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WREN
“Ms. Foster?”
I jolt, sitting upright in my office chair, and look towards the woman across my desk. From the delicate pout on her perfectly made-up lips, it’s not the first time she called my name. Miles sits next to her, attention on his phone in front of him and I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent sighing at the unwelcome reminder of my reality.
“I’m sorry, Lacey. What would you suggest? You’re the wedding planner after all.”
Lacey arrived at my office over an hour ago now with eyes full of hearts and a sunny disposition that has yet to wane in spite of my lack of interest. When Miles arrived, she took his half-assed comments in stride, apparently used to the groom-to-be’s disinterest. But the bubbly blonde isn’t as used to the bride’s lack of care, and I think I’m finally getting to her.
She nudges the binder closer to me, fabric swatches in various shades of pink paired with complementary greens. “Surely you have a favorite? Victorian rose garden is the theme of the season, and with your budget, your wedding will be the event of Newgate.”
I give the colors a thin smile, barely concealing my distaste. Is she serious? Even if those are the most fashionable colors right now, they’re going to make me look washed out and horrible.
“I prefer a classic look,” I say at last, pushing the binder back towards her. Her blue eyes go wide at my protest. “Whites and silvers. Simple.”
Miles snorts, and my eyes shoot to him. He’s tucking his phone into his jacket pocket and eyeing me skeptically.
“We will not be having a boring wedding, darling.” He turns to Lacey, and graces her with a charming smile that has her blushing prettily and I hold back a scoff. He’d fuck her in the elevator if he could, I’m sure.
The thought freezes me. I’ve never been this callous or crude towards him, even in the privacy of my thoughts.
“Lacey, why don’t you leave this binder with us and I’ll make sure my fiancée makes every selection you need. Then we can meet again for, say, lunch, this weekend, to go over it?”
He stands, offering her a hand up which she accepts with a blustering thanks. As he escorts her to my office door, I flip the offending wedding planning binder closed and turn to my computer, pulling up my emails. I’ve spent the morning lost in memories of two nights ago–as I did yesterday too. Which means I’m behind on projects which need my attention, projects I refuse to let falter just because I’ll be expected to give up my position after my sham of a wedding.
I scroll to the oldest unread email and click it, scanning it and absolutely refusing to think about the ache in my thighs from Landon’s marks. Or how I’m constantly wet now, because any time I move my legs, the twinges of pain remind me of the sheer bliss Landon gave me.
“What the hell is going on with you, Wren?”
“Excuse me?” I don’t bother looking at Miles, who’s come to stand in front of my desk again. I type out a quick response to the email and open the next.
“With the wedding planner. I expect you to take some interest in it.”
This time I let myself snort and twist in my chair to face him, and lean back, crossing one knee over the other. “And why would you expect me to take interest in planning a wedding that I have no interest in?”
Miles’ face dapples with red, marring his perfect rich playboy appearance. Really, he is a conventionally attractive man, and I can understand why Lacey was so charmed by him. But he’s so… plain. There’s nothing special about him. I don’t even understand how he’s worked his way up to be so vital to my father.
“This is a very important–”
I hold up my hand. “Let me stop you right there.” He sputters, his face growing more red as he’s confronted with the same expression I give every other too self-important man I’ve faced down in my career.
I stand up, bracing myself by flattening both hands on my desk and looking him square in the eye, ignoring the bite of the awful engagement ring on my left hand.
“This wedding is nothing more than a deal between you and my father. There is nothing between us, and I have no interest in there ever being anything between us beyond mutual respect. We will be married in name only, and if I can avoid being legally married to you, I promise you–I am looking into that.” A shadow overcomes Miles’ eyes and he mirrors me, posting up on the other side of my desk, meeting my glare with one of his own. Finally I’m seeing a hint of a personality from him.
“Oh, we will be legally married, Wren. And it will be a real marriage. You will be my wife and you will be having my children, and everyone in this city will think it’s wonderful how much you adore me.”
I narrow my eyes, my lip curling slightly. The idea of sleeping with Miles revolts me. A month ago, when I theorized this possibility to Niamh, I didn’t care one way or another. Suggesting I could simply lie back and think of my favorite book scene, but now? After Landon destroying and remaking my entire world? Even the idea of letting this man kiss me at the altar makes me recoil.
“If I must have children, there’s artificial insemination,” I spit out. “I’m more than wealthy enough to afford it. You will not be touching me.”
Miles stares hard, his eyes dark and his sharp jaw clenched with irritation. I don’t back down though, even as I struggle not to vibrate with anger. If I back down, he’ll think he’s won, and he will never win. I’ll never submit to him.
He shoves off my desk, straightening and squaring his shoulders as if he’s a linebacker readying for a play. He won’t be taking me down though. He tugs the bottom of his suit jacket, and with a sniff, gives me a cruel, knowing look.
“We’ll see about that,” he tells me, his voice suddenly full of arrogance. “I’m meeting with your father this evening. I’m sure he’ll be interested in hearing how eager you have been to plan our wedding. He’s already been extending invitations to most of the Newgate council members.”
I bare my teeth in a fierce semblance of a smile, refusing to be intimidated even if a swirl of sour sickness is dripping down my throat into my stomach.
