9. Brook
“Iswear he had second thoughts, and what’s worse—it scared me. Like there’s a part of me that really wanted to go through with it.”
I almost whimper and my friend Saar squeezes my hand.
“Of course you did. You needed to get married and stop your horrible grandmother from distributing her wealth to spread evil.”
The small bistro down the street from the dance school is almost empty at this time of day, the lunch hour finished and the dinner crowd not yet pushing in.
“I made you a plate of tapas to enjoy with your wine.” Cora, the owner, puts a tray in front of us. “Are you going to dance?”
“Yes, I’m taking my friend.” I introduce Saar to Cora.
“I wish I could join you.” Cora sighs.
Ever since I started coming here I enjoyed the food, but mostly the company of the feisty owner. Today, the spark is dimmed in her eyes.
“You’ll join us one day. You work too hard.” I try to give her an encouraging smile.
She put her life on hold to run this place, founded by her grandfather, after her father got sick.
“Yes, one day I’ll have people working for me and I’ll dance every day.” She utters a humorless chuckle.
“That sounds like a brilliant plan.” Saar raises her glass.
“Enjoy, ladies, I better go catch up on paperwork before the evening rush starts.” Cora smiles at us and trudges behind the small bar counter.
“She seems nice,” Saar comments.
“Yeah. She’s wonderful. But so busy, she has no time to enjoy her life. Hopefully she can join us for the class soon.”
I smooth my dress. My fucking wedding dress.
After the ceremony, Baldo tipped the clerk to take a few pictures of us. We posed, pretending to be a genuine couple, and then we left.
Baldo announced he had business to take care of and got me a cab. I went home, picked up my dance bag and messaged Saar. She has been wanting to try my burlesque class for a while, and I could use the company.
I didn’t change clothes. I was going to but… Fuck me if I know why I didn’t.
I’m grateful Saar is here because I needed someone who’s not family to listen to me, to accept the situation and help me sort through my feelings.
Without judgment. Without reservations. Without well-meant opinions.
I wish she could be here more often, but she’s a model and her life is mostly in Europe. The irony is, we lived on the same side of the pond, at times in the same city, but our paths never crossed before.
I met Saar through Paris because she’s Finn’s sister. We bonded quickly in more ways than one—the youngest siblings, a love of dancing and clubbing, and our less than stellar track record with men.
“When he hesitated, the girl who didn’t end up with Baldo Cassinetti reappeared from somewhere and wanted it to be real. I worried I’m going to lose him again. Not that I have him. Or even want him. It was just a moment of…” I groan. “I don’t know.”
Saar bites into her carrot stick. “You were overwhelmed. From what you’ve told me…” She counts on her fingers. “He got a haircut. He had a store opened to get you a dress, and then he got you a ring because you made an off-hand comment about wanting one. My panties are melting and I haven’t even met the man.”
“Not just any ring.” I sigh, extending my fingers to admire the jewel.
“Not just any ring. It’s breathtaking.”
“That’s not what I mean. Way back when, I told him that I never wanted a diamond like everyone else. That I wanted a ruby. And he promised me—when we were seventeen—that one day he’d propose with a ruby.” I swallow the memory. “Is this some cruel joke he is playing? Like getting me a ruby for a fake wedding to rub it in my face that we never really happened?”
“Oh, Brook, sweetie, you’re overthinking it.” She may want to calm me, but she worries her bottom lip.
“Saar?”
“It’s nothing.” She takes a sip of her wine. “Well… I doubt this is a ring that he bought on a whim. It looks custom made.”
I wish she didn’t voice my concern. A ruby by itself would send a message. But it would be practically impossible for him to get it in the few days since his proposal.
Then again, he had a boutique opened for us on a few minutes’ notice, so perhaps he could command a jeweler the same way.
What does it mean? And why can’t I ask him? Baldo used to be the easiest person to talk to, and now… I feel completely out of my element when around him.
“Yeah, either it’s an elaborate fuck you message he put a lot of thought and money into, or… I don’t want to contemplate the alternative.”
I pop a cheese cube with an olive into my mouth.
The creamy texture of the cheese perfectly mixes with the briny, slightly tangy bite of the olive, and I try to focus on the rich taste instead of the turmoil in my head.
Jesus, I don’t even like olives.
And I don’t get anywhere early.
Or tongue-tied.
What the hell have you done to me, Baldo Cassinetti?
“Or he’s doing all those things because he wants a second chance.” Saar shrugs.
“That’s not happening.” I’m not even sure why I’m so determined to keep it that way. “Our parents would never approve. Mom asked us to keep the marriage a secret from Dad.”
“I can see how it’s weird for them, but at the end of the day, they would want you to be happy.”
Happiness is the last thing I feel when around Baldo.
Lust? Maybe.
Resentment? For sure.
Hope? Unfortunately.
“Half of the time he looks at me like I’m his arch-nemesis, anyway.”
“You just said a part of you wanted—”
“I’m trying to tell you I need saving because the situation has made me insane. The man is hot, but also infuriating. And there is so much history, we wouldn’t even finish discussing it by the time the year is over and he’ll return to his normal life. Besides, he’s my brother.”
“Whatever you say.” Saar raises her hands, but she sounds as sure about my determination as I am. Which isn’t much.
“Let’s go clubbing tonight.” I huff and take another olive.
Because apparently I now love olives.
* * *
“Celeste Delacroix?” Saar squeals the minute we enter the studio.
“Merde, that’s an unexpected surprise.” Celeste, the dance teacher, claps her hands. “Saar. How long has it been?”
“Too long.” My two friends hug each other, giggling.
“Apparently, no introductions are needed.” I grin.
“Years ago, Celeste choreographed a fashion show I was in. She gave me a Snickers bar and we became friends.”
“And I almost lost the job. It’s frowned upon to feed a model.” Celeste”s eyes gleam with mischief. “But we fell out of touch after this one—” she bumps her hip against Saar’s, winking, “…became famous and moved to Europe.”
“Or because you opened your own dance school and got a gazillion gigs in clubs across Manhattan,” Saar teases.
The years of being overbooked came to an abrupt end because of Finn’s—and Saar’s—father. Shit, I don’t think the two of them made the connection yet.
Celeste’s face falls, but she recovers quickly. The truth will come out, eventually. I only hope it won’t impact this little circle of friends I forged unexpectedly.
“We better start the class.” Celeste looks over her shoulder at the full room of eager dancers.
“Before we do—” Saar gives me a devilish smile. “Brook got married today,” she announces.
“Mon Dieu!” Celeste looks at me wide-eyed. “Tell us everything. And what are you doing here on such a special day?”
I glare at Saar, who shrugs and whispers, “What? You need to practice faking it.” She grins, having way too much fun with this.
Before I can wipe that grin from her face, Celeste grabs my hand. “Look at that ring. How original. Truly special.”
The other women gather around and gush over my ruby.
“Who is the man?” Celeste asks in that soft, lyrical intonation of her French accent. “Why did you never say anything?”
Oh god, lying to Rupert Montgomery was easy because he’s been kind of an asshole in all of this, but selling the story to my friends, people I like and respect, that’s a different ball game.
“His name is Baldo.”
I swallow, but then I lean into the story. I’m a decent storyteller, after all. “We’ve known each other for years and we’ve been dating back in Europe. He came here to be with me and we just…” I smile and it’s not even that fake, which should concern me. “We eloped.”
A communal “oh” echoes through the room when all the ladies swoon over the romance.
Celeste narrows her eyes. “Okay, let’s start the class.” Her accent is slightly more pronounced than usual.
Everyone scatters to their spots, and I find Saar’s eyes. She shrugs, but we both know that Celeste didn’t buy my story.
Not such a good storyteller after all.
The music starts, and while usually I love this class I can’t get into it, lost in my thoughts.
For one, Celeste’s reaction is worrisome. How will Rupert believe me if I gave my best performance here and failed to sell it?
I stumble through the class distracted, turning the wrong way, almost bumping into another dancer while forgetting the steps of the choreography.
When the class is finally over, I rush Saar toward the changing rooms, hoping we can squeeze out of there before coming under more scrutiny.
“What are you doing?” Saar protests. “I haven’t seen Celeste for years. I want to catch up with her.”
Ever since Paris introduced me to burlesque, Celeste has become a friend. And under any other circumstances, I’d want to hang out with the two women I love and admire.
“Okay, let’s wait for her.” I groan.
As soon as I say it, Celeste comes out of her office, beautiful as ever in her curves-hugging dress with a low neckline. Any other woman might look like she is trying too hard to look sexy. Celeste wears it effortlessly and with grace.
Today, a frown distorts her glamorous appearance. Shit. I told Saar the truth. I’m sure there is no harm in sharing it with Celeste.
We walk out of the studio together and I’m hoping we can just avoid the topic of my unexpected nuptials.
“Are you okay? Has he forced you?” Celeste stops and rubs her hand up and down my arm, her eyes filled with concern.
I frown, my mind running a mile a minute, but I come up empty-handed. What is she talking about? Why would she think Baldo forced me?
“You told me how toxic that relationship was, so I’m just surprised you would jump into marriage with him.”
I let out a stranded chuckle of relief. “Oh, Celeste, I didn’t marry Dylan.”
I shake my head, grinning like an idiot. Because here I was worried she saw through my lie, while Celeste assumed I married my ex.
“I didn’t remember his name, but you dated the guy and then you came here, so…” She eyes me with suspicion.
“You thought she married Dylan.” Saar snorts. “I would drag her to my lawyer to file an annulment if that was the case.”
Neither of them has ever met Dylan, but after I told each of them about his tantrums and scenes, about his need to instigate fights all the time and his overbearing, unhealthy jealousy, neither of my friends is a fan of him.
“So, who is your husband?” Celeste puts her hands on her hips, her voice laced with exasperation.
The word husband hits like a punch to my gut. It wouldn’t have any significance if my groom was anyone but Baldo.
“Don’t do that,” Saar reprimands, and I realize my cuticle is at my mouth.
I force a smile and face Celeste. “Do you have a gig tonight or can you come out with us? I’ll fill you in.”