Page 31

LIA

“ I f you’d let me keep my stripper heels, this dress wouldn’t need so much pinning,” I said, over a wall of tulle poof, at Arnold.

Rhaim had texted me good morning at seven AM, and I’d texted him back a screenshot of Arnold’s calendar for me for the day, which earned an Ooof from him—because it was wall-to-wall wedding planning.

“Or, you could buy me some new Louboutin’s?” I offered instead, rising up on my toes precipitously—making the poor seamstress working at my hemline curse.

The one upshot of getting married off to a terrifically older man like some sort of prized cow, was that Marcus’s mother wasn’t still around to get a vote.

But then, neither did I—Arnold was very much running the show.

He contemplated the dress from all angles. “I think half-an-inch longer. And can we do something about the sleeves?” he pleaded with the dress maker.

“No,” I said. “I’m a modest woman, believe it or not.”

He gave me the kind of look that said he’d picked a sex toy off of my bed yesterday.

“We’re preserving the dress’s silhouette,” the dress maker said, sounding sharp. I didn’t think she was on my side so much as she didn’t want to pop the sleeves off of this fancy-ass dress in under two weeks, but I would take any quarter I could find.

On a sliding scale where one was a casual-court-house-elopement and ten was a fairytale-princess, the dress was a three thousand—it was just a shame it didn’t come with a godmother of my own.

Then again, I was kind of dating someone from the God father , soooo….

“Will I get a tiara?” I wondered aloud, just to see if Arnold was going all-in.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, just below where his glasses landed. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

After that it was a cake-tasting—another event from which my fiancé was happily, but also somewhat creepily, absent for—and then we went to a florist and picked out dramatic designs.

I started off wondering just what I could get away with, and when I found out it was quite a lot…I went all in. Mostly in the hopes that if Marcus saw the bill before the wedding, there was a chance he’d have a heart-attack, and save Rhaim and I a lot of trouble.

But after that was a catering trip and by the end of the day I’d started almost feeling bad for Arnold, who was clearly highly invested, but also a little out of his depth.

“Never been married?” I asked him, right before a driver took us to the restaurant where I’d get the chance to meet my forthcoming step-kids for the first time.

“No.”

“Any siblings who’ve been married?”

“No. But neither have you,” he said.

“Yes, but I’m a girl. We come with this shit pre-installed.”

“I’ve planned state dinners before.”

“Oh good then!” I said, clapping my hands and giving him a fake grin. “I’ll let you pick out the forks.”

I could see him swallowing his words as the car we were in pulled over to drop me off. “Tomorrow you’ve got an interview with the New York Chronicle.”

I gasped without thinking. It was the newspaper where Isabelle had worked. But Arnold thought I was impressed, instead. “That’s right. And they’re going to want to hear every detail about today. Don’t skimp—make sure they’ve got enough for at least five inches.”

“I’ll chew the poor woman’s ear off,” I promised, then got out of the car.

I didn’t have to wait at the hostess stand—they saw me coming, and ushered me to a table at the back of a dimly lit room, where two men—a blond and a brunette who were close to me in age—were seating. When they saw me coming, the brunette elbowed the other, to make him look up from his phone.

I took a seat and smiled at them. “I’m Lia. Nice to meet you,” I said, offering my hand out to the one beside me first.

He was the one with lighter hair, and he didn’t put his phone away, just set it on the table with the screen down. “Zane,” he said, ignoring my hand and giving me a nod.

“Weston,” said the darker haired one, after shaking my hand. “You can call me Wes.”

“Thank you, Wes,” I said, navigating my napkin beneath the table.

“So, like—have you ever shot someone?” Zane asked, giving me a look, while idly playing with his fork.

“Excuse me?”

“Or if you haven’t—maybe like, your dad?”

I inhaled and ratcheted my smile up another notch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We saw you on TV. And we know, of course, that you have to say all that,” Zane went on, gesturing between himself and his sibling. “But—we’re friends here, right?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I mean, you’re going to be family,” Wes said, nodding eagerly.

They were trying to rile me, obviously, but I had been swimming with sharks since I was thirteen.

I rocked back in my seat. “Sounds like one of you is wearing a wire,” I said with prim menace.

Zane lurched forward at that. “Want to go into the bathroom with me to find out?”

Wes hissed and elbowed his brother, hard.

“Have you two been playing good-cop, bad-cop since birth?” I wondered aloud—and that made Zane laugh.

“Maybe, yeah,” he said, then looked past me. “Here comes dad.”

I twisted over my shoulder in time to see Marcus’s arrival.

“Sorry for being late,” he said, dropping a kiss the top of my head like it was nothing—and for a split-second everything that was in me wanted to revolt.

Flip the table, stab him with a steak-knife, scrape that one part of my scalp off with a fork—but I managed to catch myself in time and give him my best Stepford Wife smile as he sat down.

“I see you’ve met my boys,” he said.

“Yes—they were just asking me about my family’s criminal record,” I said.

Marcus turned to glare at them at once.

“What a rat,” Zane said with dismay.

“And how was your trip to the doctor?” Wes asked, trying to take control of the conversation back.

I scrunched my face in distaste. “I’m not entirely sure why the whole state of New York needs to know I got a pap smear and my annual, but, I guess that’s where we are.”

That earned me the kind of horrified look that let me know while Wes had been birthed by a vagina, and near a vagina by virtue of his name or money, he hadn’t earned the right to be called a man yet—where as Zane just wildly snickered.

“Yes, well,” Marcus said, taking the proffered menu from the waiter. “Moving on,” he said, ignoring the digression entirely.

I got the thrill of ordering for myself, but then after that was largely treated like a useless appendage. Seeing as I wasn’t vying for wife-or-mother of the year, I shouldn’t have minded, but it was frustrating to be sidelined.

Then again—it wasn’t worth making friends with the man my actual boyfriend was going to have to murder, really.

So I ate quietly, swallowing my thoughts and feelings along with my food, while the three of them discussed sports and politicians that I’d never bothered to care about.

I paid attention, just in case there was anything I heard that could help Rhaim—but no one present seemed to have any dire allergies to bees or shellfish, or be scheduled to get their solo pilot’s license any time soon.

“And how was your day?” Zane bothered to ask before dessert. I knew he didn’t actually care—he just wanted to hear what inconsequential things I’d been forced to attend to.

“Nothing but wedding planning. With Arnold.”

“And how did that go?” Marcus asked, slightly more kindly. “I know you’ve got an interview with the Chronicle tomorrow?—”

I was bracing to tell him the details of my day—when he got a phone call. He glanced down and sighed. “I’ve got to take this—I’ll be right back—go on without me,” he said, standing up and abandoning me to his sons.

“So?” Zane pressed, eyes glittering, and I decided to cut to the chase.

“Look, I’m well aware we’re all the same age. I’m not asking to be your mom, here.”

Wes gave Zane a look. “That’s good—our mom was kind of a bitch.”

“But you’ve gotta admit, this looks pretty transactional,” Zane continued. “You butting in, looping your pussy around our dad’s neck—then you pop out a kid?—”

I only barely refrained from a full body shudder. “Trust me, I have an IUD,” I lied. “And it is never coming out.”

“Then what do you get out of the deal?” Weston asked.

“Same thing you do,” I said, sipping my water. “An inheritance. And—the chance to wear more beige than I’ve ever owned in my life.”

Wes sputtered—and Zane snickered.

By the time Marcus came back, his question was forgotten, and he tossed a card out to pay the bill. “I trust tonight was satisfactory?” he asked our group, as though he were a waiter.

“Yeah,” Wes said, while Zane shrugged his shoulder.

“Whatever,” Zane said—and Marcus offered me his hand.

I grit my teeth and took it, letting him lead me back through the restaurant, as I kept on a very forced smile.

“Would you like to come back to our place for a nightcap?” Marcus asked, once we were outside.

“No—I want to prepare for my interview,” I said, aiming for just the right amount of vapidity to sell it, and already summoning my own car.

“Suit yourself,” he said, as their driver arrived.

Then he pulled me in for a kiss and I squealed, a queasy mixture of off-balance, surprised, and horrified.

I fought without thinking, which only made him laugh, setting me back more carefully on my heels, where I straightened my dress without thinking.

“See you soon, Arnold will be in touch,” he said, getting into the front seat of the car, while Wes and Zane made for the back.

“Nice to meet you, mom, ” Wes said, and I couldn’t help it, it made me flinch—whereas Zane walked by like a shark, on his way to the streetside door.

“That ass is satisfactory,” he muttered, where he knew only I could hear him.

Somehow I managed to bite my tongue and wave them off.