The Wedding Planner

For the following two hours, they looked over financial data, property valuations, and plans for growth. Elena got maybe 20% of it. But she saw Dominic work. She saw how he ran the room, how he turned every problem into an opportunity, and how he kept her safe without letting her know.

By the time they broke for lunch, her head was spinning.

Dominic found her in a small office, staring out the window at the city below.

"You did well," he said.

"I didn't do anything."

"You didn't run. That's something."

Elena turned to face him. "Your father really hates me."

"My father hates everyone. Don't take it personally."

"He's going to make this hell, isn't he?"

"Probably." Dominic moved closer. "But we're not going to let him win."

"We."

"For now." He checked his watch. "We have a two o'clock with the wedding planner."

"Wedding planner? Already?"

"We have twenty-seven days left. That's not a lot of time to plan a society wedding."

"I thought we were keeping it small."

Dominic laughed. Actually laughed. It sounded rusty, like he didn't do it often. "Elena, you're about to become one of the richest women in America. There's no such thing as small."

The wedding planner's name was Margot, and she had the kind of energy that made Elena tired just looking at her. She met them at a boutique in SoHo that probably didn't have prices on anything because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.

"Dominic! Darling!" Margot kissed him on both cheeks, then turned to Elena with an assessing look that felt like an X-ray. "And you must be the bride. Oh honey, we have so much work to do."

"Excuse me?"

"Your skin is gorgeous—Mediterranean?—but we need to get you to my dermatologist for a facial. Your hair is gorgeous, but we'll need extensions for volume, and your nails, obviously. When was the last time you had a professional manicure?"

"Never," Elena said flatly.

Margot's eye twitched. "Never. Of course. Well! Good thing we have almost a month."

"Three weeks," Dominic corrected. "The wedding is three weeks from Saturday."

"Three weeks?" Margot's voice went up an octave. "Three weeks? Dominic, I need a minimum of six months for a wedding of this caliber." The venue alone—"

"The Pierre. I've already booked it."

"The Pierre is booked two years out."

"I made a phone call."

Of course he did.

"Fine," Margot said, pulling out a tablet. "Three weeks. The Pierre. How many guests?"

"Three hundred," Dominic said.

"Fifty," Elena said at the same time.

They looked at each other.

"We need to invite the board, all major investors, family friends, and society contacts," Dominic said. "This wedding is about optics."

"This wedding is supposed to be about us," Elena countered.

"There is no us. This is a business arrangement, remember?"

The words hit harder than they should have. Elena turned to Margot. "Fifty people. Small. Intimate. Simple."

"Elena—"

"Those are my terms. You want me to play along? Fine. But I'm not turning this into a circus."

Dominic's jaw clenched. For a moment, Elena thought he'd fight her. Then he nodded once. "Fine. Fifty people. But I choose half the guest list."

"Deal."

Margot looked between them like she was watching a tennis match. "Right. Fifty people. Intimate. The Pierre. Three weeks. This job will be a nightmare, but I've done worse." She pulled up something on her tablet. "Now, the dress. I've got three designers who can do rush orders—"

"I want to choose my dress," Elena said.

"Sweetheart, with all due respect, you don't know what you're looking for. A wedding dress isn't like picking out something at—" She paused, taking in Elena's jeans again. "—at Target."

"How did you—"

"Your shoes. Target brand. Forty dollars. I know because my daughter works there." Margot's expression softened slightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be mean. But this is the biggest day of your life, and you need to look like you belong next to him." She gestured at Dominic. "That means designer. That means expensive. That means letting me help you."

Elena wanted to argue. But she looked at Dominic in his perfect suit, and then down at her forty-dollar shoes, feeling the gap between them like a chasm.

"One condition," she said. "I want to feel like myself. Not like I'm wearing a costume."

"Deal." Margot made a note. "We'll start with Vera Wang. She owes me a favor."

They spent the next hour going through details Elena had never thought about: flowers, music, menu, and seating arrangements. Every time Margot suggested something, Dominic would either approve it or change it, and Elena realized he'd done this before.

"You've planned a wedding," she said during a break while Margot took a phone call.

"What?"

"This. You know exactly what you want. You've thought about this."

"I've attended fifty weddings. You pick things up."

"That's not it." Elena studied him. "You were engaged before."

His face went carefully blank. "That's none of your business."

"We're about to get married. I think it's exactly my business."

"We're about to engage in a legal contract. My past relationships don't factor into the terms."

"What happened?"

"Elena—"

"Was it recent? Is that why you're so angry about this whole thing? Because you actually loved someone, and now you're stuck marrying me instead?"

"I'm not stuck." But his voice had an edge. "And no, it wasn't recent."

"How long ago?"

He stood up. "I'm going to check on some emails. Margot will handle the rest."

He left before she could push further.

Margot came back and looked around. "Where's the groom?"

"Avoiding questions."

"Ah. You asked about Sarah."

Elena's head snapped up. "Who's Sarah?"

"His ex-fiancée. They were together for three years. She left him two weeks before their wedding."

"Why?"

Margot sat down, lowering her voice. "Because Victoria told her to. She said Sarah wasn't good enough for the Ashford name. She came from a wealthy background, but it was not the right kind of money. Victoria gave her a choice: leave Dominic or watch her family's business get destroyed."