Sweat beads my palm; I wipe it on the silky fabric of my dress. My knees knock together and my throat dries.
"Victoria, honey, are you okay?"
Amelie grips my shoulder.
"Why don’t you sit down?" She leads me to an armchair pushed up into an alcove of the hallway a few feet away.
I sink into it. She keeps her hand on mine, and takes the seat next to me.
I draw in a breath, then another.
She grabs a bottle of water from the antique table in front of us, unscrews the cap, and hands it to me. I take a grateful sip.
"Better?"
I nod, then lower the bottle. "Is my make-up okay?"
She surveys my face, "You’re always perfect, V."
I shake my head. If she only knew.
I reach over, place the bottle on the table.
She squeezes my hand, "Now, tell me why you were having that panic attack."
"I wasn’t."
She stares at me. "Is this to do with Saint?"
A giggle bubbles up, "What in my life isn’t to do with him right now?"
"It’s normal for newly-weds to feel overwhelmed."
Not like this, it’s not. I squeeze my fingers together around the bag in my lap.
"When are you guys going on your honeymoon?"
"There’s not going to be any honeymoon."
She frowns. "Of course, there is. Saint asked Meredith to book tickets to—" she snaps her mouth shut. "Ugh, sorry. Did I give away a secret?"
I toss my head, "Doesn’t matter. Saint’s good at putting on a show.”
She peers up at me from under her eyelashes. "You know that’s not true… I mean, all the Seven are consummate actors and jerks—"
"And a-holes of the first order."
She nods, "But you saw how hard Sin fell for Summer and see how devoted Jace is to Sienna. When they fall, they fall hard. They don't stop until they've swept their women off their feet."
I shift in my seat. "It’s really, really not like that. All this…" I wave a hand in the air, "is an act.’
"Saint said you’d say that," she nods.
"When did you talk to him?" I stare at her.
"Umm." She changes position, "I wasn’t going to tell you, but—"
"But?"
"—seeing as how much of a tizzy you’ve got yourself into, you should know—"
"What?" Don’t tell me, don’t. Please. "What is it?" I scowl.
"Remember when I ran into you outside the 7A offices that night?"
"Yeah…" my voice trails off. Shit. I don’t want to hear this, I don’t. I grip the arm of my chair.
"What do you think I was doing there at that time of the evening?"
"I thought that…" my voice trails off, "...that you’d come to meet Weston?"
”That ridiculous, selfish, no-good reprobate?"
Uh, oh. "Strike that." I wave my hand in the air.
"Why would you even think I’d arrived for a rendezvous with Weston?” she grumbles.
Nice, one. I’ve put my foot in my mouth now, haven’t I? "Forget it," I mumble.
She glares at me.
"Honestly, Amelie," I lean forward, take her hand in mine, “I didn’t mean to piss you off, but there’s chemistry between you two…" And that's putting it mildly.
"I’ve barely had a single conversation with the man, and anyway," she sniffs, "this isn’t about me and Weston."
"Right," I snatch up another bottle of water and hand it to her.
She uncaps it, drinks from it, then sighs, "So, as I was saying... I was there that night because Saint called me and asked me to come by. He thought you could do with some company."
"Hold on…" I reach for my bottle of water, press it to my aching temples. "He asked you run into me?"
She twists her mouth, "He told me to pretend it was a chance meeting."
After he’d told me he didn’t want me and allowed me to assume that he wasn’t accepting my proposition... My head spins. I squint at her, "You’re not making any sense."
"You’re telling me?" She chugs down more water. "He swore me to secrecy."
"And you agreed?"
She reddens, "Hey, I thought it was romantic. Besides, he told me that he’d—" she chews on her lower lip.
"What?" I peruse her features. "He made you a deal?"
"He said," her gaze flicks away, then back to my face, "that I’d get to make the wedding cake, and take credit for it. He said he’d ensure all the media would cover the event and my name would be mentioned."
"But the wedding ceremony was impromptu…"
"Not the one that's about to take place.”
"Oh?" I frown, then stiffen, "Oh."
She nods and her features scrunch up, "He's been...uh... planning this for a few weeks. He—ah!—" She shuffles her feet. "He wanted to surprise you with a society wedding that'd get a lot of attention."
"Oh, he did, did he?" I growl. The nerve of the man. How dare he take me for granted? There’s a bitterness to my voice that I can’t disguise when I ask her, "Did he also pay you to friend me?"
"Of course, not." She sits up straight. "Look V, I swear, he only wanted to make it special for you."
I snort.
"Besides," she wriggles around trying to find a more comfortable position. "I could hardly turn him down."
"Of course, not," I echo her.
She stiffens, "It's not easy, trying to make it on your own."
"You bet, it isn't."
She scowls, "It's cut-throat out there." She waves her hand in the air, "Think of what this kind of exposure could do for my business."
I stare at her, "I'm thinking a lot of things, all right."
She reddens. "Please try to understand, V. I mean, if you guys were going to get married, then why not keep the catering for the wedding in the family, huh?"
"I suppose Isla's doing the wedding planning?" I ask.
She glances away, then back at me.
"Of course, she is," I scowl.
I suppose that makes sense too. I mean why look outside when the talent is in your circle of friends? So why does it feel like a bloody betrayal? I place the cap on the bottle, screw it back in place with deliberate precision.
