“Love it,” she said, taking a long drink of her own coffee with obvious pleasure. “If you’re going to be my fake husband, you’llneed to learn to appreciate morning coffee. It’s a crucial part of the human experience.”
The casual way she said “fake husband” stung more than it should have, but I thought that I could probably learn to like a lot of things about life with her. Even if the strange bitter drink might not be one of them.
“I’ll work on it,” I said, taking another experimental sip and trying not to wince.
“You’ll like the cake more,” she promised, nudging the plate toward me.
I tore off a bite of the crumbly cake and popped it into my mouth, instantly pleased by the explosion of sweetness on my tongue. “Coffee cake is a vast improvement over coffee.”
She laughed, taking her own bite of cake and releasing a small moan of pleasure. “You’re not totally wrong.”
For a moment, the pretense fell away. There was something genuinely affectionate in her expression, something that made me wonder if maybe the line between fake and real was blurrier than either of us wanted to admit.
But then the moment passed, and she was back to business, discussing logistics and timelines and all the practical details of pulling off the deception of a lifetime.
I listened and nodded and tried to focus on the mission. But part of me was still thinking about lazy mornings and coffee and what it would be like to make her laugh like that every day.
Even if the coffee would probably kill me.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Sasha
"There you are!" Serge burst through the coffee shop doors and bustled over to our table with manic urgency that suggested the fate of the galaxy hung in the balance. "We can't be dawdling over beverages when we have the wedding of the century to plan!"
I suspected soon it would become the wedding of the millennia.
Before I could protest, he was hauling me up from my chair, his surprisingly powerful hand wrapped around my wrist as he tugged me toward the door. Behind him, Reina followed with an apologetic expression that suggested she'd tried and failed to slow him down.
"I should probably..." Deklyn started, but Serge was already dragging me toward the exit.
"I'll catch up with you later!"
I glimpsed relief in his eyes as he settled back into his chair. "I promised Captain Kalex I'd meet him at the officers' lounge anyway. I’ll see you after that.”
Then Serge had me out the door and on the cobblestone path, his yellow platform boots clicking against the stones with each hurried step.
"Now," Serge chattered as he led me past shop windows displaying everything from jewelry to lingerie, "we have so much to accomplish and so little time! The dress is obviously the most important element. Everything else flows from that central vision."
We stopped in front of a glass-fronted boutique with flowers etched around the doorframe. The windows were filled with wedding dresses clinging to suspended black velvet mannequins. Some were puffs of tulle, others were sleek silk columns, and other were lace ballgowns.
The thought of picking a dress and getting it fitted to me made me feel sick. I was wasting everyone’s time and energy for the sake of my revenge. The thought made my stomach churn with guilt even as I reminded myself why it was necessary.
"Sasha?" Serge's voice held a note of concern. "Are you all right? You look a touch pale."
I forced a smile, pushing down the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. "Just a little overwhelmed by all the choices. Everything is so beautiful."
"That's the spirit!" he exclaimed, his worries apparently forgotten as he pushed open the boutique door.
"Wait," I said, thinking of a reason to stall as he pulled me inside behind him. "Shouldn't we wait for the TV crew to arrive before I start try on dresses?"
Serge looked stricken, his purple hair seeming to deflate slightly. "Oh, you're absolutely right!" Then his expression brightened. "But they should arrive tomorrow, and there will still be plenty for them to film. Right now we're just narrowing down options, doing the preliminary work that any sensible bride would do."
Before I could ask more questions, he was plucking gowns off the racks that lined the salon, dropping them into my arms and steering me toward a luxurious dressing room at the back of the shop.
"I'm going to get us some bubbly," he announced, practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. "Because I, for one, need some fortification before we begin!"
