Page 85 of The Temporary Fiancée
It should be exciting, but the atmosphere at our table is so tense that it’s impossible to enjoy myself.
I glance over at Reed, trying to catch his eye; I’m hoping for a little comfort, I think. A reminder that we’re in this together.
But Reed seems even less comfortable than I am at this table, surrounded by these people. He’s stiff, unsmiling—so different from the man I’ve been getting to know in the privacy of our intimate moments together. He sits upright, his back straight and rigid, as if he’s a soldier reporting for duty.
“Reed, Olivia,” Cecily says, commanding our attention, “we need to talk about this wedding.”
“What about it?” Reed reaches for a glass of water, taking a long drink. I can tell he’s longing for something a little stronger, but the waiter hasn’t come back yet with our wine.
“Well, obviously,” she says, impatient, “I need to be involved in the planning process. This is important for the family’s image.”
And there it is—the family’s image.The only thing either Cecily or Lionel seems to care about. Though I suspect that she means it a little differently than he does.
She confirms that suspicion almost immediately. “The Beauregards’ oldest son was married two months ago,” she says to Reed, a little sneer on her lips. “You’d have been invited to the wedding, if you weren’t in time-out.”
At that, she laughs lightly, but Reed’s jaw tightens. Clearly, he didn’t find it as funny as she did. As cool as Reed tries to play it, it seems like this is a sore subject with his family.
Oblivious to his cold reaction, she continues, “The wedding was the biggest event I’ve attended in years. It waslavish,darling. They pulled out all of the stops. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be upstaged by Alicia Beauregard.”
Reed’s brow furrows, and I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach. “Who cares what Alicia Beauregard thinks? It wasn’t her wedding.”
“Reed, you know how important it is for us to keep up with our peers,” Cecily says enthusiastically, disregarding his point entirely. “Our entire social circle will be in attendance. Thiswedding needs to be impressive—every bit as impressive as the Beauregard wedding, if not more so.”
I’m half expecting Reed to argue, but he doesn’t. He just sighs through his nose as the waiter returns to the table, passing out plates of salad.
When the waiter leaves, Reed stabs a chunk of lettuce with his fork and says, his voice dry, “What exactly did you have in mind, then?”
“Me? Oh, no,” Cecily says, with a tinkling laugh. “I’m not qualified to make any of these choices. But Iamwell-connected enough to find someone who is.”
I pause with my fork hovering over the salad plate, shooting a nervous glance at Reed. He doesn’t return the eye contact, but I can see the displeasure in his expression.
“What did you do?” he asks, almost accusing.
“I’ve lined up an appointment with a wedding planner.” Cecily picks at her salad like a bird searching for insects. “The best in the business. Luckily, I know his mother, so I was able to get you in.” She sets her fork down briefly and looks up at Reed. “This man is a genius. He works with all of the big names.”
Reed gives a noncommittal hum in reply. He doesn’t look up at her.
“I mean it,” she insists. “He did the DiAngelo-Smith wedding.”
I recognize the names of the two actors. They’re top tier Hollywood stars, each with several blockbusters under their belts. I feel a flicker of nerves in my chest, and focus my attention on the salad. It’s good, fresh and crisp, which helps.
To my relief, I hear Reed laugh next to me, sharp and biting. “Are you serious?” he scoffs. “You hired a celebrity wedding planner?”
“Well,” Cecily responds, ice in her voice, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re a bit of a celebrity.” She spits thelast word like it’s an insult, and in all honesty, it is—at least in Reed’s case.
He doesn’t argue with her further, but shifts his gaze over to his father. “Dad, are you hearing?—”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Lionel interrupts gruffly. “Make a big show of the planning process. We wouldn’t do anything less, would we? Need to sell it.”
If Cecily thinks that’s an odd thing for him to say, she doesn’t show it. “Of course, we’ll pull out all the stops. Huge budget. Lavish venue. We’ll try to ensure that we have more than a few famous guests?—”
“Wait.” Shane holds up a hand, interjecting. I can tell from the weariness in his tone that this is going to be his only attempt to pump the brakes on this whole spectacle. His voice is quiet, like he’s unaccustomed to breaking into these conversations. “Are wesurethis is a good idea?”
Cecily and Lionel reply in unison, without looking at each other: “Yes.”
It’s almost impressive that they manage to stay in lock step like that, despite their obvious distaste for each other’s company. Or at least, it would be impressive if it didn’t make me sad.
“This is what we’re doing,” Lionel adds firmly. “It’s the expected way.”
