Page 13 of Vicious Arrangement
I take a final sip of my rum and coke and Katie clinks our fresh glasses together. “To your upcoming nuptials.”
“I’m not carrying you home again.”
She sets her drink down with a shudder. “This is my limit tonight, trust me. But come on, what’s his angle, do you think? A wallflower? I still say gay might be on the cards. I know, I know out is healthy, but… what if he’s a closet case?”
“I don’t think so,” I mutter. “Gramps said he’s a bit of a womanizer.”
“And you can tame him. Let’s plan the wedding. I’ve always wanted a big, extravagant wedding, but I’m poor and single so I’ll live vicariously through you.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.” Besides, I’m not happy about this at all. “Gramps said Noah wants this done quickly and with as little fuss as possible. And considering I don’t particularlywant to be in an arranged marriage, especially with someone like him.”
“A closeted womanizer?”
I laugh but shake my head. “And yes, I have to do it, for Gramps. But he’s not closeted anything. According to Gramps, Noah Templeton’s an arrogant playboy who used to be a nice kid until he grew a massive ego and stopped giving a shit.”
Gramps didn’t put it that way, but it’s what he meant.
But Katie grins, rubbing her hands together. “All the more reason to blow a shitload of this dude’s money on a very, very expensive designer dress.”
I look at her.
“A very, very expensive pretty dress. But you need a wedding dress, and I need a bridesmaid dress.”
I grab her face. “Katie, I haven’t even met him yet.”
“When you do, you should have a list of demands. No sex unless you want it. A weekly stipend. New clothes. And jewels. You can sell them or give them to me. But, most importantly, you need, for your low-fuss wedding a dress on him, as well as your bridesmaid’s kit.”
I half laugh and groan, letting her go as I down some of my drink. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” she says, “but a genius. Do it. C’mon, it’ll be cathartic.”
“Oh god, Katie.” I shake my head, grinning. “I’ll think about it. But remember, I haven’t met the guy yet.”
Chapter Four
NOAH
I’m still fumingthe following evening when I get out of my Uber on Leonard Street, in the old-school Italian part of Williamsburg that’s been overrun by hipsters.
Asher’s house has a small yard that used to house a saint in a plastic display unit when he inherited it from his grandparents.
I go through the gate, and in two steps I’m at the door. It swings open when I knock, and a scream of “Noah!” splits the air as a rambunctious four-year-old launches himself at me. I swing my satchel with the wine in it to behind me as I catch him and swing him high in the air as I step inside.
“Noah! Noah! Noah!” He hugs me tight and plants kisses on my face and I can’t help but squeeze his little body that’s starting to lose some puppy fat. He giggles and screams, “spin me!”
I laugh. “In your hallway?”
“Yes!”
“You might go flying through the wall and into Daddy’s study.”
The idea delights him. “Daddy, can Noah make me a doorway?”
Asher’s laughter fills the air as he walks through the converted house, now mostly open plan, apart from his study, bathrooms, and bedrooms, and he shakes his head, a tea towel over one shoulder.
The air is filled with the delicious aromas of what smells like lasagna, something he’ll have made from scratch from his Nonna’s cookbook.
“I don’t think so, Joshy,” he says to his kid. “I need some privacy when I work.”
