The shock on Anica’s face would have been comical if it weren’t for the heel that immediately stomped on my Italian leather loafer. I managed to maintain my smile despite the pain that shot through my foot, squeezing her hand in a silent plea to play along.
Ms. Windsor’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline, creating the first wrinkles I’d ever seen on her forehead. “Your fiancée? But my understanding was that you were the wedding plan–”
“A misunderstanding,” I interrupted. “We’re just keeping things on the down low because of the scandal it would cause when millions of women find out I’m taken by this beautiful gem.”
Anica’s fingers tightened around mine with what I suspected was barely controlled rage rather than affection. “It’s true,” she said, her voice strained. “It’s almost a secret, even to ourselves.”
Ms. Windsor looked between us, skepticism written all over her face. “Well, this changes things. Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office.”
As we followed her through the main hall, Anica leaned close to me, her lips near my ear. Anyone observing would have thought it an intimate gesture, but her whispered words were pure venom.
“I am going to murder you slowly and painfully the moment we’re alone.”
“No, you won’t,” I whispered back, enjoying the floral scent of her perfume and the way her breath tickled my ear. “You need me alive to pay your fee.”
“Fine, but there are worse things than death,” she hissed. “I’ll make sure you experience all of them. Starting with a PowerPoint presentation on wedding etiquette that’s three hundred slides long. With mandatory audience participation.”
Her threat shouldn’t have been arousing, but there was something about the fire in her eyes and the flush across her cheekbones that sent heat straight south. I had to remind myself that this was strictly business, even if business now involved pretending to be engaged to the most infuriating and inexplicably attractive wedding planner in Manhattan.
In Ms. Windsor’s office, we sat side by side across from her imposing desk. I casually draped my arm across the back of Anica’s chair, earning myself another death glare and what felt like a pinch to my kidney.
“So,” Ms. Windsor began, shuffling papers. A taxidermied fox watched from a shelf behind her, its glass eyes somehow conveying the same disapproval as its owner. “How long have you two been engaged?”
“Three weeks,” I said, at the exact moment Anica said, “Two months.”
We exchanged a look of mutual panic.
“What he means,” Anica recovered smoothly, “is that we’ve been engaged for two months, but we’ve only been actively planning the wedding for three weeks.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “When you know, you know.”
“And how did you meet?” Ms. Windsor asked, her pen poised over a form that apparently required our complete relationship history, blood types, and possibly genetic compatibility.
“At her office,” I said.
“At a charity gala,” Anica said simultaneously.
Ms. Windsor’s eyes narrowed to slits that could have sliced sashimi.
“Both, actually,” I improvised. “We first saw each other at a charity gala but didn’t speak. Then fate brought us together when I needed a... consultation at her office. It was for my grandmother’s birthday celebration.”
“I’m a wedding planner, yes, but I was an event planner before this and he somehow found out,” Anica added, pinching my thigh under the table with enough force to leave a mark. “Callan wanted to surprise his grandmother with a special party, so he came to me.”
“How thoughtful,” Ms. Windsor commented, in a tone that suggested thoughtfulness was a communicable disease she’d prefer not to catch. “And how did he propose?”
I opened my mouth to fabricate something, but Anica beat me to it.
“It was quite romantic,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and her expression dreamy in a way that almost made me believe her. “He took me to the top of the Empire State Building at sunset.”
“It was raining,” I added, unable to resist testing her improvisation skills.
“Snowing,” she corrected, with a saccharine smile.
“A light drizzle,” I compromised.
“A blizzard,” she insisted. “I remember because my eyelashes froze together and I almost missed the proposal because I couldn’t open my eyes properly.”
“Yet despite the weather,” I continued, “she still said yes when I got down on one knee and told her I couldn’t imagine life without her.”
