by Lauren Layne
“Yes, because LA is so wonderfully free of superficial gossip,” Audrey pointed out.
He wagged his head from side to side in acknowledgment of her point, then picked up the paper again, then put it aside once more, as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to continue the conversation or not.
He apparently decided yes, because he gave her a pointedly fatherly look. “I don’t understand why we don’t just confront these people head-on. Tell them to stop telling lies about you.”
“They’re not lies,” Audrey said. “I was dating Brayden while he was still married. And I was dating this Randy guy, too.”
Audrey’s parents had always made open communication with their children the highest priority. They’d been one of her first phone calls after learning of Brayden’s betrayal, and she’d told them first thing this morning about what was going on with Randy and the Instagram aftermath.
“But you didn’t know they were married.”
“I did,” Audrey said, nibbling on her scone. “Not that Randy was. I didn’t have a clue. But I knew about Claire, remember? I just thought they had separated.”
Kathleen sighed. “Oldest snake line in the book.”
“That I fell for,” Audrey said, refusing to absolve herself of all blame for her role in destroying Claire’s illusion of a happy marriage.
“I still don’t get what this has to do with Clarke and you two pretending to get married.”
“He’s protecting my reputation, Daddy,” Audrey said in her best Cher Horowitz voice, “so people don’t think I’m damaged goods.”
“They are calling her Tarnished Tate,” Kathleen chimed in. “I spent two hours this morning seeing what was going on. It was vicious.”
Audrey covered her face with her hand. Sadly, the Tarnished Tate moniker was all too true.
To her surprise, her joking and her mother’s needling seemed to mollify her father. “I guess it could go a long way to defuse the gossipmonger’s energies.”
“Not exactly the way I’d phrase it, but yeah, that’s the idea,” Audrey said.
“Yes, but only if you step it up,” her mom said, pushing her plate away and looking at Audrey with a pointed look.
“Uh-oh,” Audrey said, sipping her coffee. “What’s that look for?”
“In order for them to believe you’re getting married, they have to believe you’re in love. You can’t just say you’re in love. You have to show it.”
Audrey fiddled nervously with the handle of the mug. “Was I not?”
“The only thing close to heat I saw last night was that kiss. He sold it. But you looked like it was the first time you’d ever kissed the man.”
“Because it was!”
“Really?” Kathleen titled her head curiously. “I just assumed you two had fooled around back in the day. Teenage curiosity and what not.”
Audrey groaned. “Mom. Don’t be gross.”
“Yes, don’t,” Richard said, retreating once more behind his newspaper.
“No heavy petting? Nothing? Okay, well, whatever. You and Clarke need to, you know… get a little handsy. Stare at him like you can’t wait to drag him home.”
“Please stop,” Richard said.
Kathleen ignored her husband, keeping all of her attention on Audrey as she leaned forward. “And, honey, a little advice from someone who once got into a catfight with a hussy ex of your father’s—”
“Ooh!” Audrey sat up straighter. “I haven’t heard that story.”
“And you won’t,” Richard said, giving his wife a meaningful look over the top of his paper before resuming his reading.
“Later?” Audrey mouthed.
“Later,” her mom mouthed back, nodding in agreement.
“But I’m serious, Audrey,” her mom resumed in her normal voice. “Never underestimate the power of an ex-girlfriend with an agenda, especially when that ex-girlfriend has a shark like Linda West on her side.”
“What do mean?” Audrey asked in trepidation.
“I mean, that Clarke’s brainy-looking ex in the blue dress didn’t take her eyes off of him the entire night. The only time she did was to glare at you. I know when another woman means trouble. And that one had it written all over her.”
Chapter Eight
THURSDAY, JANUARY 23
Clarke had to give his mother credit. The woman did not back down. And when she raised the stakes, she raised them all the way. Hence, why he and Audrey were sitting across the table from an honest-to-God wedding planner.
His mother had called him at work to give him “the good news” and then droned on and on about how she’d booked the crème de la crème of wedding planners as a gift for Clarke and Audrey.
Clarke could have easily named nine hundred things he’d rather do with his Thursday evening.
Lobotomy.
Colonoscopy.
The opera.
But, his mother apparently hadn’t been exaggerating about the wedding planner’s merits because when Clarke had told Audrey, expecting her to be as disgruntled as him, she’d gasped in surprised delight, knowing the name of the wedding planner even before Clarke said it aloud:
Alexis Morgan.
Just like that, Clarke’s plans of backing out of his mother’s prearranged appointment had evaporated. Audrey had been so excited just to meet the damned woman that Clarke had somehow found himself traveling to the West Side in the middle of rush hour to meet a wedding planner for a wedding that would never be happening.
Based on the female reverence and his experience with the general stuffiness of Manhattan weddings, Clarke had been braced for a theatrical diva who’d come at them with suggestions of live butterflies, crustless sandwiches, and hot air balloons.
Instead, upon arriving at the Upper West Side townhome where the Wedding Belles was based, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the wedding planner was reassuringly normal. A slim brunette with a no-nonsense face and a quiet competence, Alexis Morgan seemed the consummate professional, more concerned with getting to know them than pushing her own agenda.
Not that he’d gotten a word in anyway. Audrey and Alexis had hit it off immediately, talking not just about their “wedding” but about the latest fashions, a new wine bar on Central Park South, and Alexis’s husband, who used to be Audrey’s accountant.
For an island with a couple million people, Manhattan was a tiny-ass world.
Alexis seemed to notice his silence and turned slightly toward him with a smile. “Clarke, I was so pleased to hear from your mother.”
His eyebrows lifted, and he smiled. “Truly?”
She laughed, not pretending to misunderstand his skepticism. “She’s a frequent speaker at a women-in-business group I belong to.”
He felt Audrey stiffen slightly beside him. He knew that as hard as Audrey worked—and she put in more hours on the job than anyone he knew—she would never earn the respect she deserved. Never mind that she near outearned him, never mind that she was named on just about every most-influential list around. People didn’t know what to do with jobs that didn’t have set hours and a regular office space. She’d never be invited to Alexis’s and Linda’s women-in-business groups or anything even close.
Without really thinking, he reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. Audrey gave him a surprised look but then squeezed back, playing her part of the in-love couple. Something tightened in his chest that he couldn’t identify—and that he didn’t want to examine.
“All right, now in these early stages, I’d just like to get a very high-level vision,” Alexis was saying, “so we won’t be talking dates or details. I want to know the type of wedding you envision. Who’s there, how do you feel, that sort of thing. And. I like to start with the groom.”
Clarke looked at her in surprise. “What?”
“I know, it’s the cliché for the bride to have all the visions, and it’s a cliché that often holds true,” Alexis said with a quick smile at Audrey. “But I find that the guys oft
en have some thoughts of their own. They just need to be asked.”
“Ah—”
Clarke casually slid his hand away from Audrey’s, clasping his together and leaning forward slightly. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t know that I’ve done much thinking about it.”
“Never?” Audrey asked in surprise.
“Not unless you count the times you made me play wedding when I was ten.”
“You were childhood sweethearts?” Alexis asked. “Your mother didn’t mention that.”
No, I bet she didn’t, he thought before remembering that they weren’t actually childhood sweethearts.
“Clarke would sit for hours while I tried to learn how to tie my dad’s bow tie on him,” Audrey reminisced with a grin. “My dad was less than pleased to find Cheez-It fingerprints all over the imported silk.”
“And you never did learn to tie the bow tie,” he pointed out.
“That’s true. Regular ties are much easier. Clarke doesn’t have to wear a tux, does he?” Audrey asked the wedding planner.
“That’s up to Clarke,” Alexis said, smiling. “It’s okay if you haven’t thought about it before, but if you let yourself think about it now, your ideal wedding day, what are you wearing?”
He resisted the urge to quip “sweatpants,” guessing he wouldn’t be the first groom-to-be to think he was hilariously original to joke about bucking the trend of formal wear.
Clarke shifted awkwardly in his seat, both women watching him expectantly. Realizing the sooner he played along, the sooner he could get out of this, he reluctantly answered the question.
“A tux. I guess.”
Alexis nodded. “So, more formal. Do you see yourself getting married here in the city? Or a destination wedding?”
“Here,” he said without hesitation. He was a New Yorker through and through and rarely found reason to leave the city. He didn’t even like vacationing much. Everything he wanted from his life was right here, starting with Audrey.
“Church?”
“Yes,” he said, again without hesitation. Then he frowned. “I mean, I guess. It doesn’t have to be.”
“Gut reactions are valuable,” Alexis said. “Even if you haven’t consciously envisioned your wedding, chances are your subconscious has sort of chewed on it over the years in the back of your mind.”
She was right, he realized. He had never sat and daydreamed about his future wedding. In fact, any time he had thought about his future wedding, it was in terms of the one he wouldn’t have.
It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t envision a wedding day; it was that he had never been able to envision a marriage. He’d flirted with the idea just once. Once, when he thought maybe he and Elizabeth could make a go of it.
But then she’d left, and he’d come back to his senses. Clarke loved women. He respected them. And because of this, he couldn’t imagine shackling any woman to him.
He glanced over at Audrey, the best woman he knew.
Not a real wedding, he reminded himself. And so he played along.
“I want big,” he told the women with an unabashed grin. “None of this small and intimate stuff. I want the spectacle. I want everyone I know to see that the most amazing woman in the world chose me. And then I want a hell of a party to celebrate it.”
Alexis nodded. “Audrey? How’s that sit with you?”
Audrey looked his way and smiled. “Pretty much my thoughts exactly. I’ve always been the big-white-wedding girl. The princess dress, the wedding march, all eyes on me, the Plaza, doves—”
“Doves?” Clarke interjected.
“Metaphorical,” Audrey said, waving a dismissive hand. “Or real. I don’t know. It’s like you said. The spectacle.”
“We can do spectacle,” Alexis said confidently. “And we can do doves, too. Real ones. Though I should warn you, the level of spectacle depends on the timeline. Have you two talked dates yet?”
Clarke watched Audrey’s wide smile dim as reality set in. There wouldn’t be a timeline, there wouldn’t be a spectacle, because there wouldn’t be a wedding.
“We’re still sort of mulling things over,” Clarke said quietly, realizing they needed to nip this meeting in the bud before things got out of hand.
“Of course,” Alexis said immediately. “There’s absolutely no need to rush into anything, and this was only an initial consultation. There’s no pressure to commit to me or the Belles or a date today.”
The wedding planner stood to indicate the meeting was over. “The only thing I want from you two right now is for you to go out to dinner and just enjoy being engaged. There’s plenty of time for the other stuff. I’ll give you my card, and if you decide to go with the Belles, I’d love to hear from you when you’re ready.”
Relieved, Clarke and Audrey stood, and Audrey took the card Alexis pulled out of a white cardholder on the desk, slipping it into her bag.
“Just one more thing,” Audrey said, “and you can totally say no. Would you mind if I took a picture on the steps in front of the Wedding Belles plaque on the porch and posted it on Instagram? I’d tag you guys, if you have an Instagram account. Or not. Do you have a policy on that?”
Alexis’s eyebrows arched. “I’m a businesswoman. My policy is that having the Audrey Tate post a picture of the Wedding Belles is better than any marketing budget.”
“I just want everyone to know how fabulous you are,” Audrey said as Alexis walked them to the front door. “And I can’t believe how hungry for Manhattan wedding details my followers are. My engagement rate has gone through the roof since I started talking about wedding stuff.”
“There’s a lot of mystery in it for such a big industry,” Alexis agreed, opening the front door. “Brides are so used to being sold to. I imagine there’s absolutely room in the marketplace for someone to show the process of planning a wedding without any agenda beyond peeling back the curtain a bit.”
Audrey handed Clarke her phone as they stepped onto the porch. “You know what to do.”
He took her phone without hesitation, having played the role of photographer so many times that he knew exactly where the camera app was on her phone. A photographer he was not, but even as Audrey’s follower numbers grew into seven digits, she had refused to upgrade to a fancy camera, wanting instead to show that anyone could make a career out of Instagramming with only an iPhone and a decent photo editing app.
He hopped down the steps to take the photo as Audrey dug her lipstick out of her purse. “How’s my hair?” he heard her ask Alexis.
“Perfect,” Alexis said, giving Audrey a once over. “I’ll head back inside so I’m not photobombing, unless… do you want me to take the photo? Of both of you?”
“No,” Clarke said, just as Audrey lit up.
“Oh, that would be fantastic.”
He groaned. “Dree.”
“I know, I know I promised never to show you in my photos. But that was before we got engaged,” she said pointedly, giving him a look.
He looked up the steps at her, seeing the stubborn glint in her eyes and knowing exactly what she was thinking. The more togetherness they presented, the less ammunition Scandal Boy had to call their bluff.
He jogged back up the steps, handing the phone to Alexis as they traded places.
Clarke slipped his arm around Audrey’s waist as she did the same, and he smiled dutifully as Alexis held up the phone.
“Can you see the Wedding Belles sign?” Audrey asked.
“Scoot a little to the left. There, perfect,” Alexis said. Then she lowered the phone, giving them a careful look. “Just a suggestion…”
“Tell me,” Audrey said.
“What if you turned and faced each other,” Alexis said. “This pose looks a little buddy-buddy right now.”
“Imagine that,” Clarke said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, be quiet,” she said, pulling away and turning toward him. “Here, face me.”
He sighed and did as instructed.
> “Already better,” Alexis encouraged. “Audrey put your arms around his neck, looped kind of casual—yes, perfect,” she said as Audrey locked her wrists around the back of Clarke’s head.
“I hate your job,” he told Audrey, preempting Alexis’s next command and setting his hands on his friend’s waist.
“Hush. Look in love,” Audrey commanded.
“Easy to do when you’re so bossy,” he said sarcastically, though he let his mouth curve into a genuine smile because holding Audrey in his arms wasn’t so bad.
Audrey smiled back, lifting her eyes to his.
“Perfect, stay just like that while I find the best angle,” Alexis muttered, almost to herself.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wedding planner scoot back and forth on the sidewalk, trying to perfect the photo.
And then, something odd happened. He quit seeing Alexis. He stopped thinking about how annoyed he was at his mother for making this appointment without his and Audrey’s consent. He quit resenting Audrey’s job.
All of that disappeared until there was only Audrey. Clarke became acutely aware of the way her fingers brushed against the hair at the back of his head, the shape of her waist beneath his palm, even beneath the bulk of her winter coat. He heard a distant ringing in his ears and felt the same disorientation he experienced after their engagement party kiss, when the ground had felt slightly unsteady under his feet.
Audrey’s lips parted just slightly as though she was suddenly short of breath, and he wondered if she felt it too, wondered if she knew better than he what to do about it—
“There,” Alexis said confidently. “I think I got it. You want to take a look?”
The wedding planner began walking up the steps, and Clarke immediately dropped his arms, putting distance between himself and Audrey, grateful for the interruption.
Audrey stayed still a moment longer, then gave a quick shake of her head before turning to Alexis and taking her cell phone back. She scanned the photos. “Oh, perfect!” she said.
Clarke’s eyes narrowed slightly, because Audrey’s voice was higher than usual, the way it got when her mind was somewhere else and she was operating on autopilot.
