Scarlette
Vaughn smiles at me in amusement when I blink at him in surprise. “This is your first time to not say hi to me when I come in. Should I be worried?”
I can only smile weakly while hiding my unease. I know he’s just teasing, and he doesn’t really care (he never has) if I notice him or not, but I can’t believe I’ve just ignored Vaughn, whom I’ve been crushing on my entire life.
Is this, like, the Lykan Qahiri Syndrome? And if it is, I need to find out a cure. ASAP.
“Sorry,” I say awkwardly, pushing my cold coffee around in circles. “Just thinking.”
Vaughn pulls out the chair across from me and sits down, his worn leather messenger bag dropping to the floor beside him.
Today’s cardigan is forest green with—surprise, surprise—leather patches at the elbows.
His light brown hair is rumpled as always, like he just rolled out of bed after a night with his favorite Hemingway novel.
“About?” he prompts, signaling to Grandma Jackie for his usual order.
How to answer that?
Oh, nothing much, just how I’ve apparently agreed to marry a billionaire sheikh who might be demolishing this bakery unless I go through with our fake engagement, and oh by the way, I’m suddenly questioning my lifelong crush on you because one kiss from him made me feel more than fifteen years of pining after you ever did?
Yeah, that would go over well.
“HR stuff.” This is not a lie. Right? “You know how it is.” I mean, he’s part of HR, by virtue of being, well, human.
Vaughn chuckles. “Like the time you included that fake employee in the newsletter?”
“Noh E. Tall was a valued team member,” I say primly, and Vaughn’s laugh—the one I’ve memorized like my favorite song—makes me smile despite everything.
This is familiar. This is safe. This is what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Easy banter with the boy who’s starred in every daydream I’ve had since I was sixteen. The boy who’s always been completely oblivious to my feelings.
So why does it suddenly feel... not enough?
“You’ve got whipped cream on your face,” Vaughn says, leaning forward.
Before I can react, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, wiping away a dot of cream from my coffee. It’s an innocent gesture, one he’s done a hundred times before.
And I feel...nothing.
No electric tingles. No racing heart. No burning blush.
Just...nothing.
What is happening to me? Could Lykhan Qahiri Syndrome be really a thing?
“Seriously, though,” Vaughn says, leaning forward. “You seem different today. Everything okay?”
I take a deep breath. Might as well get this over with.
“I’m engaged,” I blurt out.
Vaughn freezes, coffee mug halfway to his lips. “You’re what?”
“Engaged. To be married.”
“To who?” The mug clinks loudly against the table. “Since when do you even date? I thought you were—”
He stops abruptly, and I raise my eyebrows. “Thought I was what?”
Vaughn looks suddenly flustered. “You know. Focused on your career.”
Or hopelessly hung up on you? I almost say, but swallow the words.
“His name is Lykan Qahiri—”
Vaughn, who’s always been rather proud of not knowing anyone with more than four digits in their bank balance, actually cuts me off, asking, “Not the sheikh, surely?”
I blink in surprise. “You know him?”
“Everyone who reads a newspaper knows of him.”
“Uh, right.” Says the same man who also used to be proud of not reading the papers because it’s all paid B.S. Or so he used to say. But maybe he’s changed recently, and I just didn’t notice?
“How did you meet him?”
“At work.” I work hard to meet his gaze as I say this. People look away when they lie, and this is not a lie...even if it feels like one. “It all happened pretty fast.”
“Fast, huh.”
The strange edge to his voice is impossible to ignore, but I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Everyone who’s been a regular of this bakery—heck, maybe even the entire town of Chisa—knows I’ve been into him since forever.
But he’s never even cared to acknowledge it. So why is he acting so weird right now?
“Like what, a whirlwind office romance?”
I almost laugh at how wrong he is. There’s nothing romantic about our arrangement. It’s a business deal, plain and simple. Except for the part where Lykan’s kiss turned my brain to mush and my knees to jelly...
Oh, dear.
“Something like that.” The memories have me mumbling and squirming, and even without Vaughn saying a word, I know he’s completely misinterpreting everything.
“This doesn’t sound like you, Scar.” Vaughn stares at me, his blue eyes intense behind his glasses. “You don’t do impulsive. You’re the girl who color-codes her planner and makes pros and cons lists before buying coffee beans.”
I know he means well, but does he notice how condescending he sound?
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Even though my tone is soft, it still has Vaughn stiffening, and I can’t blame him, really. I’ve never answered him back like this. I’ve always bitten my lip around him, wanting to agree with everything he says in the hopes that it will, I don’t know, finally notice I’m a girl?
Pathetic, Scar.
That’s what I’ve been all these years, and I guess, if there’s one thing I can be grateful for about this engagement sham, it’s for opening my eyes to the truth.
“Is he pressuring you?”
It’s Vaughn’s abrupt tone, more than his words, that catch me by surprise.
“Is that what this is about?”
Oh, and he’s actually serious—
I hastily shake my head. “No, of course not, it’s nothing like that.”
“Because if you’re in some kind of trouble—”
“We’re in love!”
Vaughn freezes.
And...so do I.
Because I can’t believe I just said that.
But...it’s just...Vaughn...I mean...
“You’re in love. ”
The way he stresses the last two words makes me want to bristle for some reason, and that’s never happened to me before either. I used to adore everything Vaughn says and does. So why does everything feel so different now?
I lift my chin. “Yes, Vaughn. I’m in love, and that’s why we’re getting married in three weeks—”
“Three weeks?” Vaughn’s voice rises enough that several heads turn our way. He lowers it again. “Scar, that’s insane. You can’t marry someone you just met.”
Wait a minute.
The sharpness of his tone makes me look at him. Like, really look at him, and I can’t help but wonder.
Is Vaughn actually...jealous?
But that’s not possible.
Is it?
I mean, he’s always been there for me, but he’s never been into me.
Never.
In fact, I can’t even count the number of times he’s indirectly but oh-so-politely let me know this, with how he always emphasizes what a good friend I am to him, or how I’m like the baby sister he doesn’t have but didn’t knew he wanted.
“You need to think this through,” Vaughn insists.
“I already have—”
“Clearly not enough,” Vaughn derides, “if you still insist on marrying him.”
“I’m not insisting—”
“Lykan Qahiri—”
“It’s actually Sheikh Lykan—”
Vaughn gives me the evil eye.
“But you can call him Lykan, too, because we’re all going to be friends.”
“He’s from a different world, Scar.”
“You make him sound like an alien,” I protest.
“He might as well be,” Vaughn snaps. “Men like him see themselves as above the law. They see something they want, they take it. No matter what.”
Don’t look away, Scar.
Because what Vaughn just said is pretty much my so-called love story with Lykan Qahiri in a nutshell. He came, he saw, he blackmailed.
“I know what I’m doing.” Really.
Vaughn opens his mouth to argue, but the bell over the bakery door chimes, and the words die on his lips.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. The entire atmosphere of the bakery shifts, conversations dropping to whispers, heads turning toward the door. Even the sunlight streaming through the windows seems to dim in deference.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and my skin prickles with awareness.
Lykan .
I turn slowly in my chair, and there he is, framed in the doorway like he’s stepped out of a fashion magazine.
He’s wearing this simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms, and he’s matched it with dark jeans that somehow look expensive, just because he’s the one wearing them.
He looks both completely out of place and like he owns everything his gaze touches.
Including me.
His eyes find mine immediately, and for a second, there’s something almost like relief in them. Then his gaze shifts to Vaughn, and I swear the temperature in the bakery drops ten degrees.
I stand up so quickly my chair nearly topples over. “Sheikh Qahiri,” I say, my voice higher than normal.
The entire bakery goes silent. Every head turns. Every conversation freezes mid-sentence.
Lykan’s lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hello, habibti .”
I have no idea what that means, but it sounds sweet. And forbidden.
He starts to move, and I bite back a nervous laugh at the way the crowd instinctively parts for him, like prey animals sensing a wolf in their midst.
Which he is, technically.
“I hope I am not interrupting something?”
His tone is deceptively light, but the way he curves an arm around my waist when he reaches me speaks volumes.
I mean, I may be a relationship virgin—well, okay, I’m a virgin in every way—but even I know when someone’s staking a claim, and so I shake my head right away, just to make it clear that there is no cause for trouble.
“We were just catching up,” I say brightly, “and I was just telling Vaughn about the good news.” I look at Vaughn, willing him to understand what I’m saying without words. Just say the words, Vaughn. Wish us well. Just say it so this stops being awkward! Just say con-gra-tu-
“I just remembered a previous engagement,” Vaughn says curtly. “See you around, Scar.”
And before I realize what he’s doing, Vaughn’s already kissed my cheek, and I can feel Lykan stiffening next to me as Vaughn walks away.
What in the world...
I don’t understand.
Could Vaughn really be...jealous?
Clap. Clap. Clap.
“Alright now, show’s over, back to your seats everyone.”