Chapter 1 - The Wrong Man
“Please,” Vivien whispered. “I'll explain everything. I just need you to pretend we're together for a few hours. I'll pay you whatever the agency charges.”
The stranger looked down at her hand hooked through his arm.
For one long second, he said nothing.
Then his gaze moved from her champagne-colored gown to her face. His eyes were an unusual shade of gray, cool and alert, and the expression in them suggested he was deciding whether she was amusing or dangerous.
“Whatever the agency charges?” he repeated.
Vivien gave a tight smile. “Plus a generous tip.”
A corner of his mouth moved. “You make a habit of buying strangers?”
“Only on special occasions.”
“Then I hope this is a special occasion.”
“It’s my ex-boyfriend’s wedding.”
The stranger glanced toward the elevators. “That explains the desperation.”
She almost released his arm. “You don't have to help me.”
“I know.”
But he did not move away.
Vivien swallowed. “My name is Vivien.”
“Damien.”
“Damien what?”
“Moretti.”
She did not recognize the name. At that moment, she was too busy trying not to collapse from embarrassment.
A waiter passed with a tray. Damien took two glasses of champagne and handed her one.
“Tell me the rules,” he said.
Vivien blinked. “What?”
“If I'm pretending to be your fiancé, I should know the details. How long have we been together? Where did we meet? What do you like about me?”
“You're taking this very seriously.”
“I dislike doing a poor job.”
She glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was understated, black, and almost certainly worth more than the dress she had bought for the evening. His suit fit perfectly. There was a faint scar near his thumb, and a small black tattoo disappeared beneath his cuff.
“Three months,” she said quickly. “We met at an art gallery. You liked my earrings. I liked your—”
“Your what?”
“My confidence.”
“Good answer.”
“And we're engaged.”
“Already?”
“I panicked.”
He laughed under his breath. It was the first sound from him that felt warm.
“Then let's not keep your wedding waiting.”
He offered his arm again.
Vivien took it.
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside with a couple who were discussing the bride's family. The woman glanced at Vivien's ringless left hand.
“Are you with the Vale-Sinclair wedding?” she asked.
“Yes,” Vivien replied.
“Lovely. Are you family?”
Damien answered before Vivien could. “Soon, I hope.”
His voice was calm, but the woman looked at him twice. Something about him seemed to make people reconsider their questions.
When the elevator reached the third floor, the doors opened onto a wide corridor lined with white roses and candles. A gold sign pointed toward the Empire Ballroom. Through the open doors, Vivien could see hundreds of guests and a raised platform beneath a canopy of flowers.
Her stomach tightened.
Adrian would be there. Adrian in his perfectly fitted tuxedo. Adrian with his charming smile and his new bride, Celeste Sinclair, whose family owned half the luxury developments on the eastern seaboard.
For two years, Vivien had told herself she was over him.
Tonight, she would prove it.
Damien noticed her fingers tightening around his arm.
“Last chance to leave,” he said quietly.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then lift your chin.”
She looked at him.
“You're not walking into a room to ask for your ex's approval,” he said. “You're walking in because you were invited.”
The words landed somewhere beneath her ribs.
Vivien straightened.
They entered the ballroom.
Conversation softened as people noticed them. A few guests looked at Vivien with recognition. Others looked at Damien. One older man near the bar abruptly stopped speaking and stared at him as if he had seen a ghost.
Vivien barely noticed. She was searching for Adrian.
She found him near the altar.
He looked exactly as she remembered: dark blond hair, expensive smile, and the confident posture of a man who had never been forced to apologize for anything. Celeste stood beside him in a white silk gown, her diamond veil glittering beneath the chandeliers.
Adrian's gaze moved across the room and stopped.
His smile disappeared.
Vivien felt a tiny, wicked spark of satisfaction.
Then Adrian looked at Damien.
The spark became something colder.
“Vivien?” he said, approaching them. “I didn't expect you to come.”
“Your invitation was very clear.”
“I thought you might be busy.”
“I was. Then I found time.”
Adrian's eyes moved to Damien. “And this is?”
“My fiancé.”
Damien extended his hand.
“Damien Moretti.”
Adrian's fingers closed around his. The handshake lasted one second too long.
“Moretti,” Adrian repeated.
Damien smiled without warmth. “Have we met?”
“No. I would remember.”
“People often say that.”
Celeste approached, her smile polished and uncertain. “Vivien. How lovely to see you.”
“Congratulations,” Vivien said.
Celeste glanced at Damien's hand resting lightly at Vivien's back. “And who is your friend?”
“My fiancé,” Vivien repeated.
Damien leaned down and kissed her cheek.
It was gentle, convincing, and so unexpectedly intimate that Vivien forgot what she was supposed to say.
“Darling,” he murmured, “you haven't told me the bride's name.”
“Celeste.”
“Congratulations, Celeste.”
His eyes held hers for a moment. Something passed between them that Vivien couldn't read.
Then the wedding planner called the guests to their seats.
Adrian offered Vivien a tight smile. “Enjoy the ceremony.”
“We will.”
Damien guided her toward a table near the front.
When they sat, Vivien leaned close. “Thank you. You're doing brilliantly.”
“I haven't started.”
“What does that mean?”
He glanced toward the head table, where an older man had just entered and was now speaking urgently to Adrian's father.
“It means,” Damien said, “your ex seems to know exactly who I am.”
Vivien looked at him.
Before she could ask, the string quartet began to play.
And the wedding doors opened.
Before they reached the ballroom, Vivien paused beside a mirror framed in gold. She checked the line of her dress and tried to smooth the nervous crease between her eyebrows.
Damien waited without impatience.
“Do I look convincing?” she asked.
“You look like someone who knows exactly why she came.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No,” he said. “But it is more useful.”
She studied his reflection. “You really don't mind pretending to be engaged to a woman you met thirty seconds ago?”
“I have been asked to do stranger things.”
“That's not comforting.”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
For the first time that evening, Vivien felt a little of her panic loosen. She had expected Christopher Bennett to make her feel impressive. Instead, this stranger was making her feel as if she did not need to impress anyone.
A hotel employee approached and asked whether they were part of the wedding party. Damien answered with a calm yes, then asked where the gift table was. He picked up a small envelope from the concierge desk and wrote their names on it.
“What are you doing?” Vivien whispered.
“Giving the happy couple a gift.”
“We don't have a gift.”
“We have an envelope.”
“That's not a gift.”
“It contains a note wishing them a long and peaceful marriage. That's a gift.”
She almost laughed.
When the employee offered to take their coats, Damien handed over his jacket but kept his eyes on the lobby entrance. A dark sedan had stopped outside. Two men got out, looked through the glass doors, and then returned to the car.
“Friends of yours?” Vivien asked.
“No.”
“Enemies?”
“Not yet.”
She gave him a look.
He turned back to her. “You wanted a believable fiancé. A believable fiancé notices when his date is uncomfortable.”
“And are you noticing?”
“Yes.”
She looked away before he could see how much the answer affected her.
They walked toward the elevator. On the way, Vivien told him that Adrian had once promised to take her to Paris after their first major contract. He had shown her photographs of the city and said they would build a studio there together. When the contract came through, he went alone with the investors and returned with a new business partner, a new apartment, and a new story about why she was not ready.
“I used to think I was waiting for him to choose me,” she said. “Now I think I was waiting for him to admit he had used me.”
Damien did not offer a quick consolation. He only said, “Some people mistake being loved for being useful to someone.”
The elevator doors opened.
Vivien looked at him. “You sound like you know that feeling.”
“I do.”
Before she could ask more, the elevator began to rise.
As they stepped into the ballroom, Vivien remembered one final detail she had not told Damien: Adrian had invited her personally. The envelope had arrived at her apartment with a handwritten note saying he hoped they could “end things with grace.” At the time, she had thought it was an apology. Now she wondered whether he had simply wanted to see whether she would come alone.
“Did he invite you?” Damien asked, noticing her expression.
“Yes. A note with the invitation.”
“What did it say?”
“That he hoped we could end things with grace.”
Damien's gaze shifted toward the head table. “Then he expected you to arrive without anyone.”
“Probably.”
“Perhaps he wanted to see whether you were still waiting for him.”
Vivien felt the truth of it settle in her stomach. She had imagined herself walking into the ballroom as a woman who had moved on. Adrian may have imagined her walking in as a woman who still needed his approval.
She straightened her shoulders.
May you like
“Then he can be disappointed,” she said.
Damien offered his arm again. “That is a much better plan.”
