Page 149 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
In his arms, everything else faded away. The pain, the uncertainty, the fear—it all dissolved into something pure and unshakeable. This was what it meant to find your other half. Your Fated Mate.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leila’s POV
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Move that centerpiece just a little to the left,” I instructed my assistant, Julia, who was adjusting a vase of white orchids on the dining table. “No, not too much.”
She nudged the vase closer to the rows of neatly arranged plates and turned back to me for feedback.
“Perfect. Thank you.” I ticked an item off my iPad. “When last did you speak with the caterers?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” Julia said. “They’re caught in a little traffic, but they should be here in twenty.”
“Good. And the names on the table?” I asked, scanning the cream and gold place cards.
“All accounted for. There’s Valerie, Mrs. Tilda Bloom, Charles, Isabella Vaughn, Luca, Declan, and his wife, as well as Ethan.”
Ethan was my neighbor who had moved in across the street about four months ago with his wife. They were the sweetest couple, always dropping off cookies or offering to water my plants when I was away.Declan was my colleague and current business partner, the one I’d just signed a million-dollar deal with as independent contractors with Bain & Company, one of the top interior design firms in the world. And as if that wasn’t thrilling enough, we were now preparing for a transatlantic pitch to a firm in England. Risky, yes, but we were optimistic about delivering the best bid.
Six months ago, I’d packed up from the Bronx and returned to Manhattan. The decision hadn’t been taken lightly. Part of me refused to give Elena the satisfaction of holding the Bronx over my head, as if my life there was proof she could corner me or make me miserable with a snap of her fingers. She’d even threatened as much the few times we crossed paths. But in the end, she did nothing. Perhaps she knew better—knew that if she tried, she’d be dealing with Luca, and she wasn’t reckless enough to test what kind of man he really was.
The other reason was simpler, and closer to my heart: I wanted to be nearer to Luca. Because I finally wanted to stop running from the love I’d once been so afraid to accept. For too long, I’d measured my worth by rejection—by my father’s addiction, by the Mate who had once turned his back on me. Leaving Manhattan had been an escape, a way to silence the pain. But loving Luca meant stepping back into it all, facing the memories instead of letting them dictate where I lived or who I became.
So, I came back. I chose to rebuild a life on my own terms. Renovating my father’s old house became more than a project; it was a reclamation. Every coat of paint, every board replaced, felt like laying down roots in the future instead of hiding from the past. I wanted the walls to hold laughter, the air to carry warmth, the rooms to echo with the life Ollie and I were building—with Luca at our side. He’d been of great help over the months—steadily present for both Ollie and me. On nights when my work or the project demanded I stay up late, he was the one who made sure Ollie was fed, tucked in, and kissed goodnight. When exhaustion caught up with me, he was simply there, a quiet anchor, stepping in where I fell short without ever making me feel like I was failing. It wasn’t grand gestures that made the difference, but the constancy of him—his patience, his steadiness—showing me day after day that I didn’t have to carry everything alone anymore.
And today, after six months of pouring myself into it, we were finally here. The unveiling. My home’s rebirth. The housewarming party that would mark not just a new chapter for me, but the start of something permanent.
“Thank you, Julia,” I said, letting out a small breath of relief. Since hiring her four months ago, she’d been a real lifesaver. I had far fewer things to worry about because she always had them handled. “Please go check on the decorators outside—make sure they’re not mowing down my entire lawn.”
She chuckled. “Got it.”
As she left, Valerie swept into the room with Ollie trailing after her, the two of them mid-argument about dinosaurs versus giraffes, or something along those lines. I was too amused to concentrate.
She groaned dramatically as she stopped in front of me. “Oliver Carter, Esquire. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I laughed, catching her implication about Ollie’s endless debates with her over animals and how he’d do really well as a lawyer.
“Mommy, can I put my name next to Daddy’s at the table?” Ollie asked.
“Sure, baby,” I said, watching him scurry away. His little fingers brushed over name cards until he landed on Luca’s. A wide grin spread across his face, and he began folding napkins carefully on the plate.
“So…” Valerie drawled, and I knew immediately where this was heading. “I see you put out a plate for Charles. Did he confirm he’s coming?” She glanced at her manicured nails, feigning nonchalance.
I grinned. Valerie and Charles had become something of an item over the last six months—not official, not yet, but enough that everyone could see the sparks.
“He confirmed. Which means you can go ahead and wear that dress you bought yesterday.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t buy it to impress him! I bought it because it’s pretty and makes me look hot.”
I laughed. “Whatever you say, Val.”
Three hours later,the house buzzed with chatter and soft music as guests arrived. I stood near the center, smiling as I took it all in. The place was warm, alive, filled with laughter. My father would be proud—I knew it. He’d written that letter urging me to find joy again, and for a long time, I hadn’t thought it possible. But here it was. Here I was. I had the people I loved around me, and I had never felt happier.
I only wished he could see it. A pang of longing tightened in my chest, turning my smile bittersweet.
“Got it!” Ollie’s triumphant voice rang out from the game he was playing with Ethan and Greta’s six-year-old nephew. The two boys high-fived, celebrating as they handed Ethan and Greta a thorough defeat.
