Page 4 of Beneath the Shadows
Then, she lights up with an idea. “Why don’t we have a gallery show? I’m sure your fiancé is thrilled about your success and would love the chance to celebrate not only your success here but also your engagement.”
The mention of Valentino sends an unwelcome shiver through me. The thought of him in a space that's entirely mine is unsettling. “I’ll mention it to him,” I say and pull out my phone, hoping to dodge any more questions about my personal life. “Unfortunately, I have to run. I have an appointment with the wedding planner.”
“These will be on the website by the end of the week,” Ophelia assures me.
“Thank you.” I wave as I leave the gallery.
Somehow, I have to keep this part of my life hidden from Val for as long as I can, because if he finds out, I’m terrified of what he might do.
* * *
With fifteen minutes to spare, I arrive at the wedding planner’s office. A beep sounds as I pull the door open and step inside.
“Ms. Moretti,” Shannon gushes, her voice dripping with enthusiasm as she practically floats toward me. ‘I’m absolutely thrilled to be planning your special day!’ Her tone is just a little too sugary, her excitement clearly rehearsed.
“Thank you, Shannon. I appreciate you fitting me in at the last minute,” I reply, forcing myself to sound gracious.
“Your wedding is going to betheevent of the year,” she gushes, her tone dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm. “There was no way I’d pass up the opportunity. I cleared my schedule right away.”
Two weeks to plan theevent of the year, and I can’t even bring myself to care. Why should I? It’s not like I want this marriage to happen. Valentino texted me, telling me to choose whatever I wanted, reminding me that money was no object. I’ll make it look special, if nothing else, because that’s all this is. An illusion.
I plaster on my practiced smile, “Where do we start?”
“Your fiancé asked me to wait until he arrived to begin,” she informs me, glancing at her notes.
“Pardon me?” I ask, certain I misheard.
“Mr. Comiso called this morning,” she continues. “He asked that we wait for him before we get started.”
Right on cue, the door swings open. Valentino strolls in, dressed in his usual Alexander Amosu suit, his cellphone pressed to his ear.
“Just get it done, Angelo,” he barks an order into the phone. “I’ll be unavailable the rest of the day.”
He disconnects the call. His black eyes lock with mine, instantly filling the space with his presence.
“If you have to work, I can handle this on my own,” I say, maintaining an air of politeness.
“There’s nothing more important than planning our wedding,” Val replies, leaning in to kiss me.
At the last second, I turn my head, and his lips land on my cheek instead.
“We’re not alone,” I murmur, casting a glance at Shannon. “Please forgive him. He’s very eager to be married,” I add with a light, forced laugh.
“Men,” Shannon says, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Her gaze shifts to Val, and in that brief moment, something passes between them. It’s subtle, but enough to send a wave of unease through me. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Shannon settles in beside Val on the plush leather couch, sliding closer than necessary even though there’s a perfectly good chair just a few feet away. Her knee presses against his leg, and neither of them bothers to pull away—or maybe they just don’t care. Leaning into him, she arches her back slightly, pushing her chest forward as she flips open a large binder.
The whirlwind of wedding planning starts—colors, flowers, music, place settings. I’d thought maybe I could bring myself to care but watching them together makes it impossible.
Shannon’s hand rests on Val’s arm as they discuss the linens, her fingers lingering far too long, tracing small circles as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s painfully obvious they’re comfortable with each other. He doesn’t even bother to glance in my direction. Why would he? To him, I’m nothing more than a business arrangement, just another deal to seal.
We’re strangers bound by a ring, nothing more.
Instead of fighting it, I let them take over. The choices, the plans—they mean nothing to me. I’m just waiting for this charade to end.
“Have you chosen your dress?” Shannon asks as if she suddenly remembered I was here.
“Not yet.”