His brows knit together in concern. “Earlier, you said there was something you wanted to talk to me about.”
I look around to see if we can possibly leave for a few minutes without anyone stopping us. For the moment, all the guests are seated and talking, their attention anywhere but on Luka and me.It’s the perfect time to escape for a little bit. Which is necessary, because he may not take this well.
In fact, it might go over like a fucking bomb.
“Can we have a few minutes alone?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
“Hey-o!” a voice interrupts. “I haven’t had a chance to meet your smokin’ hot bride yet!”
Luka rises to greet the man rushing up behind us. I recognize him as one of Luka’s groomsmen, someone he went through his MBA program with, but we haven’t been formally introduced. Luka makes the introductions and small talk ensues. Before I know it, the dinner plates are being cleared and dessert is brought around. Everyone resumes their seats and the din of conversation hums loudly in my ears.
People I barely know stand to raise toasts to Luka and me, but it’s Mateo’s speech that has my eyes stinging. It’s brief but heartfelt, and when he says he wishes me and Luka an amazing journey together, I can’t help wishing the same. I should burn that contract from Elite Image.
Or should I just sign it and guarantee my success?
Fuck, why is this so hard? I know where my heart is…and it isn’t with Elite. But what if I’m making a huge mistake, letting my feelings for Luka get the better of me? My brain says this arrangement with him isn’t a sure thing. But betraying him feels wrong in every way.
By the time a selection of cakes and pastries are passed along with brandy and carafes of coffee, the noise has dimmed, and the guests are winding down. True to his word earlier, Luka eats two huge pieces of cheesecake, then leans back in his chair and stretches his arms over his head. He looks satisfied and…happy.
“Brooklyn, look at me,” he says quietly. I glance at him and he’s holding a bite of dessert on his fork for me. “Consider it practice for tomorrow when I feed you cake.”
“When you smear her face in it, you mean?” someone across the table hollers.
I hold Luka’s gaze as I take the offered treat, and everyone cheers.We’re not going to get a moment alone. I don’t have any choice but to ride the rest of this evening out and put my conscience behind me.
“You better not even think of smearing it on my face.” I try to join in on the fun, but I’m two seconds away from losing my composure. The papers in my purse whisper to me, reminding me that I can’t have true happiness unless I clear the air. I want to. I’m trying! I need to get him alone for a couple of minutes and explain everything.
“Brooklyn, when you have a minute, can I show you something?”
It’s the wedding planner. Glad for the escape, I excuse myself and meet her in the lobby to go over a couple of last-minute details. There’s been a small change to the color of the ribbon on the flowers. The seating arrangement for the reception was altered slightly. Did I want the ring bearer to carry the ring in his little tux pocket or on the silk pillow?
By the time I go back inside, the guests are leaving. Luka rushes over and kisses my forehead. Emzee and Tori come up behind me and loop their arms through mine.
“She’s ours now. Bye-bye, loser.” Emzee waves him off.
“See you tomorrow,” Luka calls to me. He looks back as if expecting me to reply. I don’t, because I can’t get anything out.
“Oh no, she already has stage fright!” Tori pats my hand. “Come on. The hotel room we booked has a fully stocked bar. We’ll get you through this.”
My future sisters-in-law whisk me off to the luxury hotel we’re staying in tonight and I know they’re going to take good care of me. They’ll have to, because I’m in no shape to do anything except drown in the guilt over not coming clean to Luka before I become his wife.
Brooklyn
Chapter 26
I’m getting married.
I am gettingmarried.
Today. Soon. In a few minutes.
I let out a slow breath as Tori adjusts the lacy folds of my voluminous, hand-beaded veil. We’re standing before a tall oval mirror and I’m having a hard time believing the princess in the glass is me. The ivory Vera Wang dress fits like an absolute glove, the strapless bodice cupping my breasts and giving me killer cleavage. The skirt conforms to my hips and bursts into a pile of gorgeous, fluffy ruffles about mid-thigh to the floor, accentuating my statuesque figure. It’s simple and expensively elegant. Stefan, my brother-in-law to-be, surprised me with an antique teardrop pearl necklace on a rose-gold chain (“Something old, as the saying goes,” he’d told me with a wink. “Tori helped pick it out.”), and it’s the perfect adornment to my dream dress.
My hair cascades down my back in big, glossy curls. I instructed the makeup artist to go with a light touch, except for a bold lip to match the unexpected pop of the bright red heels that peek beneath my hem when I lift my skirts.
Diamond studs borrowed from Tori sparkle in my ears, setting off the glitter of my engagement ring. As I give myself a final once-over, I have to admit I look perfect. All of it feels simply perfect.
Forget the princess. I look like a queen.
