Page 32 of A Forgotten Promise

Saar pushes her chair back suddenly, the screech of metal on tile echoing in the quiet room.

“This meeting’s over,” she says, standing abruptly. “You’ve got yourself a wife. Now let me know when you plan on parading me around.”

Vito scrambles to follow her.I guess you won’t get that lunch, fucker.

“Oh, one more thing, darling.” She smiles at me, no longer selling anything besides animosity. “I want a big wedding. The biggest of the season.”

She turns on her heel and strides out, her back straight, her head held high. She is so fucking attractive, my gaze remains glued to the exit long after she leaves.

Like her allure stays behind, demanding attention effortlessly. Stubbornly. Dangerously.

It should bother me. It doesn’t.

Something about the way she stormed out sticks with me. That fire in her eyes. That intensity.

I laugh. This is not going to be easy. But it certainly will be fun. Making Saar van den Linden mine suddenly feels as important as the Atlas/AetherTech merger.

“Fuck. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate with you, now I have to tame a Bridezilla. Fucking Vito told me she was unproblematic.” Betsy makes a derisive huff.

I turn to her. “Careful how you talk about my fiancée,” I warn, and she laughs, but the sound dies on her lips when she meets my eyes.

I stand, buttoning my jacket. “Get her a wedding planner.”

“I thought the plan was to stall and avoid the actual marriage.” Betsy’s expression tightens with frustration.

I smirk. “That’s still the plan.”

I think.

Chapter 6

Saar

“Iwant owls as ring bearers.” I inspect my nails like my manicure is my only care.

The boardroom is bright with the sun coming in through the large skylights above us. Everything around us—the large conference table, the surrounding chairs, the low cabinets, and even the carafe with water—is sleek, luxurious, and designed to make you feel comfortable enough to spend more money.

I’m not spending my money, so I’m quite comfortable.

I have sat in similar offices many times. Ad agencies, creative boutiques, designer shops. This one isn’t any different. But it is. It’s all white and beige and pastel colors, and so sweet it’s slightly sickening.

But I guess all wedding planner offices are like this one. And maybe if I was an actual bride I would appreciate the theme.

“Owls?” Cynthia, the senior consultant assigned to work with me, asks.

“Yes.” I don’t even look up.

I almost feel sorry for her, but I’m sure she is used to all sorts of brides. Blushing, excited, nervous, and demanding.

I’m demanding alright, but my demands have nothing to do with my dying desire to make my special day the best ever.

The petite brunette’s smile is tight, but she writes my ridiculous demand down. “We’ll look into it. We have reputable falconers in our database. I’m sure there are owls trained to deliver.”

It takes a lot not to show my shock. Goddammit.

I didn’t expect Betsy to set up this appointment. I guess Quinn is really in a hurry to get this done, and Betsy is set to deliver in style.

I’ll give them style. I grab my phone and search for the most ridiculous wedding ideas.

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