Page 23 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
“Okay. Good.” I closed the first aid box. “Come on,” I said softly, nudging him toward the kitchen. “Come have something to eat. I’m already late.”
As I poured the last bit of milk into his cereal bowl, I made a mental note to stop by the grocery store on my way home.
After I dropped Ollie off at Valerie’s place, I headed straight to the Estate.
About an hour later, I was sitting in the extravagant gazebo of the Moreau Estate, sipping what the servant had described as “sparkling water”. Frankly, I couldn’t tell the difference between that and regular water. They all tasted the same. Or rather, they were all just as tasteless.
As I waited, I tapped my foot nervously on the floor. That sparkling water did nothing for my dry throat. I was nervous—that much was clear. But why, exactly? It’s not like I doubted my abilities. Sure, planning a wedding as extravagant as Elena Moreau’s—with opulence probably greater than a European presidential summit—was way out of my league. But here’s the thing about me: once I set my sights on something, I made damn sure it worked out. Nothing could deter me.
Except a six-foot-four man who always wore suits custom made for him.
I sighed, pressing a hand to the back of my neck. That was it. That was the reason I was on edge. The fact that I might have to face Luca again.
When the servants led me toward the gazebo earlier, my eyes had done a quick sweep of the estate, scanning for any sign of him. I didn’t catch a whiff of his scent, so I figured he wasn’t around. Then again, the place was huge—at least ten times the size of my house. He could’ve been holed up in one of the offices somewhere, growling into his phone or brooding like it was his full-time job.
Either way, I needed to prepare myself—mentally, physically, spiritually, whatever it took—for the possibility of him showing up. I pressed my palms against my thighs, trying to stop my legs from jittering. Then I focused on breathing. One steady breath. Then another. And another.
Just when I started to feel something close to calm settling over my nerves, I heard the sharp click of heels against the concrete floor.
My head whipped toward the sound, and I saw Elena walking—no, strutting—toward the gazebo in five-inch heels, and a green designer dress that clung to her body like a second skin.
Was she coming from a fashion show runway or something?
I noticed she was alone, and a massive sigh of relief slipped out of me. It felt like I’d just dodged a cannonball. My heart stopped beating irregularly, and for the fifty seconds it took Elena to catwalk her way to the gazebo, I actually dared to relax.
When she reached the entrance, I stood, offered a hand and a polite smile, then complimented her—because I was raised right.
“Lovely dress you have on, Elena.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. But I figured a normal human being without an attitude problem would smile and say thank you.
Instead, Elena gave me a slow once-over, a grimace hovering on her face like she’d just smelled something unpleasant.
“It’s a Vera Wang custom-made dress. I don’t presume you’d know anything about that.”
Joke was on her—I did know Vera Wang. I just never got past admiring her work from Pinterest boards and Instagram displays.
“Speaking of Vera Wang,” she continued. “I have an appointment with her this week for my custom wedding dress. I’d like you to find a bouquet that suits the dress colors.”
“Sure. I know some really good florists in the state.”
After the pleasantries had been exchanged—or at least, that’s what I thought they were—Elena finally settled into the seat across from me while I pulled my laptop from my bag.
“Based on your requirements, I made a few calls and narrowed down five potential venues for the wedding ceremony. I figured we’d start with that, since it’s only a few weeks away.”
“I’m sorry,” Elena said, arching a brow. “Did you say you made a few calls?”
The disbelief in her voice was as clear as the midday sky.
What did she think? That I didn’t have contacts?
I smiled again. It was the kind of smile people mistake for laughter—polished, polite, and painfully fake. I didn’t find anything she said particularly funny, but for the sake of professionalism…
“Let’s just say I know people who know people,” I replied. “And most of the calls I made were under your name. Everyone was more than willing once I mentioned Elena Moreau.”
She jutted her chin forward, crossed one perfectly toned leg over the other, and let a smug curl of satisfaction twist across her plush red lips.
“Of course they were. Let’s see the photos, hmm?”
