Page 39 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
I forced my hands to move again, pulling out my tablet and stylus like I was simply here for work. Because I was.
“Where shall we begin?” I asked, finally meeting his gaze.
And damn it—up close, he still looked devastating. His black hair was slightly tousled, and his piercing steel gray eyes were locked on me like he could see straight through to my soul.
“How did your appointment with your sleep specialist go?” Luca asked quietly.
I was shocked that he remembered. A part of me felt warmth that Luca recalled the little lie I’d told to get out of being in the same space with just him. He’d always been attentive to details about thethings I said. And it was one of the things I used to love about him, but nope.
I slapped myself mentally.
I’m not taking that trip down memory lane.
I mustered a bright smile. “It was good. All is well now. Thanks for your concern, Mr. Vaughn.”
“There’s no point pretending, Leila,” he said, voice low. “It’s just us here. We can speak freely.”
“Of course we can,” I said coolly, “as long as the conversation pertains to your wedding.”
There it was again—that flicker. Like the word wedding physically bothered him.
“Leila,” he leaned forward, eyes hard. “Drop the act.”
“Drop—”
“You don’t get to sit there playing pretend. You don’t get to be angry with me when you’re the one who lied, cheated, and stole from me.”
And just like that, something inside me snapped.
My face didn’t change. My smile didn’t falter. But every word that followed could have drawn blood.
“I didn’t come here to rehash our past, Luca,” I said, leaning forward to match his tone. “If that’s why you dragged me here—especially to this place—then we’re done. Meeting over.”
He sat back. Silent.
I took that as permission to continue.
“Over the weekend, I created a timeline for your wedding day,” I said, my voice calm. “Elena mentioned you want an evening ceremony, so I’ve scheduled guest arrival for four p.m., ceremony at five—Reverend Gittens is confirmed. Cocktail hour from six to seven, reception from seven to nine-thirty, and the after party kicks off at ten.” I scrolled through my tablet and held it out to him, showing draft layouts.
When I looked back up, his expression was unreadable. His brows were drawn. Eyes searching. Like he had a dozen questions he couldn’t quite ask.
I sighed. “What?”
“I don’t understand this, Leila,” he said finally, softer now.
“The timeline? Would you like me to repeat it?”
“I don’t care about the timeline.”
His voice had changed. It was softer, but not gentler. Just more dangerous. Like he was circling around something he hadn’t figured out how to touch.
“Last time we talked, you said you wanted to start your own interior design firm. How did you end up…here?”
There it was. That familiar sting of superiority. That Vaughn family brand of judgment masked as curiosity.
And I lost it.
“No, Luca,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut through concrete. “The last time we spoke, you rejected and humiliated me. That dream died five years ago. Along with that girl.”
