Page 79 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
I sat there—bodily present, but mentally adrift—watching Elena fold her arms around a non-smiling Luca and look up at him like he was her whole world. A guilt so thick it felt suffocating rose inside me, threatening to drown me on the spot.
All I can think about is that her fiancé kissed me—and tried to drag me back into the emotional chaos of whatever we were five years ago, before he rejected me.
And the worst part? It worked.
I didn’t know what she said that was so funny—she was the only one talking—but she laughed anyway. It was a high-pitched sound that filled the gazebo and likely spilled beyond it. She leaned into him,fingers pressed to his chest in a gesture meant to look casual but felt possessive.
And yet, Luca’s gaze never left mine.
It was as though he could read my thoughts, trace every flicker of guilt that bled through my expression. Like he was daring me to flinch. To react. To acknowledge what we’d done. Every reckless, breathless second of it.
He didn’t seem haunted by it. Not like I was. I’d already envisioned a thousand ways this could explode. A thousand different disasters if anyone—especially Elena Moreau—found out her fiancé and her wedding planner had shared a kiss while she was away visiting a sick relative in Europe. And not just any kiss. A ravenous, consuming one that I hadn’t wanted to end.
A sharp motion near my face snapped me out of the spiral.
I blinked, tightening my grip on the tablet in my lap. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Disgust twisted Elena’s features. “Is there something more important on your mind than my wedding right now?”
“I was just trying to recall the tally for the guests after I RSVP’d the new names you emailed,” I replied smoothly, even though my chest was still pounding.
“Oh.” She crossed her legs. “That’s good. And what’s the tally?”
“We’re getting close to sixteen hundred,” I said. “Though Senator Mark emailed back saying he wouldn’t be able to attend—he’s got an important meeting scheduled that same weekend—but he promised to send a delegate.”
She scrunched her face. “I guess a delegate will do.”
Although she’d been away for the week, I’d been working around the clock to get things in order. Her stylist—or whatever Armand was to her—had been of no real help. He barked orders like a drill sergeant and expected me to obey them without question. Now, with just two weeks left until the wedding, we were knee-deep in the final, dire preparations for the wedding of a man who kissed me the day before yesterday on the observatory rooftop. The same man who once looked me in the eye and chose to believe the worst.
Could anything be worse?
“God, I’m already feeling the pressure of this wedding. My nerves are all over the place. It’s a lot of pressure planning a day that’s supposed to be unforgettable,” Elena said, turning to Luca.
Luca spoke for the first time. “But as far as I know, Leila’s always been good at handling high-pressure situations. Isn’t that right?”
His voice was even, but his eyes were on me—steady, unreadable, deliberate.
I swallowed hard, refusing to glance in Luca’s direction.
“It’s no pressure at all.” That was a lie. An obvious one. I wasn’t handling the pressure, no. I was drowning in it.
“How are the other plans coming along?” Elena asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.
“I’ve contacted the electricians to handle lighting and audio at the venue,” I began, forcing my voice steady. “The first test should happen this weekend, and the final one a couple of days before the wedding. Elle’s Luxury Cellar has scheduled an appointment for Wednesday, so you can finalize your champagne selection.” I paused to breathe. “Four of the biggest media outlets across Manhattan and the Bronx are already confirmed to cover the wedding. But Daily Post Media is requesting exclusive access to the…” I hesitated. “To the couple.” The word burned in my mouth. “Final decision is up to you. Both of you.”
Elena made a thoughtful sound, lips pursed as she turned to Luca. “What do you think, babe?”
Babe?
I almost gagged.
But Luca didn’t react. He didn’t even look at her. His eyes remained fixed on me.
“If you want exclusive access to your dressing room, that’s your call,” he said, voice cold, clipped. “But I’m not doing any interviews. Or features. Or anything that turns this into a circus.”
Luca’s gaze on me intensified. “Besides, Leila’s already under enough pressure making sure the day goes perfectly. She doesn’t need the extra noise.” Then he clicked his tongue, voice turning almost taunting. “Oh, I forgot—you don’t feel pressure.”
I shifted in my seat, heat crawling up my neck. And he smirked. He knew exactly what he was doing—reminding me of Saturday night on the rooftop. Of our kiss. Of everything that shouldn’t have happened but did.
