6. Saar
Chapter 6
Saar
“ I want owls as ring bearers.” I inspect my nails like my manicure is my only care.
The boardroom is bright with the sun coming in through the large skylights above us. Everything around us—the large conference table, the surrounding chairs, the low cabinets, and even the carafe with water—is sleek, luxurious, and designed to make you feel comfortable enough to spend more money.
I’m not spending my money, so I’m quite comfortable.
I have sat in similar offices many times. Ad agencies, creative boutiques, designer shops. This one isn’t any different. But it is. It’s all white and beige and pastel colors, and so sweet it’s slightly sickening.
But I guess all wedding planner offices are like this one. And maybe if I was an actual bride I would appreciate the theme.
“Owls?” Cynthia, the senior consultant assigned to work with me, asks.
“Yes.” I don’t even look up.
I almost feel sorry for her, but I’m sure she is used to all sorts of brides. Blushing, excited, nervous, and demanding.
I’m demanding alright, but my demands have nothing to do with my dying desire to make my special day the best ever.
The petite brunette’s smile is tight, but she writes my ridiculous demand down. “We’ll look into it. We have reputable falconers in our database. I’m sure there are owls trained to deliver.”
It takes a lot not to show my shock. Goddammit.
I didn’t expect Betsy to set up this appointment. I guess Quinn is really in a hurry to get this done, and Betsy is set to deliver in style.
I’ll give them style. I grab my phone and search for the most ridiculous wedding ideas.
I don’t even know why I’m doing it. Like rebelling would get me to my financial freedom faster.
I still can’t believe Vito talked me into this. I still wasn’t completely on board with the idea of a fake marriage, let alone one with Cormac Quinn.
When he sauntered in with his light brown hairstyle in that sexy, effortless way, with his cocky smirk, and unfairly gorgeous face, it was satisfying to storm out of there. I didn’t get far. Vito reminded me about my debt and the urgency of the situation. He listed the jobs he had lined up as my alternative.
And then he presented Corm as my fastest and least painful option, because where am I going to find a husband this fast?
“It really is a blessing, Principessa,” he said, and I reluctantly returned to the table.
And I’ve been feeling like I lost ever since.
When I teased Corm to prove to Betsy I could deliver the illusion of a loving couple, my palm sensed the muscles under that suit, and something carnal awakened in me.
Stupid body completely betrayed my brain. And when he pulled me up and yanked me to him? Since when do I enjoy being manhandled like that? The dominance bleeds from his every move, every action, every word.
I love it.
I hate it.
I’m screwed.
I had to bail out of there, because being around him for an extended period is a hazard. And now I’ll have to live with him.
The whole encounter felt like a loss, and I hate losing. Feeling desperate—and a bit confused, thanks to my body’s reaction—I left with my head high, and with one last utterly stupid demand.
I don’t want any wedding. Let alone the large, lavish wedding I pretend to plan here.
But here I am, abusing the woman across from me with nonsense, and she doesn’t even flinch. Is my groom really willing to pay for all of this?
What a waste that would be. What exactly did Quinn tell her when he hired her? Will he even see these demands? God, the man infuriates me.
The Morrigan.
A goddess of unrest and war, she also foretells doom, death, or victory in battle. Well, I foretell that I’m going to win this one. Fuck him.
And why is The Morrigan the only word he says in the hottest Irish accent? His parents came from Ireland, but he grew up here. When he said it, I felt the lilting quality of the soft sound down to my core.
I groan.
“Are you okay?” Cynthia pours me a glass of water and smiles, tossing her shiny, high ponytail extension over her shoulder. “Planning a wedding is nerve-wracking, but rest assured, we will help to alleviate a lot of the stress for you.”
“Will you get me another groom?” I blurt out, and she startles.
Shit. I guess she believes this is for real. I snatch the glass and gulp the water, emptying it.
She rushes around the table and sits beside me, tentatively patting my arm. “Tension between the couple is very common during the wedding planning. Do you want me to book you a session with our relationship coach?”
Jesus. Mary. Joseph. “Will Corm have to attend as well?” I bat my lashes.
“Ideally, yes. You’re going through this together.”
I bite my lip. Game on. “I’d very much like that. Will you make sure it gets scheduled as soon as possible?”
“Of course, Saar. Do you want to take a break?”
I wish I could be the fly on the wall when he finds out I booked this. He wouldn’t say “deal” like he’d tossed around during our last meeting.
“No, let’s continue. I’d like the groom’s party to wear superhero costumes. Do you think Corm is an Ironman? Or a Hulk?” I scrunch my lips to the side, feigning that I’m thinking hard. “Green would suit him well.”
Cynthia blinks a few times. “Let’s park the attire ideas for our next session, once we confirm the colors. What about the menu? If we go with the best chefs in the country, or fly a Michelin-starred chef from Europe, we need to confirm as soon as possible.”
“I want a fair. People expect gourmet meals. I want to surprise them.” I really shouldn’t have this much fun with this. I’ll have to go through with this wedding after all. But it’s not like he’d ever approve this. Would he?
Cynthia chuckles nervously. “You want carnival food at your wedding?”
“Isn’t that a fabulous idea?” I shimmy my shoulders. Cynthia tries to hide her horror while I try to stay in character. “We could have a bouncy castle at the reception.”
You got your goddess of war, asshole.
“A delivery? What is it?” I hold my phone to my ear, about to push the front door of Cora’s bistro open.
New York seems to have remembered it was April, and the sun given way to the more familiar wind. I turn to protect myself, not wanting to enter the place while talking on the phone.
“I’m at the airport, principessa; just give me your address,” Vito urges.
For some reason, I don’t want him to know where I live. That I’m crashing at my friend’s.
He knows of my desperate situation, but I told him I’m staying at my brother’s. I don’t want to explain why I lied. Mostly because I don’t even know why.
“I’m not there, anyway. Have it delivered to Cora’s bistro. I’ll text you the address.” And hopefully, the delivery will get lost. It’s from Betsy’s office, so it won’t be anything I want.
“Okay, it should be there in an hour. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Have a safe flight, Vito. I miss you already.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I talk to the lawyers. And Saar?”
“Hm?” I huddle closer to the entrance, like that could save me from the gusts of wind.
“Don’t piss off the groom. You need him.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“You’d better. Ciao.”
“Finally,” Celeste squeals as soon as I push the door and get inside.
She waves her arms like there are crowds between me and her table. Cora’s bistro is actually quite empty. I glance at my watch and wave at Sanjay.
Sitting at our usual table, Celeste looks plump, glowing, a very pregnant and happy self. Always super elegant, her chestnut hair is blow-dried, falling in waves to her shoulders, and she’s wearing a lovely green dress.
God, I missed her. My meeting with Cynthia invigorated me enough to finally agree to join my friends for our usual chat and coffee.
I rush over to hug her. “Don’t stand up. You look…” I search for the right word, regretting that I started the sentence.
“Huge is the word you’re looking for, chérie ,” Celeste says in her lovely French accent, laughing and perfectly comfortable.
“I thought you’re not supposed to say that to a pregnant woman.” I sit beside her.
I don’t have one maternal bone in my body, but seeing Celeste with her swollen belly, and knowing this is my brother’s baby too, I love the munchkin already.
I stare at her stomach. She married my brother out of necessity, and they still found their happily-ever-after. They hated each other at first. Like me and Corm.
A shiver runs through me. Was I really venturing into that territory? There is no me and Corm. I’m not looking for romance, let alone with him. And yet… he snakes his arm around me once—to deliver a threat!—and my mind wanders?
“Why are you glaring at your future niece or nephew?” Celeste puts her hands on her stomach.
Shit. “Sorry, babe, I got lost in my thoughts. Are you sick of people wanting to touch it?”
“Do you want to touch my belly?” She tilts her head, her eyes narrowed.
I want to refuse, but reach my hand out regardless. Celeste smiles, that content smile that makes her glow even more, and places my hand over her stomach.
And nothing.
My hand is on my friend’s stomach. Should I feel something? I swallow. This is awkward.
Celeste laughs. “The baby isn’t moving right now. The only thing you might feel is my gas.”
“Ew.” I snatch my hand back, but we both laugh. “Why do people want to touch it anyway?”
“I don’t know. The weirdest thing is, strangers ask to do it. The other day, I had to tell a woman she could touch my belly if I could touch her boobs.”
I snort. “Did she take you up on that offer?”
Celeste waves her hand, grinning. “Enough about me being a beached whale. How are you?”
Yeah, being high on my wedding planning sabotage got me to meet my friends, but am I ready to tell them what a failure I am?
“I’m good. Where are Lily and Cora?” I deflect.
But Celeste knows me, and she draws her eyebrows together, pursing her lips. She studies me for a moment, but then decides not to pry. Thank God.
“Cora is in the back for a delivery, and strangely, Lily is late.”
“But that has always been my superpower.”
“I wouldn’t call your tardiness a superpower.” Celeste cackles, but before I retort, Lily enters.
She adjusts her hideous glasses and rushes over to us. “I’m sorry I’m late. I overslept. How are you?”
I wish there was a simple answer to that simple question.
“Here you are.” Cora emerges from behind the counter and sits down. “It feels like we haven’t seen each other for ages.”
“It’s nice to hang out together finally,” Lily says.
She joined our little group only last year, when she first worked for Cora. And proved to be absolutely useless as a waitress, but quite loyal and fun as a friend. Cora had to fire her, but she didn’t let her disappear from our lives.
“How long have you been in New York now?” I ask Lily.
“For about a year, why?”
“You still didn’t find a good hairdresser?” I tease.
Seriously, the woman is beautiful, but she wears grandma glasses, and her pixie cut looks like she chopped it with a pair of blunt scissors.
“Saar,” Celeste reprimands.
“What?” I shrug. “We’re friends, someone needs to tell her that hiding her beauty behind those glasses and that cut is a travesty.”
Lily lowers her gaze, wringing her hands. Cora and Celeste are glaring at me. Fuck. I’m so worried about becoming the topic of this conversation that I offend to avoid playing defense.
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Lils, that was—”
“I’m okay with the way I look. Not everyone is a model.” Lily shrugs and turns to get Sanjay’s attention.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” She winks, smiling.
Sanjay comes with a tray full of coffees and treats. “I took the liberty of preparing your usuals, ladies.”
“He’s a godsend.” Cora sighs blissfully and takes her cup of Americano.
“What’s going on, Saar?” Celeste asks, leaving no room for deflection. “You’ve been avoiding us, and you’re clearly in your I-don’t-care-about-anyone phase that flares up when you’re struggling with something.”
“Thank you for your unsolicited psych analysis,” I grumble, sagging in my chair.
“Case in point,” Cora deadpans.
I shake my head. I shouldn’t have come here. “I can’t talk about it. I was right staying alone until I figure it out.”
“Or maybe you don’t have to hide and let us help,” Lily suggests, making me feel even worse for teasing her.
“Okay, spill it.” Celeste pokes me with her elbow, always ready to offer some tough love. “You will feel better.”
“We won’t judge you,” Cora reminds me.
I know they won’t, but that doesn’t make it easier to accept the current mess of my life. I cradle my cup of latte, staring at the white foam for a few moments.
“Fuck it. My accountant…” I look at Celeste. “You can’t tell any of this to Cal.”
Her face softens with compassion. She was my friend before she married my brother. Why do I keep forgetting that? I can trust her. I can trust these women.
I still can’t face them, so I look down at my untouched cup. “My accountant embezzled from me; I’m broke. To access my trust fund, I have to be married. My manager found me a groom.” I finally lift my gaze. “I’m getting married. Ta-da.” I raise my arms above my head.
I giggle nervously, bracing for their contempt, judgment, or disappointment.
“Fuck,” Lily says, shaking her head.
“When did the marriage part happen?” Cora asks.
“What do you mean? You knew about the rest?” Celeste’s eyes dart between us.
“I knew about the money, and that she worries she will have duck lips.” Give it to Cora to help smooth the edges of a difficult topic. Or just bring some levity.
Lily snorts, spitting out some of her beverage. She pounds her fist on her chest. “What are duck lips?”
“What you get when you go to those discount places in the malls to inject you with collagen,” I explain.
Around the table, my friends’ features are wary from being shocked, surprised, compassionate, and perhaps indignant on my behalf. I don’t quite understand why I feel so uncomfortable sharing with them.
I grew up in a house where my father would punish me for showing any weakness or making a mistake. He would ridicule me, berate me, or ignore me for weeks if he was displeased with me.
I worked for years in an environment where my needs and ideas were not relevant. Where my willingness to follow simple orders was rewarded. Where I was more a prop than a person.
She’s not a prop.
Corm’s indignation on my behalf, his defense shocked me. Nobody. Nobody ever stood up for me like that.
Vito might have sometimes, but he mostly tried to rebuild my dignity after work. My manager helped me grow a thicker skin. Perhaps become too indifferent. I guess I’m a survivor after all.
But Corm, whom I’ve never even tried to be nice to, stood up for me. And I don’t know what to do with that. I didn’t need a knight to save me, but when one showed up, it formed a crack in my cynical wall.
So I responded the only way I could: I rebelled. I don’t want to be grateful to him. I don’t want to be impressed by his actions. I don’t want to be thinking about him. Period.
“Okay, let’s back up here.” Celeste turns to me, her chair squeaking as she tries to maneuver her body to angle it properly. She looks at me with so much love I almost recoil. “Thank you for trusting us, and sharing with us.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat and nod, unable to find my voice.
“Let’s unravel this one bomb at a time though. And Cal will not find out until you’re ready to tell him,” Celeste reassures me. “Merde, I wish I could drink. How bad is the money situation?”
I sum up the bleak situation and even bleaker prognosis. As I talk, I wonder how I let things get this far. “I’ve been stupid really—”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” Celeste interrupts. “Can we help?”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t need your money.”
“Yes, you do,” Cora says. “But I guess that leads us to bomb number two.”
“Who is the lucky man?” Lily asks.
I finally take a sip from my now cold coffee. “Cormac Quinn.”
“Merde,” Celeste swears again. She had her own grievances with Cal’s business partner.
“But you hate each other.” Lily gasps.
I fidget. “Hate is a strong word.” I didn’t realize my animosity toward him was public knowledge. I mean, Lily met him once, I think.
“I saw you two at Celeste’s vow renewal. You didn’t speak, just glared at each other,” Lily says.
“I disagree. I think Quinn was looking at Saar like she was his meal.” Cora chuckles.
“Wasn’t he?” Celeste perks up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Have you seen the media coverage? Every woman is a potential meal for him. Nevertheless, us not liking each other is a good prerequisite for a successful arrangement.”
Celeste raises her eyebrows, tilting her head like I’m full of bullshit.
I huff with exasperation. “I’m not going to fall in love with him like you did with Cal.”
“So what’s his angle?” Celeste asks.
“He needs his image repaired with a docile, smiling wife on his side.” I nip a piece from Celeste’s croissant.
She swats at my hand. “Hey, I’m eating for two. And Cal doesn’t know you’re the bride?”
Yeah, that’s a bridge I’m not too keen to cross. “I hope he’ll take it as well as you.”
“He works with Corm, and he doesn’t know yet?” Celeste gasps.
“Nobody knows yet.”
Celeste sighs, and I whip my head to her. “Don’t you cave. I need to tell him myself.”
“Of course, but don’t take too long, because that’s a hard one to keep to myself.” Celeste takes a generous bite of her pastry.
We sit in silence. My friends probably absorbing the news. Me? I guess I’m also absorbing.
The enormity of it. The absurdity of it. The finality of it all.
I lost my freedom in the last few weeks.
Moneyless. Jobless. Simply less. That’s who I am at the moment.
“Isn’t it weird this group doesn’t seem to believe in marrying for love?” Lily breaks the silence.
“No complaints here,” Celeste murmurs.
Cora chuckles. “Celeste married to get her visa. You to get your trust fund. Perhaps I should marry to make this business profitable?”
“You can make this business profitable without a man,” I retort, annoyed by her summary.
Celeste might have married to gain something, but what she ended up gaining was love.
I may just gain ulcers from the stress of being around the man. Your teeth are not sharp enough, The Morrigan.
How does he deliver a threat, an insult, and stand up for me, all in one meeting? Asshole.
A gust of wind swooshes through the restaurant, and a delivery man looks around and heads to the counter.
Sanjay immediately points to our table. I completely forgot about my call with Vito.
“Saar van den Linden?” The man asks.
“That’s me.”
He leaves as soon as I sign for a small cube-shaped box.
My friends crane their heads. It’s not from Betsy. It’s from Cormac. I rip off the tape and pull out a small black box. A ring-bearing jewelry box.
Of course, he takes any opportunity to remind me this is just business.
I shake my head and snap it open. Glancing down at the solitaire, my stomach turns. It’s absurd. No, it’s obscene.
The diamond is the size of a small country. It catches the light in every direction, sparkling like it’s trying to outshine the sun itself, as if this entire charade could be masked by the brilliance of one ridiculous rock.
I take it out of the box. Fuck, it’s heavy. Just like everything about this transaction. For some outlandish reason, I slide it on my finger. The delicate platinum band wraps around my finger like a trap, cold and hard.
I could probably buy a house with this thing—or a small island, maybe. He could’ve gone for something understated, something that wouldn’t scream fake from a mile away. But of course, he wouldn’t do anything subtle.
It’s like he wants everyone to know exactly how much power he has, how much control. However fake our relationship is, this ring isn’t a symbol of commitment—it’s a symbol of ownership.
And it’s glaring at me from my hand like a taunt. Is this his response to my ridiculous wedding plans?
“Well, a romantic he is not.” Celeste snorts. “And kind of careless to just send it over. You might need a bodyguard to wear that thing.”
“That thing is going to break your finger.” Lily leans across the table to have a better look. “It must be at least ten carats.”
“How would you know?” Cora peeks at my hand. “It’s blinding.”
I yank the ring off my finger and return it to the box. I’m not sure what he was trying to prove, but I’m sure I don’t like it.
Again, I feel like he won a round. And where does that leave me?
Moneyless. Jobless. Simply less. Cormac Quinn’s fake fiancée.