Page 59 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
I threw a pillow at her. “I won’t.”
Before leaving, I peeked into Ollie’s room. He was still fast asleep, curled up beneath the covers, his breathing soft and steady.
I pulled the door closed gently behind me.
By the time I reached Moreau Estate, I was half expecting to seeLuca, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Funny how quickly things had shifted. A week ago, I couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same room with him. Now, some reckless part of me kept hoping he’d show up.
But, like the last two meetings Elena and I held over the week, he was a no-show.
I told myself I didn’t care. That his absence was exactly what I wanted.
And yet…the restless flutter in my chest said otherwise.
Maybe he was finally listening. Finally heeding all the times I had told him to stay away. Not to risk my job.
Or maybe…maybe he was still upset about how things ended the last time we saw each other.
I’d been mean. I knew that. But it had come from panic, not malice.
He was in my house. With my son. His son.
The one he didn’t know about.
The one I was still keeping secret from everyone.
My brain had short-circuited the second his eyes landed on Ollie. I’d been on edge the entire time, coiled so tight it hurt to breathe. And then he asked.
That did it.
I exploded.
The words that flew out of me that day, they weren’t all true. Most of them were armor. Panic disguised as cruelty. And now, a week later, I would’ve given anything to take them back.
But even through the chaos of that visit, I’d seen it—something undeniable in how they moved around each other. Ollie got along with almost everyone. He was that kind of kid, Open, cheerful, warm. Even Blaze adored him.
But with Luca, it was different.
He didn’t just like him. He gravitated toward him. Trusted him too quickly, smiled too easily. The way he mirrored Luca’s expressions, the questions he asked, how he leaned into his space without fear, like his instincts recognized something his mind couldn’t name.
That kind of connection couldn’t be faked.
As Elena and I began discussing details for the rehearsal dinner, I heard footsteps approaching. It was an unfamiliar man, stylishly dressed in multiple colors and details that screamed luxury.
He didn’t so much as glance at me. He made a beeline straight for Elena, who squealed at the sight of him like he was the long-lost love of her life.
They exchanged ear-splitting pleasantries while I stood off to the side like the invisible intern. Eventually, they seemed to remember someone else was present.
“Leila, this is Armand,” Elena said, flicking her manicured fingers in my direction like she was introducing a table lamp. “He’s my stylist-slash-miracle-worker-slash-genius. He’ll be curating the entire aesthetic for the wedding.”
Armand gave me a single, almost imperceptible nod before producing his iPad with a theatrical flourish.
“I’m thinking Versailles meets St. Tropez,” Elena said, eyes gleaming like she’d just solved world hunger. “But not too French, obviously. And absolutely no pastels. Pastels are for baby showers and girls with no taste.”
I nodded once, even though I didn’t fully understand what any of that meant.
“The venue is fine, but it needs elevation. Right now, it feels like a charity gala. I want royal, Leila. Dripping in diamonds. Soul-crushing elegance.”
“Of course,” I said with a polite smile. “I’d be happy to coordinate with Armand on the logistics. Have you and Luca—I mean, your fiancé—settled on a color palette?”
