in my life what was really going on.
I just needed a night of normalcy and calm. But like most things, my expectations needed to change. Preston’s life didn’t allow for a lot of snuggle time.
“Contract stipulates I accompany you to events so I’ll just go get ready.” I’d meant for that to sound playful, but it came out more sad than anything. Scooting around Preston, I made my way toward the bedroom closet. I started looking through the dresses on the hangers.
Preston stood in the door jamb, his forearms resting on the sides of the entry. “I’ll introduce you to a lot of people, but I’ll likely be tied up in conversations for most of the evening.”
“Okay,” I said, gently flicking through the clothes my eyes never meeting his.
“Maybe you’d like to invite Emma? May make you feel a bit more comfortable.”
I stopped mid-swipe at the latest Chanel number and looked at him. He was trying. I could see it on his face that he was attempting to genuinely make me happy.
“I would like that.”
A big smile splayed across his face like he’d just answered the right question to final Jeopardy. My chest instantly split open with the joy of seeing such an incredible man that elated.
A small laugh escaped because I had seen this kind of thing with my parents. My father was crazy about my mom. Every time she smiled, he got this goofy grin of pure bliss as if his whole life was wrapped around making this one woman truly happy.
But that smile…it made my heart race. Right now it was a gala. Tomorrow it would be something else. It would mostly likely never be a couch, junk food and sweatpants night. No matter what though, it was limited and conditional. Two words I needed to get acquainted with quickly.
***
“Great balls of Christ this place is insane!” Emma whispered in my ear as we walked into the Amory. The historic building was all red brick and simply beautiful. The inside main area could have been used for anything, from a concert to a car show, but tonight, it was decked out with silk laid tables and candles. A shiny wooden dance floor led to a large stage where the orchestra played.
“I thought you said you’ve been to these sort of things before?” I whispered back.
“Yeah, a few of Adam’s stuffy charities and parties but this is still…” she shook her head and I knew what she meant.
Overwhelming.
Tuxedos and ball gowns, and circling servers holding silver trays of finger food, littered the entire area. Emma lifted her chin in the air like she belonged there, and I followed suit. The wealthy and rich surroundings never really shocked me before, but this was on another level. Still, as far as these people knew, I was supposed to be there. Now if only I actually felt that way.
“I knew you were dating the boss but damn,” Emma whistled low.
“By the way, I am totally happy I finally got to meet him. I can see why you put out so quick.”
“About that…” She turned and faced me, her short purple dress flowing around her hips. Though she was petite, Emma had a natural beauty most women would kill for. “Preston and I are sort of, more than dating.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re getting—”
Crap! That last word lodged in my throat like a sour Skittle I couldn’t spit out. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself why this was happening—why I had agreed to this scam and why I needed to pull myself together and own it. People won’t believe we’re a happy couple if the bride-to-be looks unpleasant all the time.
“Preston proposed. We’re getting married.”
I tried to do that excited and happy face, but Emma stared at me like I was having a Tourette’s meltdown.
“Ladies,” Preston said, holding two flutes of champagne out. We took them.
“Thank you,” I said a little softer than I meant.
“Are you ready?” he asked quietly.
I nodded.
“Hold up, you two are getting married?” One dainty hand around her drink, Emma pointed at Preston.
“Yes. We are,” Preston said.
Emma let out a long breath. She was never one to pry or judge. In fact, she was more easygoing than most men, but her brows furrowed tightly, like she couldn’t decide what to say next.
Finally, she looked at me. “Is this what you want?”
The question hit me like one of Emma’s famously bragged about bitch-slaps. I didn’t know exactly what to expect her reaction to be, so the only thing I could do was stick to the truth the best I could.
I looked at Preston and smiled, then back at Emma. With all the confidence in the world on my side I said, “Marrying Preston is definitely something I want.”
“Okay then.” Emma held up her flute. “I’m happy for you guy.”
“Thank you,” Preston said.
She leaned in and whispered something low to him. I couldn’t make out exactly what, but something along the lines of, “hurt her,” and “balls torn off,” were key words I picked up on. Preston smiled and nodded.