Page 94 of The Temporary Fiancée
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Quinn,” he says brightly—probably grateful that he’s not alone with Cecily anymore. “Or should I say, the future Mrs. Eastwood?”
Cecily clicks her tongue. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now.”
I shake the wedding planner’s hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“You can call me Ryan,” he offers.
“Olivia. It’s a pleasure.” I think about saying something to Cecily in response to her snide comment, but instead, I just give her a cordial nod. Better not to poke the bear.
“Well, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Ryan pulls out a wafer-thin laptop and opens it up, tapping at the keyboard. “I’ll be taking running notes throughout our meeting to keep track of everything. Since this is just our initial consultation, we’ll go over the basics of what you’re looking for, and go from there.”
He smiles, and I smile back, hesitantly. Cecily’s expression remains stony. Her gaze keeps darting to the coat, which is now draped over the back of my chair.
Maybe I should’ve just been cold,I think miserably, nodding to show the wedding planner I’m listening. He seems a little taken aback by Cecily’s frosty attitude.
“So what’s step one?” I ask. The faster we get the ball rolling, the sooner this meeting will be over. I think longingly of my half-finished sweater, lying on the couch at Reed’s.
“I need to know a few simple details. For one thing—what size are we thinking for this wedding? That’ll be necessary information for finding a venue.”
“Not too big,” I say.
Simultaneously, Cecily says, “As big as possible.”
There are a few moments of awkward silence at our table. Cecily and I stare at each other, and Ryan looks nervously between the two of us.
“What do you mean, ‘not too big?’” Cecily arches a penciled brow at me. “This is important, sweetheart. In this sort of social circle, an impressive wedding is expected.”
“Well…” I glance helplessly at Ryan. “I just thought that… since it’s not…” I trail off. What can I say?I just thought that, since it’s notreal,we could make it smaller?
“As I said,” Cecily says, an edge to her voice, “it’sexpected.”
I’m not sure if Cecily knows about the contract I have with Reed, or if she would act this way with his fiancé no matter what the situation. Either way, I decide to give in. It’s not a real wedding, anyway, so I figure it’s better to pick my battles.
“Big wedding it is,” I say to Ryan, who gives me an apologetic frown before typing on his laptop.
“Okay. Good to know.” Ryan looks up from the screen. “Next question—how formal do we want this to be?”
Before I can say anything, Cecily scoffs. “What kind of question is that? Black tie, of course. It’s awedding,for goodness’s sake.”
“Some people like a more casual event,” Ryan says neutrally. “It’s more common than you’d expect.”
Cecily waves a dismissive hand. “Some people, perhaps, but not Eastwoods. Black tie, at minimum.”
Ryan meets my gaze; I think he can see the argument in my eyes, even though I don’t say anything out loud. He frowns, like he’s bothered on my behalf, but writes down Cecily’s request anyway.
“Okay. Let’s talk about location. Are we thinking we want a destination wedding, or something a little more local?”
“Local,” I say, at the same time as Cecily says, “Destination.”
“The Antilles,” says Cecily, as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “Or the Caymans, if that’s more stylish this year. You would know, wouldn’t you, darling?” She waves a hand at Ryan with another delicate laugh. He winces, glancing at me with an apologetic look.
I can feel the argument welling up in me. In my mind’s eye, I can see myself slamming a hand down on the table, making myself heard. I know that every head in this banquet hall would turn toward us, and that Cecily would never forgive me for making such a scene.
A huge part of mewantsto make that scene. But I also know that it would cause nothing but trouble for Reed, and I signed a contract to help him getoutof trouble. So I bite my tongue and look down at the pristine tablecloth.
“The Antilles, I think,” Cecily continues, oblivious. “On a private beach.”
I nod my head robotically. What does it matter? It’s not as if this wedding is actually going to happen. This is all just an elaborate performance, even if it does make me feel lower than dirt.
