Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Leila’s POV
I’d been dreading Monday morning. Dreading this meeting with Elena. I’d been dreading it since yesterday—ever since I packed up and bolted out of Manhattan like I was being chased by a ghost. Like running would make me forget the way he kissed me. And the way I kissed him back.
Guilt assailed me.
I sat there—bodily present, but mentally adrift—watching Elena fold her arms around a non-smiling Luca and look up at him like he was her whole world. A guilt so thick it felt suffocating rose inside me, threatening to drown me on the spot.
All I can think about is that her fiancé kissed me—and tried to drag me back into the emotional chaos of whatever we were five years ago, before he rejected me.
And the worst part? It worked.
I didn’t know what she said that was so funny—she was the only one talking—but she laughed anyway. It was a high-pitched sound that filled the gazebo and likely spilled beyond it. She leaned into him, fingers pressed to his chest in a gesture meant to look casual but felt possessive.
And yet, Luca’s gaze never left mine.
It was as though he could read my thoughts, trace every flicker of guilt that bled through my expression. Like he was daring me to flinch. To react. To acknowledge what we’d done. Every reckless, breathless second of it.
He didn’t seem haunted by it. Not like I was.
I’d already envisioned a thousand ways this could explode.
A thousand different disasters if anyone—especially Elena Moreau—found out her fiancé and her wedding planner had shared a kiss while she was away visiting a sick relative in Europe.
And not just any kiss. A ravenous, consuming one that I hadn’t wanted to end.
A sharp motion near my face snapped me out of the spiral.
I blinked, tightening my grip on the tablet in my lap. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Disgust twisted Elena’s features. “Is there something more important on your mind than my wedding right now?”
“I was just trying to recall the tally for the guests after I RSVP’d the new names you emailed,” I replied smoothly, even though my chest was still pounding.
“Oh.” She crossed her legs. “That’s good. And what’s the tally?”
“We’re getting close to sixteen hundred,” I said. “Though Senator Mark emailed back saying he wouldn’t be able to attend—he’s got an important meeting scheduled that same weekend—but he promised to send a delegate.”
She scrunched her face. “I guess a delegate will do.”
Although she’d been away for the week, I’d been working around the clock to get things in order.
Her stylist—or whatever Armand was to her—had been of no real help.
He barked orders like a drill sergeant and expected me to obey them without question.
Now, with just two weeks left until the wedding, we were knee-deep in the final, dire preparations for the wedding of a man who kissed me the day before yesterday on the observatory rooftop.
The same man who once looked me in the eye and chose to believe the worst.
Could anything be worse?
“God, I’m already feeling the pressure of this wedding. My nerves are all over the place. It’s a lot of pressure planning a day that’s supposed to be unforgettable,” Elena said, turning to Luca.
Luca spoke for the first time. “But as far as I know, Leila’s always been good at handling high-pressure situations. Isn’t that right?”
His voice was even, but his eyes were on me—steady, unreadable, deliberate.
I swallowed hard, refusing to glance in Luca’s direction.
“It’s no pressure at all.” That was a lie. An obvious one. I wasn’t handling the pressure, no. I was drowning in it.
“How are the other plans coming along?” Elena asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.
“I’ve contacted the electricians to handle lighting and audio at the venue,” I began, forcing my voice steady.
“The first test should happen this weekend, and the final one a couple of days before the wedding. Elle’s Luxury Cellar has scheduled an appointment for Wednesday, so you can finalize your champagne selection.
” I paused to breathe. “Four of the biggest media outlets across Manhattan and the Bronx are already confirmed to cover the wedding. But Daily Post Media is requesting exclusive access to the…” I hesitated.
“To the couple.” The word burned in my mouth.
“Final decision is up to you. Both of you.”
Elena made a thoughtful sound, lips pursed as she turned to Luca. “What do you think, babe?”
Babe?
I almost gagged.
But Luca didn’t react. He didn’t even look at her. His eyes remained fixed on me.
“If you want exclusive access to your dressing room, that’s your call,” he said, voice cold, clipped. “But I’m not doing any interviews. Or features. Or anything that turns this into a circus.”
Luca’s gaze on me intensified. “Besides, Leila’s already under enough pressure making sure the day goes perfectly. She doesn’t need the extra noise.” Then he clicked his tongue, voice turning almost taunting. “Oh, I forgot—you don’t feel pressure.”
I shifted in my seat, heat crawling up my neck. And he smirked. He knew exactly what he was doing—reminding me of Saturday night on the rooftop. Of our kiss. Of everything that shouldn’t have happened but did.
He wanted a reaction.
And fuck me, I was giving him one.
“Well, if the press wants a show, I say give them one.” Elena turned back to me, unfazed. “Tell them they can cover my bridal shower, too. I want it all over the news.”
“Sure.” I jotted it down quickly on my tablet, willing my hand not to shake.
“How’s the paintings for the art gallery walkthrough?”
Ah. That.
In line with her theme, Extravaganza, Elena didn’t want florals or balloons. No, she wanted a visual masterpiece for the reception—an immersive art experience featuring the finest works from renowned creatives. If she could beam her wedding across the solar system, she would’ve done it already.
“I’d already reached out to a leading creative director in the Bronx, one who owned the largest gallery in the borough. We’d scheduled a walkthrough for tomorrow, where you could preview and make your final selections.”
“Why tomorrow?” Elena asked, brow arching after I gave her the update. “Let’s do it today. I’ve got my third bridal shower fitting and who knows how long that’s going to take. And Wednesday is booked with Elle’s Luxury Cellar.”
I glanced at my watch—deliberately—hoping she’d catch the implication.
“It’s already past five.”
“And so?” she said, completely missing it.
“And so I have dinner plans.”
Something shifted—no, tightened, in Luca’s gaze. His jaw ticced, his eyes narrowing on me with a precision that made my pulse falter.
“Dinner plans with who?” His voice was clipped, controlled. But I heard the edge in it.
Elena turned to him, blinking. “Who cares who she has dinner plans with?” she said with a laugh. “As long as she doesn’t miss tomorrow’s walkthrough.”
“No,” Luca said, his tone deceptively even. “Let’s do the walkthrough today. It’s better that way—less room for last-minute changes.” He didn’t take his eyes off me. “You said the gallery’s ready, right?”
My throat went dry. “Yes, but—”
“Perfect,” He cut me off. “Then let’s go now.”
I hesitated, pulse thudding. I could say no. I should say no. But Luca’s stare held me in place, daring me to object.
I forced a smile. “I’ll text the gallery owner. Let him know we’re on our way.”
Elena lit up. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. My wedding should be your top priority right now.”
I forced a smile her way, still deliberately avoiding Luca’s gaze.
Elena stood, smoothing her dress. “Shall we—”
Her phone rang, cutting through her sentence. She answered with a huff, pressing the phone to her ear—and whatever the person on the other end said made her eyes bulge like saucers.
“She did what?”
Her voice pitched higher, horrified. For a second, I thought something terrible had happened. Maybe the sick relative she’d gone to visit last week had taken a turn for the worse.
“What do you mean she accidentally ripped my dress? My bridal shower is in a week! There’s not enough time to make a new one!”
All that commotion…over a dress?
The sympathy I’d briefly begun to feel shriveled in my chest. If I could yank it back and stomp it out, I would have.
A few more dramatic minutes passed—her voice rising and falling as she ranted into the phone, pacing the space like a disoriented peacock. When the call finally ended, she looked murderous. Her jaw was locked, lips drawn into a thin, furious line.
“I have to go to the boutique,” she snapped, snatching her purse from the table.
Internally, I sighed in relief. That was a crisis I didn’t mind watching unfold. I’d just dodged what would’ve been an excruciating evening—Elena draping herself over Luca in public while I pretended not to exist. I felt victory bloom faintly in my chest.
But then she kept talking. And just like that, the tiny flame of relief was snuffed out.
“But you and Luca can go ahead. So many things are already going wrong, and this art gallery walkthrough cannot be one of them.”
I stilled.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the movement of Luca leaning back with ease, a lazy smirk unfurling across his face.
God, I hated the smugness curling on his lips right now.
“Um, Elena…are you sure?” I blurted, grasping at straws. “We can totally reschedule for when you’re free. I mean—wouldn’t you want to choose the pieces yourself?”
She waved a hand like the whole thing bored her. “I trust Luca to handle it. He has good taste.”
Then, with an air kiss toward Luca, she added, “I’ll see you later.”
He offered her a noncommittal smile, barely bothering to rise from his seat.
And then she was gone. Leaving me.
With him.
And the colossal elephant now stretching its legs in the room.
The moment her footsteps faded, silence wrapped around me—thick and suffocating. Dread twisted in my chest like a coil tightening with each breath. I could feel him without looking.