Chapter 3 - The Meeting
1763 Words
Ava didn’t remember sitting down. One moment she was standing, coffee halfway to her lips, and the next she was in her chair, staring at the screen like it had delivered some cruel punchline.
The cursor blinked beside his name—Nathaniel Hart—mocking her with every silent pulse and tap.
It had to be a mistake. A sick coincidence. Surely there was more than one Nathan Hart in Manhattan. Right? A doppelganger maybe? Or was this some twisted cosmic joke?
But then she met Annalise’s gaze across the desk, and the sympathy in her eyes said it all.
“It’s him,” Ava said softly, more statement than question.
Annalise nodded; arms crossed like she was bracing herself for the impact too. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but I double-checked. It’s Nathan Hart. Architect. Hart family The whole nine yards.”
Ava stared at the email again, as if looking long enough would rewrite the words on the screen.
Bride: Camille Fairchild
Groom: Nathaniel Hart
Location: The Fairchild Estate, Upper East Side
Preferred Planner: Ava Martinez
Requested Timeline: 8 weeks
Budget: Uncapped
Uncapped. Of course. Because for people like Camille and Nathan, love was just another luxury item to throw money at. Another curated i********: moment. A photo-worthy spectacle.
Not something you protected. Not something you bled for.
“I’m sorry,” Annalise said, her voice now gentler. “I wouldn’t have brought it to you if I’d known right away. I only opened the email this morning. I’ll call to cancel immediately…”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Ava cut in. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “I suspect that this would be the biggest wedding we’ve ever planned. And let’s face it—we need the money. “She lied smoothly. “It’s fine. It’s just another wedding.”
But it wasn’t.
This wasn’t florals and guest counts and lighting logistics. This was personal. This was the past clawing its way back into the room, wearing a white lace and carrying a custom - save-the-date.
Camille Fairchild.
She had always been present at the periphery, like a bad omen. That glossy kind of beauty money can buy—silken hair, couture smiles, effortless elegance. Back then, she had hovered just close enough to make Ava question everything.
And now?
Now she was the bride.
And Nathan?
He was marrying her.
Ava set the coffee cup down with a trembling hand. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts spiraling.
What was she supposed to do? Smile through cake tastings and venue walkthroughs, pretending she hadn’t once cried herself to sleep over a man who left without even saying goodbye? Pretend she didn’t spend years building herself back from heartbreak?
Part of her wanted to cancel. To invent a flu, an emergency, anything. But then—her mother’s voice rang in her head. Steady. Fierce.
Ava Martinez doesn’t run.
Not from clients. Not from the past. Not even from Nathan Hart.
“This is what they want right?” she asked finally. “Me?”
Annalise hesitated. “They said your name specifically. Camille said she’s followed your work for years. Said you were the best.”
The best.
A hollow kind of vindication settled in her chest. The best at what? Fixing things? Delivering someone else’s dream while hers stayed buried? Handing over heart to her?
Ava turned her gaze to the window, the cityscape stretching endlessly beyond the glass. She had built a fortress in this office. A life. She had made a name for herself on her own terms, brick by determined brick. And now fate was knocking—wearing an ivory Vera Wang and carrying Nathan’s last name.
She should say no.
She should walk away and never look back.
But a part of her—small, dangerous, hungry for justice—wanted to say yes.
Wanted to show them both exactly who she had become.
Not the girl from the Bronx with starry eyes and a fragile heart.
But the woman who could stand in front of the man who shattered her and not flinch.
The woman who would plan the perfect wedding—for someone else—and walk away with her head held high.
She was an independent woman now, a financial powerhouse. Not the starry-eyed girl he had left heart broken several years ago.
Let them playhouse. Let them have their picture-perfect day. Ava would make sure every detail was flawless.
Because nothing says I’m over you like planning your ex’s wedding and making it unforgettable.
“Forward me the email,” she said, voice clear, clipped, professional. “I’ll take a look.”
Annalise blinked. “You sure?”
No. She wasn’t sure of anything.
But she nodded anyway. “Let’s give them the fairytale they rightly deserve.”
Her phone buzzed again.
New Email: Wedding Planning Inquiry – Fairchild & Hart
And like a slow-motion train wreck, she clicked it open.
Her pulse thudded in her ears as the message loaded.
There it was.
The beginning of the one job she never thought she’d take.
The beginning of everything.
**************************************************************************************************** Ava turned side to side in front of the mirror as Annalise supervised, half amused, half militant.
“Stand still,” Annalise huffed, tugging gently at the hem of Ava’s cream silk blouse. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your own skin.”
“Because I am,” Ava muttered, brushing invisible lint off her high-waisted navy trousers. “Remind me why I let you talk me into this outfit? I look like I’m about to walk into a Chanel ad shoot. It looks too serious and up tight in my opinion.”
“Exactly.” Annalise stepped back and crossed her arms. “Which is why we’re going with it. You’re not going in there looking like the girl he left behind. You’re going in there looking like the woman he never deserved. The CEO of Ava’s Events – Bespoke Weddings & Moments and the best wedding planner in Manhattan”
Ava sighed, fiddling with the gold clasp on her bracelet. “He won’t even notice. Men like Nathan only remember what serves them.”
“Maybe.” Annalise handed her a compact powder. “But Camille will. And that’s all that truly matters, in my opinion.” She chipped in with a curt and defiant smile.
Ava’s best friend, Jonas, had chimed in earlier that morning too—loudly, via FaceTime. He was halfway through his spinach smoothie and his morning gym routine when Annalise roped him into the emergency fashion consultation. He was far more stylish than she had ever been, right from high school. He always knew how to style flea-market bought pieces with an air of style and panache that left people guessing,
“You’re going to war, Ava,” he had declared dramatically. “You need armor. You need polish. You need that clean, rich-woman-who-burned-you-in-her-will aesthetic.”
And now, here she was. Hair in soft, voluminous waves. Minimal jewelry. A bold red lip, not screaming for attention but enough to say don’t underestimate me. She looked expensive. Composed. Like heartbreak was something that happened to other people.
But inside, her heart was racing like a warning drum. She felt like she might collapse at the sight of Nathan. She was scared, but she had to pull this off. Failure to do this would make her weak and helpless and rob her of the closure she rightly deserved.
Annalise pressed her hands lightly onto Ava’s shoulders and met her gaze in the mirror. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” Ava said quietly. “Not for them. For me.”
Because she had run from that pain once. Hid from it. Let it define her silence. But this time? She would walk into it—head held high—and come out the other side even stronger.
She took one last breath, grabbed her tablet, and walked toward the door with Annalise.
The Fairchild Building sat like a crown jewel on the Upper East Side—glassy, pristine, intimidating in its silent opulence. Security buzzed her in without question, and a young receptionist directed her to the twelfth floor where the meeting room was reserved.
Ava stepped into the glass elevator and stared straight ahead as the numbers ticked upward. The soft hum of classical music had an unsettling effect on her did little to soothe her nerves.
“You’ve got this,” Annalise whispered beside her. “Just another bride. Just another meeting.”
Except it wasn’t.
The elevator doors slid open. And there she was.
Camille Fairchild.
Seated elegantly at a marble conference table, Camille Fairchild rose with the grace of someone born into attention. She looked… exactly as Ava remembered. Impossibly poised. Beautiful. Affluent. Designer everything. Her blonde hair tucked into a sleek low bun. Skin like porcelain. The kind of woman who always looked like she’d just stepped off a yacht, even in February.
“Ava!” Camille beamed, walking forward in Louboutin heels that barely made a sound. “I am so, so thrilled you came. Good to see you after all these years”
Ava smiled with practiced ease and extended her hand. “Thank you for reaching out.”
They shook. Firm, polite. Ava’s eyes flicked around. No sign of Nathan.
“I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the building,” Camille offered, gesturing to the chair across from her. “We just renovated this floor. My father insisted on the marble. Personally, I preferred travertine, but—he’s a man who loves to make statements.”
Ava gave a polite nod. “Of course. It’s beautiful.”
Camille sat, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll get right to it. I’ve admired your work for years, Ava. Your events are… elegant, sophisticated, magical. Everything I’ve dreamed my wedding would be. When Nathan proposed, I told him I had only one non-negotiable—you as the planner. Quite a transformation, Ava. I must say, you weren’t always this... poised. Your turnaround is quite impressive – I must add. You were nothing like this in college. I am so fascinated by your recent success and upgrade” She rolled her eyes and feigned a smile that made Annalise uncomfortable
A flicker of something cold passed through Ava, but she smiled. “I’m flattered. That means a lot.”
Camille leaned in slightly. “I know this must be… unusual. Considering your history with Nathan.”
- Writer
