Page 63

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Go ahead, I’ll text Matthew letting him know I’ll be late.”

I grab the first picture of an elaborate piece with iron spikes and white roses entwined with pearls.

“Hell no!” we both say, as I put the picture on the appropriate pile.

I grab the second one and indicate yes, but it’s a no for Raphael. “Should we put it on the ‘maybe’ pile if we disagree?” I ask him.

“I’ll never agree to tall centerpieces,” he says in a firm tone that piques my curiosity.

“What’s your problem with tall ones?” It’s a peculiar thing to have such a strong opinion about.

“I’ve been to enough galas and formal events to know that a tall centerpiece blocks your view of the person in front of you. If you want to have a conversation you have to bend sideways or just talk to the person sitting next to you. You end upnotwanting to be there,” he explains and I’m mesmerized by his knowledge.

“Wow. I didn’t think about that. Thank God you’re the kind of guy who wants to be involved in these decisions.” I kiss him on the lips, and he smiles.

“I’m glad I can help.” He sweetly pecks my cheek and my stomach flutters with excitement.

Half an hour later, we’ve narrowed it down to three choices.

“Classic white roses, modern white roses with a hint of blue, or a bit more rustic with a variety of white flowers and splashes of lavender?” I ask him.

He frowns in concentration and looks adorable sweeping his gaze from one picture to another, trying to imagine what our wedding will look like.

“Dump the blue one. It’s too modern for my taste,” he says, and I have no doubt about his choice, considering he lives in a gorgeous mansion with stuccos and bright colors reminiscent of the Mediterranean.

“All white or lavender?” I wave the two pictures in front of his face.

“It depends on the wedding venue and style, I suppose. Do you want something fancy in a ballroom or something more casual outdoors?” he asks, and I’m surprised this is something he can envision. Usually, it’s the woman who has her wedding planned to perfection on a Pinterest board. The groom normally just shows up for the ceremony.

“Outdoors. Not a fan of fancy and uptight.” I chuckle.

“We have a winner.” He cheers, picking up the lavender photo and studying it carefully.

“That was easier than I thought,” I admit.

“We’re a good team.” He kisses my lips.

“Yeah,” I agree, but the conviction in my chest wobbles thinking about the lie.

***

Lola follows me out of the car and lands her eyes on Sven. She smiles coyly at him, he smirks as he checks out her low-cut dress showing off her boobs, and I divert my gaze because I feel like I’m intruding in their flirty bubble.

I look around this upscale neighborhood, the street dotted with boutiques I’d never imagined before meeting Raphael. It’s funny how my lifestyle has changed so dramatically in the last months just because of one man. I’m not complaining, but it makes me think about how many sharp turns your life can take. Eight years ago, I had my life figured out with an exact career to pursue and lost everything overnight. Then when I thought I had regained my balance, this other overnight turn put me in a whole new level of craziness.

I look away from the luxury surrounding me and glance at a beaten-up pickup. That’s something I’m more familiar with. It’s such a contrast from the other nice cars parked along the curb that it stands out like a sore thumb. A man inside is staring at me and when he notices me staring back, he adjusts his baseball cap and fumbles with something on the dashboard.

It’s just a fraction of a second, but a chilling feeling expands in my gut. There’s nothing off about him, he wasn’t holding my gaze or anything. I can’t put my finger on why I react this way, and it unsettles me. Maybe catching Raphael lying to me undermined my sense of security more than I thought.

“Are we going in?” Lola’s voice drags me out of my thoughts.

I turn toward her. She and Sven are finally done flirting. He’s back to his professional demeanor, and he doesn’t seem concerned by that pickup.

“Yes, sure.” I smile at her, and turning around to go inside, I glance back at the man and discover he’s not even in his car anymore.

I let out a small sigh of relief and relax my shoulders. I have to remind myself that Raphael took care of my safety and there’s nothing to worry about. That guy just happened to be less rich than most people around here, and a sense of guilt creeps into my chest for judging him by his appearance.

The boutique is one of those high-class places where you can only get in by booking an appointment in advance. They offer a private room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors, white sofas for your guests, and a dais to stand on and admire yourself in the finest gowns on the market. Champagne and macarons are included in the experience.