Chapter 18
HALLIE
Aweek had passed since Shelter Island, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that night.
The way Colt had jolted awake, his whole body rigid with terror. The sweat covering his body. The wild, disoriented look in his eyes, like he didn’t know where he was or who I was.
The nightmare had clearly been bad. Really bad.
I had never experienced that kind of terror. The man had been obviously rocked.
I didn’t know how to help him. When I tried to offer comfort, he actually pushed me away.
He had been so pale with the look of a wild animal in his eyes.
His pupils were dilated with his eyes twitching around the room.
His stance when he jumped out of bed had been with his knees slightly bent and his hands out.
He looked like someone jumping into a boxing ring. He’d been ready for an attack.
Against who? Or what?
I had replayed that moment over and over in my mind all week. Lying in my own bed at my apartment, staring at the ceiling, wondering what demons Colt Jesson carried that could shake him so thoroughly.
I still hadn’t adjusted to the strange limbo of being unemployed. With no work to distract me, I’d become consumed by the mystery of him. The contradiction between the arrogant billionaire who steamrolled over everyone and the broken man who woke up screaming in the middle of the night.
Frankie’s words haunted me. You only see what he lets you see. Don’t hurt him.
Was this what she’d meant? This vulnerability he kept locked away?
I hadn’t seen Colt since we’d returned to the city. He had texted a few times with curt, businesslike messages about upcoming events and logistics. No mention of what had happened. No acknowledgment of the way he’d fled our hotel suite at three in the morning.
It was like it had never happened. Except I couldn’t forget it.
When my phone buzzed with a message saying he’d pick me up in an hour for wedding planning, my stomach did an uncomfortable flip.
I wasn’t ready to see him. Wasn’t ready to face whatever cold, distant version of Colt would show up at my door. But I didn’t have a choice.
I dressed carefully in the outfit that had been delivered that morning. Of course Colt had sent clothes. Black pants, a silk blouse in deep burgundy, heels that were beautiful but would definitely hurt after an hour.
I put on makeup and left my hair down. Did I look like a rich woman? We spent a lot of time in the Hamptons, and I had seen the way those women dressed. I supposed I kind of looked like them.
When the knock came, I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Colt stood there in a dark suit, his expression unreadable. He looked tired, with dark purple shadows under his eyes, but otherwise perfectly put together.
“Ready?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my coat. “Let me just—”
“Car’s waiting.”
So it was going to be like that.
I followed him down to the street where his driver waited with the car. Colt held the door open for me, ever the gentleman when people were watching, but the gesture felt mechanical. Empty.
We rode in silence for the first few minutes. I tried to think of something to say, some way to bridge the distance between us, but everything that came to mind felt wrong.
How are you? Too casual.
About the other night. Too direct.
Are you okay? That was what made him push me away in the first place.
“We have a full day,” Colt said finally, his eyes on his phone. “Florist at nine. Caterer at ten-thirty. Meeting with the event planner at noon. Cake tasting at two. Stationery consultant at four.”
“I’m assuming that last one can’t move,” I said, grinning.
“What?” he asked, not catching my attempt at subtle humor.
“Stationery? Stationary. Never mind.”
He waved my nonsense away impatiently. “This is what planning a wedding in six weeks looks like.” He still wasn’t looking at me. “Especially when it needs to seem legitimate.”
Right. Because none of this was real. It was all an act.
I tried a different approach. Softened my voice, let a little vulnerability show. “Colt, I know we got off on the wrong foot at the hotel. I just wanted to say—”
“There’s nothing to say.” His tone was flat, final. “We’re fine. This is business. Let’s keep it that way.”
My skin felt like I got stung by twenty bees. His words were that powerful.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll shut the fuck up.”
He finally looked at me then, and for just a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
But then it was gone, and he was back to scrolling through his phone like I wasn’t even there.
The florist was a tiny woman named Margot who showed us approximately seven thousand pictures of centerpieces.
“Classic roses are always elegant,” she said, pulling up photo after photo. “Or we could do something more modern—orchids, calla lilies, even succulents if you want something unexpected that the guests can take home and never water.”
I stared at the images, overwhelmed. They all looked beautiful.
They all looked expensive. How was I supposed to choose?
It seemed so wasteful to buy flowers for something that wasn’t real.
I was inclined to pick the cheapest. I just couldn’t bring myself to waste money, even if it wasn’t mine.
Even if the guy had more than any one man should have.
“What do you think?” Margot asked, looking at me expectantly.
“They’re all lovely,” I said dully It didn’t matter what I thought. Colt would just run rough shod over any choices I made.
“We’ll do the roses,” he said, without a hint of uncertainty. “White and cream. Classic. Simple.”
“Wonderful choice.” Margot beamed. “And for the bridal bouquet?”
“Same,” Colt said. “Roses. Keep it cohesive.”
Margot looked at me, clearly expecting input, so I just nodded. What was the point? This wasn’t my real wedding. These weren’t flowers I’d actually carry down the aisle to marry someone I loved. Because honestly, I would have gone for the cala lilies.
“Perfect,” Margot said, making notes. “I’ll have mockups for you by next week.”
The caterer was next. He was an enthusiastic man named Pierre who had strong opinions about everything from appetizers to plating styles.
“The salmon is exquisite,” he said, showing us photos of delicate pink fish arranged artfully on white plates. “Or if you prefer beef, our filet mignon is very popular for weddings.”
“Both,” Colt said. “Give guests a choice.”
“And for vegetarian options?”
“Whatever you recommend.”
Pierre rattled off a dozen more decisions, and Colt made them all with barely a glance at me. Menu items. Wine pairings. Dessert options beyond the cake.
By the time we got to the event planner’s office at noon, my head was spinning.
If this was my actual wedding, I would be pissed he was making all the decisions. But in our current situation, I was glad he was taking the lead.
The wedding planner scared the shit out of me. The woman, Victoria, had mood boards and timelines and seating charts spread across her conference table.
She jotted down notes at lightning speed. “And the wedding party? How many bridesmaids and groomsmen?”
“None,” Colt and I said simultaneously.
It was the first thing we’d agreed on all day.
Victoria’s eyebrows rose. “No wedding party at all?”
“We want to keep it simple,” I said, finding my voice for the first time all morning. “Intimate.”
“Intimate with two hundred guests,” Victoria said dryly, but she made another note. “Alright. That actually simplifies a lot of things. No rehearsal dinner needed, no coordination of dresses and tuxes.”
She went on, but I was barely listening. Two hundred guests. Two hundred people who would watch us lie to their faces and believe this was real. The weight of it was crushing.
“Table settings,” Victoria said, pulling out samples. “We have several options. Classic white linens, or we could do something with color?”
“White,” Colt said. “With gold accents.”
“Centerpieces we already have from the florist.” Victoria was tapping away on her laptop with her tablet on the other side. The woman took multi-tasking to a whole new level. “What about lighting?”
“String lights overhead,” Colt said. “Make it romantic but not over the top.”
Decision after decision, Colt made them all, barely pausing for breath. Font for the invitations. Design for the programs. Color of the table runners. Type of chairs for the ceremony.
I felt like I was a ghost in the room no one could see.
“Hallie?” Victoria’s voice cut through my haunting thoughts. “What do you think about the seating arrangement? Colt suggested long tables, but we could also do rounds—”
“I don’t care.” I realized I sounded like him talking to his people. Sharp. A little rude. Dismissive. “Whatever Colt wants is fine.”
Victoria looked between us, clearly sensing tension.
Colt’s jaw tightened. “Long tables,” he said to Victoria. “We’ll go with long tables.”
“Wonderful. Let me just notes that down.”
“I need some air,” I said, standing abruptly. “Can we take a break?”
“We’re almost done here,” Colt said, his voice tight with frustration. “Just a few more decisions.”
“I need a break.” I grabbed my purse. “I’ll be right back.”
I fled to the hallway, leaning against the wall and trying to breathe. This was too much. All of it. The decisions, the planning, the pretending. The way Colt was treating me like I didn’t exist.
He followed me out a minute later, his expression thunderous. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I said. “Is that allowed? Or is that not in the contract?”
“We have a schedule.”
“Screw your schedule!” My voice rose. “I need a break, Colt. From all of this. From you.”
His expression hardened. “Fine. Take the afternoon off. I’ll handle the cake tasting myself.”
“I need more than an afternoon.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I need to get away. Just for a night. To clear my head.”
“I can arrange something,” he said stiffly. “There’s a spa upstate, very exclusive. I’ll have them prepare a suite.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t want luxury. I don’t want exclusive. I want the opposite of all this.”
He stared at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to the Hamptons,” I said. “To my family’s beach house. And I’m not answering my phone until I come back the day after tomorrow.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, what’s ridiculous is planning a fake wedding to a man who won’t even look at me. Who acts like I don’t exist except when we’re performing for other people.”
“That’s what this is,” Colt shot back. “A performance. You signed up for this.”
“I signed up to play your fiancée. Not to be ignored and steamrolled and treated like a piece of furniture you move around to suit your needs.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “Ever since Shelter Island, you’ve been ice cold with me, and I need space.”
He couldn’t look me in the eyes. If I didn’t know his usual assholeness, I would say he looked embarrassed. But it was gone too quickly for me to be sure.
“Fine,” he said. “Go. Run away.”
The words hit like a slap. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” He turned away. “Go to the Hamptons. I’ll reschedule the remaining appointments.”
“Colt.”
“I said go, Hallie.”
I stood there for a moment, wanting to say something, but there was nothing to say.
So, I left.