by Maggie Way
If it hadn’t been for his mother, Jake and I wouldn’t have met. She’d hired me at the last minute when her event planner blew up on her three weeks before the charity event she was planning. We’d worked a few more events together since, but that was mostly because I was dating her son. Now that Jake and I weren’t together, I’d had to keep my distance, which also meant that my business suffered.
“I’ll make sure to send her an email today.” Our waiter asked for his drink order, and Jake requested a bottle of champagne. For lunch for two people on a Tuesday? Something was up. “Are we celebrating?” My chest tightened. I kept my trembling hands under the table and plastered a sweet but nervous smile on my face.
Jake pinned me with his blue gaze. Gosh, I missed him. Drawn to the brightness in his eyes, I crossed my hands on the table and leaned forward, mesmerized by his dreamy look of adoration.
“Sandrine and I are getting married, and we’d like you to plan our wedding.” He reached across the table for my hand and gave it a light squeeze. "Nica, will you please say yes?"
In the midst of the opulent dining room, serenaded by romantic classical music, I heard the desperation in those words. I saw pleading blue eyes—eyes that I stared at and got lost in—eyes I'd woken up to, kissed, adored. He pouted with his full lips. A crease appeared between his brows. His hand fought to warm the chill that had spread on my fingers. Jake—my Jake—had pleaded. I was so focused on that, on him, that I ignored the cracking of my already fragile heart. With both trepidation and thrill, my heart beat a mile a minute, my gaze swept over our interlaced fingers, and I nodded.
Jake jumped up with what I could only describe as pure elation, lunged on one knee and hugged me. "Thank you. Thank you, Nica."
And for that moment, in that tight hold, wrapped in warmth and heavenly scent I craved so much, my head swam in ecstasy and into a different future. The future where I was Mrs. Veronica Benjamin, loving wife of Dr. Jacob Benjamin, like I had imagined many times before.
I was dreaming of a simple church ceremony, vintage French laces, pink peonies and white lisianthus bouquets, and uttering the words 'I do' to the man of my dreams in front of our families and closest friends.
But I was ripped back into reality when he breathed out, "Sandrine will be so happy."
Jake released me, whipped out his cell phone, and dialed his fiancée's number.
Thoughts of my dream wedding collapsed. I clasped my hands on my chest, trying to prevent my pounding heart from breaking out of my ribcage. If I listened carefully, I would be able to hear the tearing of my heart muscles.
Jake broke my heart once again, and I just sat there and let him.
I remained silent when he spoke on the phone with his fiancée, a woman I’d never met. My fortitude cracked each time he told her he loved her.
“Madam.” The waiter returned with the chilled bottle Jake had requested and two champagne flutes. I gave him a polite smile, but underneath, I was drowning in tears.
“Champagne’s here. Yes, my dear, I will see you soon.” Jake rang off and pocketed his phone in his gray suit jacket. “She’s so happy.” Someone had to be. The waiter popped the cork and poured each of us bubblies. Jake picked up his glass, but before he could say anything, I chugged mine.
“Thirsty?” he asked, entertained.
“Yeah,” I replied, slamming the glass back down on the table. “You know…” Twisting around, I reached for my purse and stood. “I just remembered…I have to meet new clients for an event. A birthday or baptism or something,” I rambled.
“Oh, but we didn’t have lunch. Do you want to…”
“No!” I cut him off, raising a hand in front of me. My insides churned. I hadn’t been able to eat properly since I’d thought of this meeting. My wild imagination had got the best of me. No, we were not here to reconcile. He’d asked me here to plan his wedding. His wedding! Pain stabbed through my chest. If I didn’t leave now, I wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from flowing. I grabbed Jake’s hand and shook it, a little too aggressively. “We’ll talk soon,” I promised, and left.
To clear my head, I took a couple detours after leaving the restaurant. I wanted to feel a different kind of pain—other than the one wrenching my heart—a pain that made me hold my breath, and caused numbness in my fingers and toes. After swerving a little too closely to a car beside me, I knew I had to stop somewhere. Parking the car on a sketchy street, memories of how Jake and I met invaded my mind.
We were inseparable for six wonderful months. I loved him, and he loved me. The night we met, Jake rescued me from an aging playboy aristocrat at a gallery event, which I’d planned and organized. Of course, I was used to advances from wealthy, ogling, men old enough to be my grandfather whenever we threw parties for the rich and famous. Most of them probably thought that being the event planner meant that I was also available for a quick romp in the coatroom. I wasn't, at least for them…but I thought about it the instant I met Jake.
A man three times my age had me trapped between a table and the nearest exit sign. From across the room, I caught Jake’s blue gaze as he entered the grand space. I might have sent out a desperate SOS with my eyes, because after speaking momentarily with Levi—a person I avoided like the plague and whom I learned, later on, was Jake’s best friend—he’d walked straight to me.
“I'm so sorry I'm late, dear, traffic was horrendous,” he’d said in front of the aged ogler and butt-squeezer. Sparks flew all over the room when he grazed my cheek with his soft lips.
“No worries, babe. Glad you’re here now.” I hung my arms around his neck, giving him an admiring look.
We were convincing, and it worked. The geriatric Casanova waltzed off, no doubt looking for his next young wife.
Jake and I spent most of the night chatting whenever I could—I had to be professional and keep in mind that I was still working. At the end of the night, we were lip-locked in a cab heading to whomever's apartment was closer.
He was such a beautiful man, inside and out. Following in his mother’s footsteps, Jake was a philanthropist, having been born into a wealthy family. He gave money unselfishly to each and every charity thrown at him. He was also the best lover I'd ever had—never selfish, always willing to give and give and give. Double sigh.
We spent every non-working moment together. Every time I woke up beside him, I stared at his beautiful face and wondered why he was with me, out of all the girls in San Francisco, why had he chosen me...up until three months ago…when he met Sandrine in a gala in Paris, the city of love. How could anyone compete with Paris and their exotic women?
When he’d returned from France, he was upbeat and upset at the same time. I had never seen him so happy and so distraught. He had confessed that he’d met someone else, and although I was an extremely beautiful and caring and intelligent (his words, not mine) woman, Sandrine was out of this world (my words, not his). Although he cared deeply for me, he hadn't fallen madly in love with me. But in one night, in a single moment, he had fallen for Sandrine.
Being the gentleman that he was, he didn't pursue their relationship further than a chit-chat the evening they’d met. He flew back the day after to talk to me and tell me about this woman who had swept him off his feet.
Knowing Jake, he’d told her about me and what I did for a living, and I was sure he had exaggerated my talents. She, probably as smart and glamorous as she was in my head, thought it would be fantastic to have me plan their very large and very expensive wedding. I, being the idiot that I was, had accepted, because, in the deep recesses of my mind, I hoped that Jake would see his mistake and find his way back to me.
The word ‘no’ glared desperately in my mind, but foolhardiness to have him back in my life had won out, even if it was on borrowed time.
As soon as I entered the kitschy office of Bliss Events, the business idea, which started at one drunken night in college, Chase was on me.
"So, are you guys back together?" There was a little glimmer of hope in
her eyes. Her hands were clasped, her breath held. She was a closet romantic, reserving the truth to the only person she was close to—me.
Chase had been an amazon fighter at one point in her life. She was tall, curvy, rough, and sexy at the same time. She stood six inches taller than me, and on teetering heels, almost double that. She also had a semi-permanent scowl on her face that scared off anybody who came near—men, women and children. We were college best friends.
And in two seconds, she would probably want to bitch slap me into oblivion.
I shook my head as I walked to my desk, dropping my purse on it, and slouched on my chair.
"What! What do you mean?" Chase stood in front of my desk, smacking both her hands on it.
"He asked... He's..." I couldn't even form the words properly. "He asked me to plan his wedding to Sandrine."
Chase let out a guffaw, which had Jewel and Mateo, the two people who comprised our small staff, turning their heads toward my small office. Once she managed to suppress yet another laugh, she said, wiping off tears from her eyes, "You're kidding. This is your idea of a joke."
I whispered, "No."
She clammed up, realizing that I wasn’t kidding. "Ah, shit." Chase slumped in the chair in front of me. I nodded in agreement. "So, what are you gonna do? Wait, you said no, right? C’mon, he's your ex, and she's the wildebeest who stole him from you. I mean, they haven't gone out for more than four months."
"Three." I corrected her, holding up my fingers.
"Three? Are you sure? Isn't that too short? That's gotta be too short. Three months?"
I sighed. "But that's Jake, when he's sure of something, he'll just go for it."
She scrunched up her face and straightened. "Well, I thought he was sure with you." She wasn’t Jake’s biggest fan, but she accepted that he made me happy. When he left, she picked up the pieces.
"Yeah." I sighed again, pressing my face onto my upturned hand. "I thought so too."
"What are you going to tell him? He would understand if you declined."
"Chase." I looked her straight in the eyes. "When have I ever said no to Jake?"
"Ah, shit," she muttered again.
Those six months that Jake and I were together, I had never said no to him, not even when he asked me to let him go the night he broke my heart.
Chase shook her head and mumbled something incoherent. When she looked back at me, she waved her hand in the air. “Get up.”
“What?”
“Get up!”
“Chase, not now.”
“Nica, please get the eff up.” I rolled my eyes but obeyed. “Turn around.”
“Chase—”
“Please, Nica.” She didn’t sound bossy, which was highly unusual for her, so I gave in. I turned on my heels. With the palms of her hands, she patted me from the nape of my neck to my lower back.
“What are you doing?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.
Chase sucked her lower lip between her teeth, and then let it out with a pop. “Checking for your backbone.”
I stepped away from her, pouting.
With her arms crossed, she cocked her head to one side and pinned me with a serious look. “I know you’re still in love with Jake. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said yes to his ridiculous request. That’s gotta be the only explanation since you clearly still have a backbone.”
“It’s not that easy, Chase.”
“Yes, it is. Say it with me…no.” She squeezed my lips together, making them form a small ‘o’. “No.”
I slapped her hand away. “Stop. It’s complicated.”
Chase seethed, and we had a stare down. I guessed she saw all sorts of emotions cross my face since she threw her hands up in the air in surrender. “Fine. But after this, you better grow that spine back.” She firmly grabbed my arms and shook me lightly. “You’re too nice for your own good sometimes. Next time you meet with that ass, make sure I’m around.”
I nodded, but my fingers were crossed. This was just the beginning, and I wouldn’t put it past Jake to come up with something else that would surprise me or his future wife.
* * *
Two
The Bride
For the next four days, I had more conversations with Sandrine over the phone than with my own mother. And that was saying a lot since my mother called me up every hour to tell me about the most mundane things in her life. I might seem like a pushover, taking over Jake's wedding plans, but in my head, I was not—I was simply being professional.
I had a business to run. The commission I’d receive from this wedding could keep us afloat for a while. When Jake and I broke up, that effectively severed my connection with San Francisco’s elite community. While my heart wailed as I planned his wedding, I focused on the advantages this would bring to our small business. Yes, this sounded less insane than the fact that I would let Jake do just about anything he wanted with me.
Chase had been supportive in her way, but every time the phone rang, and it was Sandrine calling, she huffed and stomped out of the room. Apart from that, she was my personal cheerleader.
Jake would often visit me at the office, mostly to talk about Sandrine and their future. However, one day just dropped by to bring me tea and pastries from the bakery across the street. Okay fine, he got called in to work before we started talking about his wedding, but still...
Finally, on the fifth day, I had the chance to meet Sandrine…but not before Chase pulled me back into my office, locked my door, sat me down on the loveseat, and told me her own plan. Her new, brilliant plan. I wasn't quick enough to take note that she was too happy, which usually translated into she wasn’t up to anything good.
"You're going to steal him back." She held both my hands, her azure eyes squinting at me—a sign of ruthless determination.
"Steal who back?" I knew whom she meant, but it was an audacious thought, not unusual for Chase, but completely out of left field for me.
I was always the good girl, and she was the devil dressed in a designer black, form-fitting dress paired with sky-high stilettoes.
Her head sagged, and she said, huffing in exasperation, "Jake. You have to steal him back." She trained her eyes back on me.
I blinked at her. "Why would I do that?"
"Because you're meant to be together. I know you still have feelings for him. And think about it...he asked you to plan his wedding. There are hundreds of wedding planners in the city, but He. Asked. You." She punctuated those three last words by pointing her finger at me. “Maybe he was self-sabotaging. How does he know that you won’t mess this up? Or, maybe he does want you to screw things up, so he can get away from this engagement. Maybe he got her knocked up and he doesn’t want the kid. What if it’s not even his?”
I groaned, frustrated that I had to defend my ex-boyfriend’s honor to my best friend. "He asked me because he likes what I do. He's seen what I can do to the most ordinary events. And, it wasn't entirely his idea, it was Sandrine who told him to ask me." I blinked furiously, as though it would exaggerate my point, ignoring the last bit of Chase’s theory that Jake might have gotten Sandrine pregnant. My heart could only take one heartbreak at a time.
Chase was such a great person to have on my side, and her mind was an excellent tool for the business. She had been my anchor when I was floundering on the ocean of self-doubt, and when my heart tore into pieces, she helped me glue it all together by keeping my mind busy with new projects (and loads of tequila shots).
When Jake broke up with me to be with Sandrine, Chase stepped in and offered to hold my hair when I needed to throw up (after said tequila shots). She nursed me through the heartbreak, but she couldn't quite cleanse me of what I felt for Jake, though not for lack of trying. She had pushed man after man my way, hoping one of them would snag my attention. None of them was ever good enough. Not one of them ever came close to Jake's perfection.
I might sound picky, but I was convinced that once I met the perfect guy, I just couldn't look elsewhere. I
craved him like he was part of my soul, like my every breath depended on his presence, like every heartbeat only responded to his voice, his touch, his kiss.
Through months of the late-night sobbing and ice-cream bingeing, I cursed the heart that was too quick to love a man, a trait I had inherited from my often love-sick mother.
Chase adamantly shook her head. It was her way of telling me that I was being stubborn. If I continued the conversation, she would lay out a plan for me, which she most likely had been working on since I told her about Jake's engagement.
I stood up in defiance; arms crossed over my chest. "I won't do it, Chase. You know why." She opened her mouth ready for a rebuttal. I held my hand up in front of me. "Stop. I don't want to hear it. I'm meeting with Sandrine in ten minutes. I just want your support. If not as my friend, then as the co-owner of this establishment."
Grabbing my bag, I left, leaving her sulking in my office.
Of course, on my way to the restaurant to meet Sandrine, I kept hoping that she had a massive overbite, her teeth yellow from chain-smoking—as a true Frenchwoman, I'd imagine, would—and her hips and butt would be massive from eating calorie-filled French pastries, full-bodied wine and stinky cheese. But, when a statuesque goddess with perfect olive skin and a thick, wavy, healthy coif introduced herself to me and kissed both my cheeks, I berated myself for ever thinking those thoughts, and that a woman any different from the one seated before me would have attracted Jake in the first place.
Picture an even more sexed-up Marion Cotillard with higher cheekbones, bigger, more expressive eyes with impossibly full lashes, thick eyebrows that only looked good on Europeans, pouty lips that any model would kill for, and throw in long, soft, graciously moving limbs on a body that didn't seem to have any fat on it whatsoever. She was perfect!
Chase would hate her.
"I'm so 'appy to meet you, Veronique." Her French accent was so distinct, sexy, and sultry that I couldn't even courageously correct her from saying my name wrong because it sounded right coming from her lips.
