by Claire, Ava
"On behalf of Whitmore and Creighton, I want to thank you all for coming to this question and answer session regarding the organization Reach.
As you all are aware, our client, actress Rachel Laraby, was moved by Mia Kent's brush with death. She had a novel idea to create an organization that would offer troubled youth the opportunity to be mentored by industry professionals and make positive contacts. We've invited them all here to talk more about their organization."
She gave me a nod and butterflies stormed my gut as I rose to my feet. Rachel was all but cackling, but both of us froze when Mia rose to her feet.
The young starlet moved to the podium, flashing the audience a bright smile. "It means so much to me that you all are here to support this great organization." Something told me that she knew that eighty percent of them were hoping for some sort of meltdown. “I know when I first heard about Reach I was stunned. As a young actress, I grew up watching Ms. Laraby’s lovely movies. But mostly, I was honored. Especially when Ms. Laraby opened her home to me."
Rachel gasped and when the attention flitted to her she forced a smile, smoothing over her abrupt reaction.
"I can't wait to move in and begin the immersive component of Reach-” Mia paused, waiting until everyone was literally waiting with bated breath. “Twenty-four seven mentoring."
I had to bite my lip to stop from bursting into laughter. Beside me, Rachel was fighting the urge to meltdown. Her eyes were practically out of her skull. Her face was red from holding back her true reaction: fury. She was struggling to act like this was all part of the plan. After all, if she didn't act like she was on board, she would look like a diva.
Mia turned to face Rachel, clutching a hand to her chest with adoration. "The late night rom-com marathons, clubbing, concerts, shopping, script evaluations—I can't wait to share my life with you, Ms. Laraby. I can already feel the positive impact of the Reach experience...and we're just getting started." She led the applause then urged the audience to get on their feet.
I joined them, grinning deviously down at Rachel's shell-shocked face.
Checkmate.
****
What's the worst that can happen?
That was the thought that flitted through my mind as I tried to give myself a pep talk, four blocks from the restaurant where my mother and Alicia were finally meeting. To talk about the wedding.
Me, my mom, and Alicia. Talking about the wedding of my nightmares.
And you just said the jinx of all jinxes, I thought silently, inner voice wagging its finger disapprovingly. You are so screwed.
I took a deep breath and pushed myself forward. I didn't believe in jinxes anyway. And after the week I'd had, I had every right to be optimistic.
It started off with Mia's slap down of Rachel at the conference. To Rachel's horror (and my delight) it wasn't some sort of practical joke. To make sure Rachel didn't just pull of her mask once the cameras stopped rolling, Mia picked a photographer to shadow her throughout the experience to capture every second. I almost felt sorry for Rachel as Mia started talking about sleepovers and 'braiding each other's hair'. Monique commented that she hadn't seen me so happy since Jacob proposed. She seemed so sure it was due to the positive reception Reach got at the question and answer session that I didn't have the heart to tell her it was because seeing Rachel terrified felt like Christmas morning.
That was Monday. Tuesday brought an actually civil conversation with Natasha, I got something other than glares at Missy's meeting on Wednesday, and Thursday Jacob surprised me with omelets in bed. I'd been so cloud nine, deliciously optimistic that when my mother suggested a ladies brunch, I'd almost auto-replied yes.
Almost.
I hadn't been nearly apprehensive enough, but I was making up for it with each step that brought me closer to the Plum Cafe. After meeting Megan there for crepes since we discovered it a month ago, it had become one of my splurge worthy stops in the city. It was extremely pretentious with its blaring white walls and artisan pieces that looked like they’d copy and pasted the showroom at West Elm. One bite of their berry and cheese crepe and all was forgiven.
I'd chosen a striped shirt dress that was light enough that I was cool despite the nearly triple digit weather, but not sheer enough that I'd give everyone a preview of my underwear. It was just the right amount of casual and dressy that I felt comfortable without looking intentionally dressed down. And comfortable was good. Comfortable was exactly what I needed to face lunch with my mother and Alicia.
I pushed my shades up, pinning my dark curls away from my face as I stepped up to the door. The hostess gave me a smile of recognition and I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. That had been happening a lot more lately. Probably because the news got wind of our wedding date and suddenly our nuptials were plastered all over the place. A real Cinderella Story, proof dreams really do come true.
"Miss Montgomery!" she gushed, every tooth in her mouth gleaming at me. "Your party's already waiting."
I frowned, not believing they were here and I didn’t know it through means other than the hostess’ declaration. I'd half expected I'd hear them before I saw them, shouts ringing out above the painfully abstract indie music pilfering from the speakers.
Both women had strong personalities, thinking their way was the only right way and everyone else was doing it wrong. I figured I'd be the referee; it was the reason I'd all but jogged the half a mile from the office, wanting to get in the middle before blood was shed. I wasn't betting on silence or the two women behaving.
"Is everything alright, Miss Montgomery?"
I cleared through the haze, blinking rapidly as I stepped out of my head and tuned into what the hostess was trying to say. Her big brown eyes were round with concern, mouth pulled into a hesitant frown of her own before she started sputtering an apology.
"I'm so sorry, I just think you and Jacob are adorable..." She clasped a hand over her mouth like she'd just said a cuss word.
I would have chuckled if I didn't know her overcompensating for some mistaken slight wasn't rooted in reality. Despite having ‘cafe’ in the title, the restaurant was no stranger to A list clientele—along with A-list attitudes.
"It's alright," I reassured her with a smile. "We don't get adorable very often. Mismatched, maybe. Adorable? Not so much."
Relief flooded her face as she returned the smile. "Well, most people are idiots." She moved to the front of the hostess stand. "Right this way."
I maneuvered through the sleek tables, smirking at the myriad of women still wearing their oversized shades indoors and men with their eyes glued to their phone screens. Waiters in white shirts, black slacks, and weary plastic smiles rotated around the room like parts of a carousel. Round and round, like the knots that rolled and tightened in my stomach as we moved closer to what I knew would be nothing but drama. We stepped up to the table where Mom and Alicia were both quietly sipping glasses of wine. Both women's faces brightened when they saw me, the same relief the hostess wore when she realized I wasn't going to demand her job on a silver platter. It was the relief of being put out of your misery.
I pulled out the chair in between them and ordered a glass of wine of my own. I was gonna need it.
Mom was the first to reach over, the sides of her mouth nearly reaching her hairline. Everything about her face looked strained and pushed to the limit, intensified by her heavy makeup and gray lined hair pulled into a tight, high bun. "It's so good to see you sweetie." She leaned in and kissed my cheek. "You look lovely." She cupped my cheek, eyes narrowing me as she inspected me closer. "And thinner. Though I guess at all of these fancy restaurants they only give you a spoonful or two of food and call it a day-"
"But thin is good," Alicia interrupted smoothly. Her feline features shone as her lips split into a glittering grin. "Thin means beautiful wedding pictures."
I cringed, not a huge fan of talking about weight and even less so with all of the clear tension between them. The awkwardness hung on the air, thick eno
ugh that I could cut it with a knife. An inflammatory topic like weight would just make things worse.
I had no intention of commenting about any highly unlikely weight loss or the impact of my love handles on my wedding pictures.
Unluckily for us all, Mom picked up my slack.
"So you're implying that the only way my daughter will have lovely pictures is if she's thin?"
Alicia's smile dimmed. "I said no such thing. I said thin means beautiful pictures."
"Which means not thin equals not beautiful?" Mom growled.
Oh geez. "Mom-"
"Oh it's alright, Leila," she said, patting my hand. "I just wanted to know how thin Mrs. Whitmore suggests you should be in order to have beautiful pictures. For my reference."
Alicia took a long sip of her wine, pressing her scarlet lips into a line before she pushed her hair from her eyes."So things are really moving as far as the planning goes." She pulled out her iPad. "I have some floral arrangements I'd like you to choose from and there's also the matter of music. Yo-Yo Ma is always a classic choice-"
I coughed. "Yo-Yo Ma is a 'classic choice'?" He was freaking Yo-Yo Ma, one of the greatest cellists of our time. How was he even a choice at all? He played for presidents, international dignitaries—and Alicia was talking like hiring him for my wedding was a piece of cake.
I am officially in the Twilight Zone.
Alicia tilted her head to one side, holding her hands up as she backpedaled. "If he seems too formal, we can go in a different direction.” She stroked her chin thoughtfully, completely missing both me and Mom’s slack-jawed reaction. “There’s also a more popular music option as well. If you'd like me to use my contacts to get someone a little more top 40's-"
"I think Yo-Yo Ma or freaking Katy Perry would be too much." Mom snapped. “They’re both talented and the idea that they’re even on the table is...just...”
Alicia took the interruption in stride, lowering her voice to a confidential level. "Cheryl, if this is a matter of money, naturally, the Whitmore's take care of their own. Leila is like a daughter to me. Of course I will take care of the bill and you won’t have to worry about a single cent."
It might've been sweet if she hadn't all but drawn a line with her eyes and put my mother on the other side.
I had a feeling Mom was approaching boiling point and before Alicia started talking about hiring Beyonce or some famous tenor, it was time to put my foot down. As awesome as any of the above would be, it wasn't what I wanted. It was my wedding. It was high time I put an end to this whole charade. Some guy plucking out a song on a ukulele might not be as buzzworthy as a pop star bringing down the house at our reception, but it was what I wanted. It was the wedding story I wanted to tell my grand kids someday.
I looked at Mom first, then Alicia. "About the wedding-"
"There will be no wedding." Mom’s voice was filled with a finality and authority that would make even Jacob sit up and take notice.
Once I got over the shock, anger quickly filled in the blanks. What was this? Her last ditch effort to ruin everything? Hurt seeped in like a toxin. After our talk, I thought we were headed somewhere good.
What did she meant there would be no wedding? This was what she wanted, me to marry some rich guy and live the lavish life she didn't.
I gave her a look that was ours alone. It was the same look I'd given her every time she'd played matchmaker, or personal stylist, or my personal publicist when she'd put together a press conference in front of the house.
"How dare you-" I began.
"Trust me, Lay," she murmured. Her hand covered mine and then she gave it a quick squeeze. "I'll take care of this."
She released my hand and went full on Mama Bear, all but growling at Alicia. "My daughter has no interest in your multimillion dollar affair.”
Alicia frowned, clutching the stem of her wine glass. “What on earth are you talking about? Of course she wants the wedding! She’s been right beside me through the entire planning process.”
“Right,” Mom said brusquely. “And have you ever thought of asking her what she wants? What would make her happy?"
I sat in stunned, frustrated silence. It was finally out there. But I wanted to say it. It was my truth to tell.
Alicia was looking back and forth between the two of us. Confused, probably wondering what kind of girl turned down an all expenses paid fairytale wedding.
I pressed my eyes closed, counting to five. Breathe in. Breathe out. I opened them and they were both looking at me, waiting for my response.
I tried to keep my voice low and level. "Let me explain, Mom." At least let me do that much.
"Let you explain?" she scoffed. "When? As you walk down the aisle?" Her voice carried, just like it always did. But it was twice as embarrassing as usual because unlike all the times when I was growing up and she scolded me, I was an actual adult. And all the people who looked down their nose at me like I didn't belong had a surety in their sidelong glances. Like they'd been right about me all along.
"Before you sign one more check, let me tell you what my daughter wants-"
"No, Mom!" I said shrilly, all the frustration and minced words rushing to the surface. "I don't need you to save me or speak for me. I am fully capable of speaking for myself." I smacked down the tiny part of me that snickered at that, considering my lack of speaking up for myself was the exact reason the situation had escalated.
"If this is about the date, we can change it, dear,” Alicia offered.
She said it so simply, borderline flippantly. Like I was a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. She too wasn’t listening. She was dismissing me, just like my mother—she was just doing it without raising her voice.
And it was the straw that broke the camel's back.
I stood up, tears filling my eyes and turned on my heels. The sound of them calling after me crashed into the other sounds of the restaurant. I needed the screech of the city to drown out everything but my racing heart. I just wanted to get away from everything. From everyone.
Leila Montgomery finally reclaims her backbone, then storms out of the room like a coward.
I didn't let the tears fall until I got outside—where paparazzi were waiting, ready to immortalize the moment forever.
****
Jacob walked in and I didn't even look up from my phone. My fingers had never gotten so much exercise. When Mom called, my thumb angrily hit ignore as I went back to my novel sized text to Megan, explaining how and why I wanted everyone to go straight to hell. Just as I was about to wrap it up, Alicia would call and I'd remember something I'd forgotten, a look or emphasis on some word that pushed me to the edge. And then Mom would call, again, and the cycle would start all over.
He walked over to the living room where I stood, catching my breath from pacing back and forth.
"I said, 'Honey, I'm home!'."
He hadn't, actually. It was clearly his attempt at a joke because without me saying a word, he knew something was up. It probably didn't help that my arms weren't wrapped around his neck, pulling him close like we hadn't worked near each other for the past eight hours. Unless we carpooled, seeing each other after work was a reunion, something worthy of kisses and butt-grabbing.
I grunted, finally finishing the text I was composing with 'ugh' and sending it on its way. I dropped the phone onto the couch cushion a few feet away. It didn't last very long in its new position because he picked it up and lowered himself in its place.
"So you holed up in the office all afternoon and shot out of the building like a rocket as soon as the clock hit 5pm. I take it brunch didn't go well."
"How perceptive of you," I said bitingly. When I met his glare, I chewed on my lip and let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not especially." I avoided his gaze, knowing his eyes on me wouldn't let the silence fly. I wasn't ready to recap the disaster that unfolded at The Plum Cafe. There was no way to rehash it without finally doing the thing I’d b
een dreading.
Telling Jacob the whole truth.
I already knew how this would play out. He'd look at me, disappointment coloring his eyes as he asked what happened to Leila the Conqueror. And I wasn't ready to answer that because it meant taking a hard look in the mirror. Wearing a truth I never thought I'd wear. Admitting that I was being a little bit cowardly.
How in the world was it easy for me to tell an international superstar to kiss my ass but I couldn't tell my mother, future mother-in-law, heck, my future husband, what was in my heart?
But I couldn't play dumb with myself. I knew exactly why. Those whispers of self doubt that I pretended to ignore festered. The closer I got to becoming Mrs. Jacob Whitmore and the more people scoffed, placing cyber bets on how long we'd last, the easier it was to let the doubts wrap around my heart. The doubts reminded me that I was so lucky that he picked me at all. He was one of the richest men alive. The fancy, ostentatious wedding was his birthright. I didn't have much to give him—but I could give him a wedding fit for a billionaire.
I went to the kitchen, bypassing the bottle of wine that I really wanted and opted for a glass of water instead. "So if you haven't seen them already, there are going to be some pictures of me doing the ugliest crying you've ever seen."
Finally. That was the real me pushing to the surface, because I knew there was no way he'd drop this if he knew it moved me to tears. The woman I knew I was didn’t give the fear a chance to laugh it off and pretend I was joking.
He was up, striding to the island where I stood. He took the glass of water from me and put it on the granite countertop with a click, then took my hands in his strong, sure ones. “What’s going on?”
I looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze because I was already open and raw and I didn't want to cry again. I'd done more crying in the last two weeks than I'd done in my whole life.
But that wasn't an option because he hooked my chin and gently, but firmly, tilted it up until my eyes were in line with his. It was a gorgeous chin, chiseled and aristocratic, just like everything about Jacob, but I wouldn’t look up any higher. I knew I was being stubborn. I couldn't keep him out. We were going to be partners. That meant I didn't have to shoulder this alone anymore.
