The wedding coordinator holds up two fabric swatches that look exactly the same. Cream, with a hint of shimmer. For the millionth time, I wonder why I’m paying her so much.
“I’m leaning toward the one on the right,” the vapid brunette beside me, replies. “What do you think, Muffin?”
Muffin.Christ.
I smile like it doesn’t make my skin crawl. “I want what you want,Cupcake.”
Our planner beams like we’re the main characters in a romance novel, and I try not to vomit in my mouth. Apparently, I’ve given the right answer, because my fiancée claps, making her four-carat diamond sparkle in the light.
“It’s decided, then!”
Four more months of this circus. Color palettes. Linens. Seating charts. Whether Aunt Margaret can sit next to Aunt Sally. Spoiler: she can’t.
The redhead who’s allegedly the best in the biz, handpicked by my future wife’s high-society friends, pretends to check a mental box and scrolls her tablet for the next bullet point in wedding hell.
“How are the dance lessons going?”
“Wonderful! Jonathan picked it up faster than I thought he would!”
She beams, like I’ve just exceeded low expectations. I nod like a man grateful for praise instead of insult.
“Excellent! And the bridesmaids?”
The women spiral into details about dresses, fittings, hem lengths. I tune them out. None of it matters. I never planned to get married, and I sure as hell didn’t plan for it to be like this. But here we are.
The meeting ends, finally. I hold the door open for my fiancée and walk her to her Bentley. Her heels click annoyingly on the sidewalk.
“You okay, Muffin?” Those wide-set brown eyes blink up at me.
“Great. Why?”
“You just seem a little off today.”
“Just tired,” I lie. I slept fine.
At her car, she grabs my hand and lifts her chin, waitingfor a kiss. I give her a dry one. Barely lips to lips.
“I love you, Jonathan.”
“I love you too, Rachel.”
I help her into the car and resist the urge to slam the door. I stand there, all polite smiles and perfect posture, until her taillights disappear. Then, I turn, walk to my SUV, and let my face fall back into something more honest.
Rachel is a means to an end. High school bitch turned high-society nightmare. Some things don’t change. And if I hear one more word about how my cock is ‘girthier’ than Axel’s, I’m going to put a bullet in something. They hooked up for one summer, and neither of them will let it go. Rachel brings it up to needle me. Axel brings it up because he’s an asshole.
If Rachel vanished tomorrow, I wouldn’t even sweat, but I need this alliance. Need the connection to her last name. Need the power… so, I’ll marry her. She’ll think it’s love, at least until the license is signed, the vows are made, and the ink is dry. After that, I’ll be her husband on paper only, but I’ll do everything I can to avoid even getting that far. If I have it my way? This façade will be wrapped up with a neat little bow before the ceremony.
I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of over the last eight years, but my biggest regret? She’s five foot five, golden blonde, and everything I ruined.
I climb into my car and open the glove box. Dig past the clutter until I find the worn scrap of paper I’ve folded and unfolded too many times to count. The edges are soft now, the creases fragile. I’ve read it a million times, but I read it again anyway. Her handwriting is as familiar as my own. I used to hear her voice when I read it, but I don’t anymore. That’s what kills me the most.
My thumb traces the words at the bottom.
P.S. You’re mine, too.
She better still believe that, because if she thinks I’ve forgotten her, she’s wrong. I haven’t forgotten shit.
I’m doing everything within my power to set things right.
