Chapter 5
1399 Words
The dress was still on.
I woke up and that was the first thing I noticed. The second thing I noticed was that I was alone in the honeymoon suite of the Plaza Hotel, lying sideways across a king-sized bed that cost more per night than my rent, still wearing the wedding dress I had put on in a panic six hours ago to save a stranger's fake wedding.
My wedding.
I sat up slowly. The room was bright. Too bright. The curtains were open and the city outside was already moving — all glass and noise and people going about their Tuesday like it was a normal day. I pressed my hand to my forehead and just sat there for a second, trying to remember how a person was supposed to feel after accidentally getting married.
There was no chapter in any planning guide for this.
"You're awake."
I spun around. Dominic Ashford was sitting at the desk in the corner of the suite, already dressed. Full suit. Tie and everything. He had a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other and he was looking at me like I was a problem he was still figuring out how to solve.
"How long have you been up?" I asked.
"A few hours."
"And you just sat there watching me sleep?"
"I was answering emails," he said. "You happened to be in the background."
I looked down at the dress. A long piece of ivory silk. Beautiful. Completely insane. I had slept in it. I pushed myself off the bed and walked to the window because standing still in front of him felt too exposed.
"We need to talk," I said.
"I know."
"About what happened. About what comes next."
"I know."
He said both of those the same way — flat, controlled, like he was reading from a script he had already memorised. I turned around and looked at him. He looked right back. Neither of us said anything for a moment.
I had planned four hundred weddings. I had walked through every possible disaster and fixed most of them before the guests noticed. I had coordinated caterers and florists and officiants and nervous brides and drunk uncles and once, memorably, a dog that ate the wedding rings. I was good at my job because nothing surprised me and nothing made me lose my footing.
I was losing my footing right now.
"I need to get out of this dress," I said.
"There's a robe in the bathroom."
"Thank you."
I went to the bathroom and closed the door and leaned against it with my eyes shut. Breathe, Elena. This is fine. You made a business decision under pressure. It was unorthodox but it was logical. You have handled worse.
I had not handled worse.
I unzipped the dress, stepped out of it carefully, and hung it on the back of the door. Then I put on the robe, looked at myself in the mirror for a long moment, and walked back out.
He had poured a second cup of coffee. It was sitting on the table beside the armchair across from him. I sat down and picked it up.
"My lawyers can have a contract drafted by this afternoon," he said.
"Good," I said. "We need proper terms. Not something written on a seating chart."
"Agreed." He set his phone down. "One year. You live at my penthouse, we attend required events together, we maintain the marriage publicly. When it ends, we end it quietly."
"And my fee?"
He named a number.
I kept my face very still. It was more than I had expected. More than I had even hoped for when I ran the math in my head at eleven the night before.
"Fine," I said.
"You didn't negotiate."
"Neither did you."
He looked at me for a moment. Something moved across his face that I couldn't read. Then he picked up his phone again.
"My driver can take you home after breakfast. I'll have the contract sent to your office by three."
"I'll bring my own lawyer."
"Of course you will."
We ate breakfast from room service without talking much. He read his emails. I made a list on my phone of everything I needed to do — call Maya, go home, pack a bag, call my mother before she heard anything from anyone else. That last one was going to be a whole separate problem.
When the food was cleared and the silence started to feel too long, I stood up.
"I'm going to go," I said.
"My driver—"
"I'll take a cab."
He nodded. He didn't argue. I went to the bedroom to get my things — my clipboard, my phone charger, my bag — and as I was putting everything together I caught sight of the ring on my left hand.
I stopped.
It was a simple platinum band with a single diamond. He had sent it with James right before the ceremony. I had put it on without thinking about it. There had been no time to think about it.
Now I thought about it.
The ring was real. The legal certificate being filed somewhere in this city was real. The kiss was—
I shut that thought down immediately.
It was a wedding kiss. It was performed for three hundred guests and his dying grandmother and a reporter from the New York Times. It meant absolutely nothing beyond the performance it was.
Except.
Except it had lasted too long for a performance. And he had cupped my face like I was something worth being careful with. And when we finally pulled apart I had been dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with nerves.
Stop it, I told myself. Stop it right now.
I put my bag on my shoulder and walked back out. He was standing by the window now, looking at the city. He turned when he heard me.
"I'll see you at three," I said.
"I'll have James send you the address."
"Fine."
I walked to the door. My hand was on the handle when he spoke.
"Elena."
I stopped. I did not turn around.
"Thank you," he said. "For yesterday. What you did — I know it wasn't what you signed up for."
I stood there with my hand on the door handle and my back to him and I said, "It's fine. I'm a professional."
Then I walked out before he could say anything else. Before he could say anything that would make the ring on my finger feel like more than a contract.
In the elevator going down I stared at my reflection in the polished metal doors. My hair was a disaster. My face had the flattened look of someone who hadn't slept properly. I was wearing a robe with the Plaza Hotel logo on the chest.
I was also wearing a ring that I had not taken off.
I didn't take it off in the elevator. I didn't take it off in the cab. I sat in the back seat going crosstown and looked at it in the morning light and told myself the only reason I was still wearing it was because I hadn't had the chance to find somewhere safe to put it.
I almost believed that.
Then my phone buzzed. A message from a number I didn't have saved yet, but I already knew whose it was.
The contract will be ready at 2:45, not 3. Bring your lawyer.
I stared at the message. Then I typed back: I know how to read a clock.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then: I don't doubt it.
I put my phone in my bag and looked out the window. My heart was doing something inconvenient. I pressed my hand flat against my knee and made myself think about the debt I was going to pay off, the calls I needed to make, the practical reality of what came next.
I did not think about the kiss.
I almost succeeded.
My phone buzzed one more time before I could put it away. A different number. One I recognised immediately and had not expected to hear from again.
It was Brian.
My first ex-fiancé. The one who cheated. The one I had not spoken to in two years.
The message was three words.
I saw the pictures.
- Writer
