Eleanor:
The morning sun had barely begun its crawl across San Monclair when I slipped into the car, a briefcase in one hand and my ever-present phone in the other. Today wasn’t about board meetings or empire maintenance. Today was about me—well, the illusion of me—and the farce they insist on calling my wedding.
I adjusted my gloves as the car purred to life. My reflection caught me in the tinted window. Perfectly coiled hair. Sharp brown eyes. Composure nailed down to the last detail. The thought of spending the next week with Reign Sinclair hovering somewhere in the background made my stomach curl with both irritation and an unspoken, inconvenient awareness. I shoved the thought away. Focus, Ellie.
The first stop: an exclusive, and expensive, wedding planner’s office downtown. The mi
