Zoey took the tablet, the butterflies dying as dread curdled in her stomach. She glanced down at the page he had open—a tabloid article with the headline, “The Wedding Might be Sooner Than You Think.”
Her stomach somersaulted off the Eiffel Tower. No way. Alan couldn’t know. She rapidly scrolled through the article, complete with photos of her and Mitch, although the kissing ones had been left out. Was it possible the reporter wasn’t Alan? There hadn’t been a byline. Maybe he’d left the photos out to lend credence to his story. The article speculated that Zoey and Mitch were in the city finalizing wedding plans, and “an inside source” promised the wedding would be soon, although it wrongly claimed a venue hadn’t yet been chosen.
She let out a long, slow breath and handed the tablet back to Mitch. “Well, his source isn’t anyone too close to Brooke and Luke, or there’d be a lot more information in this article. It’s mostly speculation.”
“I’m not sure he has a source. The private investigator finally got back to me on Lianna and the other Toujour employees. It doesn’t look like any of them are spilling Brooke’s secrets.”
“You could’ve saved thousands of dollars if you’d just listened to me when I told you that.”
Mitch snapped the cover shut on his tablet. “We had to be sure.”
“He could’ve picked up all of that information from following us. We’re his source.”
“And now that the cat’s out of the bag, the paps are going to be ruthless.” Mitch sighed, rubbing a hand over his hair. “We have to figure out how he’s getting that information. I called the private security firm, but Friday is the soonest they can get here.”
“That’s three days away—the day before Brooke and Luke arrive.”
“I know. Even money didn’t talk this time. They’re too booked. We’ll have to be careful until then.”
Zoey tapped a finger against her lip. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“The article. Why would Alan risk tipping others off to the wedding?”
“He didn’t … not really. There’s no mention of a venue in that article, and the date doesn’t get any more concrete than ‘sometime in the next few months.’”
“So he was just trying to make a quick buck?”
Mitch shrugged. “It’s possible. A weeklong stay in Paris isn’t cheap, and he has no idea how much longer we’ll be here. I’m guessing an article like that fetched five figures, easy.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Zoey twisted a lock of hair, looking away from Mitch. “He didn’t mention anything about … us … in the article. Are we sure it’s Alan who published it?”
“I haven’t seen evidence of any other paparazzi since we got here.”
“So what do we do?”
“Hopefully the security team will find a bug, and we’ll know how he’s been following us.”
“No, I mean about the article.
“There’s nothing we can do—the damage is done. We’ll avoid Alan as much as possible and hope this whole thing doesn’t blow up in our faces the day of the wedding.”
“I thought you were the guy who always had a plan.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “And I thought you were the one who didn’t worry about stuff like this.”
“It’s Brooke and Luke’s wedding. I can’t just shrug it off.”
“Maybe we’re rubbing off on each other.”
Zoey met his eyes, her heart racing.
Mitch cleared his throat and looked away. “Can you be ready in an hour? I called Juliette and moved up our appointment to go over the table linens. After talking to the private investigator, I don’t think Lianna is passing our itinerary on to Alan. But changing our schedule will test the theory, at least.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Thank you.” Mitch stared at her, as though he wanted to say something more. Zoey became intensely aware of her wrinkled camisole and what was most likely an intense case of bed head. He opened his mouth, then closed it and walked away without another word.
Zoey shut the door and slumped against it. Why had she let him kiss her? Encouraged it, even? Now things were going to be awkward between them, and she wasn’t sure how to fix that.
Just one more week, and I’ll be back in L.A., she told herself. And Mitch would be firmly in her past.
Alan wasn’t anywhere to be seen when they arrived at the wedding planner’s office.
“Maybe it is Lianna,” Mitch said.
“Maybe Alan isn’t an early bird,” Zoey countered. “The private investigator found nothing on any of the employees.”
“Then we’d better hope the security firm finds a bug.”
“He’s not tracking us through me.” Zoey folded her arms, feeling her defenses rising. “Maybe he’s been trailing us from the moment we left California and picks and chooses the moments he reveals himself. He seems to like playing games.”
“Bonjour.”
Zoey walked away from Mitch and greeted Juliette. Brooke and Luke would be here in only a few days. Time was running out.
They spent an hour approving linen choices before saying goodbye to Juliette. Mitch held open the door for Zoey, and they walked outside. His shoulders tensed, and Zoey zeroed in on the man leaning against the stone wall.
Alan had found them.
“You two certainly had an early morning,” Alan said. “Caught me off guard.”
Zoey folded her arms as white-hot anger flowed through her. “Nice article. Although it seems to me like you don’t know much of anything.”
“I have to keep some of the information for myself,” Alan said. “I know enough to realize I’d be an idiot to give up now.”
“You’re desperate and stupid,” Mitch said. “Taunting us is sloppy and unprofessional.”
“Watching you two shop for wedding items all day gets pretty boring. I have to do something to entertain myself.”
Horrified laughter bubbled up in Zoey. This was all a big game to him.
One she would beat him at.
Zoey wrapped both her arms around one of Mitch’s, leaning into him. “I already told you, Alan—they haven’t set a date. Mitch and I are the only ones getting married soon.”
“I doubt that someone who was flirting with me a week ago would be marrying him anytime soon.”
Mitch’s muscles tensed underneath her hands, and Zoey squeezed his arm, trying to keep him calm.
“I let you in on a little secret,” Zoey said. “You were so bad at flirting that you sent me running straight back to Mitch. I didn’t want to lose a true gentleman when I found one.”
“No one cares about our wedding photos,” Mitch said. “Go home.”
Alan pointed a finger at them, slowly backing away. “You’re lying—both of you. And I’m not giving up.” He turned and stalked away.
Mitch pulled his arm out of Zoey’s grasp. “That went well,” he said.
“Are you actually employing sarcasm?” Zoey put a hand to her chest and did her best Southern accent. “Why, I do declare.”
Mitch grinned, and she followed him to the car, where Phillipe waited to whisk them away.
“I’m a little surprised myself,” Mitch said. “I guess paparazzi bring out the worst in me.”
“I kind of like this side of you. It’s sexy.”
What was she doing? She should be smothering the life out of the fire, not fanning the flames.
But something about Mitch was utterly irresistible.
Mitch ducked his head and cleared his throat. “Let’s go before Alan decides to come back and make the rest of our day miserable.”
Zoey nodded and slid inside the car. What was wrong with her? Mitch didn’t deserve her mixed signals.
“Where are we going now, Mr. Harris?” Phillipe asked.
“Back to Versailles,” Mitch said.
“But Juliette’s not meeting us there until late afternoon.”
“I know.” Mitch gave Zoey
a fleeting smile. “But since we moved up our appointment, we have a few hours. I thought you might want to spend them exploring the palace.”
Zoey’s cheeks heated with a blush, and she looked away. The car jerked into traffic. “Alan’s not going to give up,” she said, desperate to distract herself from Mitch’s warm eyes and tempting lips. “Brooke and Luke will be here in a few days, and I don’t think he’s buying that the wedding’s for us.”
“We need to up our game.”
“I’m not sure what more we can do. We’ve told him we’re getting married. He doesn’t believe us.” Mitch pulled out his phone and started texting. “I think we need to move to Plan C. We might not be able to keep Alan from knowing about the wedding, but we can keep him from getting any pictures with enough security. As long as he releases the story after Brooke and Luke are on their honeymoon, it won’t matter.”
“There has to be a better solution.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
Zoey pursed her lips, thinking. If they could just convince him the wedding was for her and Mitch, surely Alan would give up. But how could they convince him? Obviously words weren’t enough.
And then the answer fell into her lap. It was so obvious she felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.
Zoey put a hand on Mitch’s knee and waited until he was looking at her to speak. “We could get married.”
Mitch coughed. “Excuse me?”
“If Alan sees our actual wedding, maybe he’ll finally be convinced that he got the facts wrong and go home.”
“You want to get married. Actually, legally married.”
Zoey felt sweat trickle down her back, and her heart thrummed in her chest. “Alan will check with the courthouse to see if we applied for a marriage license.”
“French marriage laws are incredibly complex. Marriage licenses for foreigners can take months to obtain.”
“But Luke has excellent relations with the French government. Money talks.”
“But what about …” Mitch floundered, his lips pressing together. “What about after?”
Zoey wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend this conversation had never happened. But this was Brooke’s wedding they were talking about, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do to make that day perfect for her friend.
“If we never sign and record the marriage license, it’ll be like it never happened,” Zoey said. “By the time Alan figures it out, Brooke and Luke will be on their honeymoon, and it won’t matter.”
“So, what? We go buy you a dress, buy me a tux, and get married at Versailles in a week?”
Zoey nodded. Her stomach quivered, from nerves or anticipation, she wasn’t sure which. Except that it should definitely be nerves. Because she and Mitch were definitely not getting married for real. No one was signing anything.
“We’d have to incorporate all the other places we’ve visited as well,” Zoey said. “Have a meal from the caterers, table linens, a cake and flowers. Alan will realize it’s all for show otherwise.”
“And who would officiate? France has some pretty strict laws about that, too.”
“Laws that have recently been changed. Brooke told me they no longer require it to be performed at the courthouse by a government official, as long as one witnesses the ceremony. So we pay someone to come.”
Mitch ran a hand through his hair. “This is crazy.”
“But it might just work. Otherwise, guess who’s going to crash the rehearsal dinner and leak news of the wedding? Reporters will swarm.”
Mitch chewed on his lip, and Zoey had the sudden urge to reach out and smooth the frown lines from his forehead. “I guess we don’t have any other options, do we?”
“No, we don’t. So let’s do some wedding shopping, mister.” Zoey leaned forward. “Change of plans, Phillipe. Take us to the courthouse.”
He couldn’t believe Zoey’s plan was actually working. It had taken three entire days, plus a phone call with Luke, and a meeting with a judge, but Mitch and Zoey had a marriage certificate in hand and permission to be married that weekend at Versailles.
Mitch glanced over at Zoey, who was gazing at the window as they drove toward the tuxedo shop. What would the French government say if they knew he and Zoey never planned on signing the certificate?
“I can’t believe we had to tell Luke,” Zoey said.
“They were never going to give us the certificate without speaking to him,” Mitch said. “But he won’t breathe a word to Brooke.”
“She would flip out if she knew we were doing this.”
“She won’t find out.”
Zoey nodded, shaking her hands as though trying to shake off her nerves. “We’ll tell her about it after their honeymoon and have a good laugh.”
Phillipe pulled up in front of the tuxedo shop, and Mitch got out. He turned around, surprised to see Zoey still inside the car. “Aren’t you coming?”
She shook her head. “I made an appointment to get my highlights changed. Teal will totally clash with my lilac bridesmaid’s dress. I’m heading to Madame Rousseau’s afterward to look at wedding dresses.”
“We have to meet Juliette at four.”
“I know. I swear I’ll be done by then.” Zoey pulled the door shut and gave a little wave as Phillipe whipped back into traffic.
Mitch shook his head, unable to hold back a chuckle. He had to admire the lengths Zoey was willing to go to for a friend. She had fought tooth and nail the last few days to make their fake wedding appear convincing as Alan watched, all while making sure everything was ready for the real wedding. Anyone would be lucky to have Zoey on their side. It was hard to find that kind of fierce loyalty in a person.
A bell jingled as Mitch opened the door to the tuxedo shop. A balding man with a gray handlebar mustache looked up from the magazine he perused at the front counter.
“Bonjour,” he said.
Mitch really hoped he spoke English. “Hello.”
“Ah, américain. How should I help?”
Mitch smiled, the relief flowing through him. Between this man’s broken English and Mitch’s ridiculously poor French, they’d get by. He wished Zoey was here with her animated sign language and bright smile to help him out. She had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, even if communication was difficult. That skill had come in handy the last few days as they alluded Alan and tried to throw together a believable fake wedding.
She’d been gone five minutes, and already he missed her.
An hour later, Mitch stood on a raised pedestal and stared at his reflection in the three-sided mirror. The tailor smoothed the lapels on the tux and nodded enthusiastically. The cut was sleek, the fabric a rich black. Mitch could almost see the admiring glint in Zoey’s eyes as she gave him a once-over. She’d make some sassy comment about the fit of the suit that would make him want to kiss her breathless.
Mitch straightened the silk tie and adjusted the vest. This tuxedo made him feel strong and confident. It made him feel like a relationship with Zoey might be possible.
This was the kind of tuxedo a man could get married in.
Well, fake married, at least.
The tailor fussed with the fabric, but Mitch knew there would be no time for alterations. The fit was good enough, and he could have it tailored when he returned to California. Zoey wouldn’t care about the fit, anyway. Her positive attitude was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. Nothing got her down. Even as they ran all across the city, desperately trying to avoid Alan, she’d stubbornly clung to her glass-half-full optimism.
Mitch adjusted the cuff link on one sleeve. Maybe he and Zoey weren’t as poorly suited to each other as he’d assumed. They’d made a pretty great team while in France. And even after six months of trying to hate her, their chemistry hadn’t faded.
“You like?” the tailor asked.
Mitch’s stomach swooped. “It’s perfect. I’ll take it.”
“Oui, oui,” the man said, nodding.
Maybe
he and Zoey should give each other another chance. He understood now why she’d kissed someone else, and her skittish fear of a relationship made sense, in a strange way. But if they were honest with each other this time, maybe they could make it work.
Mitch changed back into his own suit, then paid for the tux. Outside, he placed the garment bag in the trunk of the car, scanning the street for any signs of Alan. It didn’t take long to find him. He leaned against a shop window across the street, his camera on a strap around his neck. He lifted a hand, giving a mocking salute.
Mitch’s jaw clenched, and he slammed the trunk shut. His phone began to ring, and he yanked it off his belt. Jasmine.
Mitch slipped inside the car. “Let’s go get Zoey,” he told Phillipe, then answered the phone. “Jas, what’s wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong for me to call you?”
Guilt slammed into Mitch. He was jumping to conclusions with his sister, just like he had with Zoey all those months ago. “Sorry. It’s been a stressful few weeks.”
“Don’t tell me Paris is stressful, or I won’t want to go there.”
“What? Back up. You’re going to Paris?”
“The end of September. I just got my itinerary today.”
“What about the internship? And how are you affording that?”
She couldn’t even stick with it for two weeks. Was it too late to grease some palms and get her re-enrolled in school? The semester had barely begun.
“I’m going with the design house.” Jasmine’s voice bubbled with excitement. “They picked me as the intern who gets to go to Paris fashion week. I’m not being paid for my time, but the trip is one hundred percent covered by them.”
Pride warred with shame inside Mitch. There he’d gone again, making assumptions. Why couldn’t he accept that Jasmine did things differently than him, and that was okay? Good, even.
He’d been so sure she was ruining her life taking that internship. But it sounded like she was working hard and making a name for herself instead.
“That’s great, Jas. You must be really wowing them. I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s crazy how it came about. You know that assistant that hates me? Well, she tried to get me fired.”
Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) Page 16
