Page 2

Orla wasn’t a sentimental person, and she’d already welcomed me to the family at my engagement party over a year ago. Perhaps she’d forgotten?

“I appreciate that, Orla. You’ve been so kind to me since we announced our engagement. I’m, um, really excited to join the family.”

If she noticed my small verbal stumble, she didn’t mention it. “Of course, dear. I had to tell you in person. I couldn’t count on my daughter to do it. The only thing she knows how to do is spend my money and take on increasingly appalling lovers.” She glanced to the side. “Ah, there’s Buffy Darlington. Excuse me, but I must go say hi.”

Orla gave my hand one last pat before she left.

I blinked at the empty spot she’d vacated. What the hell just happened?

“You look shell-shocked. What did she say? Did she berate you for wearing heels that make you taller than me?” Jordan reappeared like a ghost materializing out of thin air now that his grandmother was gone. He loved her, but he was also terrified of her. “You know how picky she is about appearances. It doesn’t look good when the woman is taller than the man. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Well, I’m five-ten in flats, so that’s going to be hard,” I quipped. “But no, she didn’t mention my heels.” I gave him a quick summary of our conversation. “Also, I don’t want to alarm you, but is she okay? She looks a little pale, and her hands keep shaking.”

Jordan frowned. “I’m sure she’s fine. She got the flu last week, and she’s still recovering. Of course, she insisted on flying here for the party anyway. She loves any chance to brag about the company and our wedding.” He gulped down the fresh glass of scotch in his hand. “Speaking of which, don’t forget we have dinner with Vuk on Friday to go over some wedding stuff. I booked us a table at that new French bistro in the West Village.”

The champagne soured in my stomach.

Vuk Markovic was Jordan’s old college roommate and best man. I didn’t know him well, but our previous interactions hadn’t been the warmest. In fact, I was pretty sure he despised me.

I had no idea why. I was always friendly and cordial toward him, and I’d never paid attention to the rumors that the powerful CEO was possibly involved in shadier businesses than running the world’s largest liquor and spirits company.

Jordan was one of the best guys I knew. We’d clicked while I was working on the Jacob Ford campaign, and we’d been friends since. He wouldn’t ask someone to be his best man if they weren’t on the up and up. Right?

“Friday in the Village. Got it,” I said. “I’m kind of surprised he’s not here today.”

“Are you?” Jordan sounded skeptical. “Vuk hates parties. I’m pretty sure he thinks the seventh circle of hell is a black-tie gala with live music.”

I laughed. “I don’t know. He’s attended a lot more parties this year.Mode de Vieeven mentioned it in their profile of him last month.”

“True, but I wouldn’t count on that trend continuing. Vuk does what he needs to do for business and that’s it. A garden cocktail party doesn’t fall under that umbrella.” Jordan cursed. “Shit. My grandmother’s staring daggers at me again. I’m going to find some ‘important’ person to talk to before she stabs me with an ice pick. I suppose we can’t be seen next to each other for the rest of the party, or she’ll accuse us of not hosting properly.”

“Same.” We shook hands solemnly, our mouths twitching in an attempt to hold in our laughter. “Good luck, soldier,” I said. “See you on the other side.”

Jordan responded with a laconic two-finger salute. He disappeared into the crowd, and I took a final sip of my drink before I moved toward Stella Alonso and her husband.

I passed by Orla on the way. Her words echoed in my head.

You’re a beautiful couple. I know you’ll take good care of him.

I really did appreciate the sentiment. A lot of people thought she was scary—which she could be—but privately, she was warmer than others gave her credit for.

I returned her smile with another one of my own and ignored the quick twist of guilt in my gut.

Getting Orla’s approval was a big accomplishment, but I suspected she’d be less benevolent if she found out the truth: that my engagement to her grandson was a complete and utter sham.

CHAPTER2

Ayana

That Friday, I showed up as promised at the bistro Jordan booked. The food was delicious, but sadly, it was hard to enjoy even a Michelin-starred meal when the person sitting across from you hated you.

He didn’t say it, of course, but I couldfeelthe animosity rolling off him in waves, and it took all my willpower not to flinch beneath his glare.

I took a sip of water and tried to avoid eye contact while Jordan rambled on about our wedding beside me.

“We secured the castle in Ireland, courtesy of Katrakis,” he said, oblivious to the tension suffocating the table. “Seven hundred guests. Five days in the countryside. Then the Ethiopian ceremony afterward in the States. It’s going to be the wedding of the year, and we’re thrilled. Aren’t we, sweetie?”

“Absolutely.” I smiled.