Fake Empire(17)

I grit my teeth and reconsider opening a beer; mysterious activities be damned. Asher insisted on accompanying me to St. Patrick’s Cathedral for the one joint wedding-related event neither Scarlett nor I were able to get out of: meeting with the priest. Neither of us have a wedding party. It was Scarlett’s request, and one I was happy to go along with. I would have wanted to ask Asher to be my best man—which I guess he picked up on, given his hat—and would have been obligated to ask Oliver instead.

Since the lack of bridesmaids and groomsmen limits the number of people involved in the nuptials themselves considerably, the meeting also involved going over the logistics of the ceremony. Evidently, Hanson Ellsworth decided he didn’t need any guidance on walking Scarlett down the aisle, so it ended up being just the two of us sitting and standing in total silence. I’m surprised the priest didn’t suggest couples counseling.

Asher didn’t witness any of the awkwardness inside the cathedral. He’s referring to the fact that Roman, my driver, pulled up outside the cathedral at the same time as Scarlett’s car did. Meaning he had a front-row seat to the tense encounter that marked the first time we’d seen each other since the dinner at my family’s estate several weeks ago.

An evening meant to build bridges.

Between me and Scarlett, they burned.

“You remember Scarlett, don’t you?” Asher asks Jeremy.

Jeremy grins. “She’s hard to forget. I had a class with her freshman year. Managerial Accounting.” He grins. “She gave the professor a run for his money. Only reason I understood cash flow analysis.”

“You talked to her?” I ask, taken aback. During our college years, I was grateful my path never crossed with Scarlett’s. Happy to fuck around with whatever—and whoever—I wanted with no reminder of the responsibilities waiting for me following graduation. I never considered my friends might have talked to her. Done more than talked to her.

Jeremy shrugs as he grabs his own slice of pizza. “A couple of times. I mean, there wasn’t a guy in that class who wasn’t trying to tap that.”

My jaw clenches with something that feels a lot like jealousy.

“I mentioned Crew once, trying to impress her,” he continues, then laughs. “Had the opposite effect. It took me until sophomore year to figure out why.” He glances at me. “Still don’t get the whole arranged marriage thing. Leave that to the royal family.”

“Crew isn’t all that broken up about it,” Asher replies. “Without lifting a finger, he’s marrying the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

I look Oliver’s way. He’s remained mostly quiet as he munches on pizza. I’m surprised he agreed to come to this. I’m not surprised he’s currently reading on his phone. Something related to work, no doubt.

We finish eating and then head out. Asher holds firm in his refusal to share any details of the evening’s plans. When the elevator doors open to the lobby of my building, it’s just beginning to grow dark outside. Asher and I follow Jeremy and Oliver—who’s still on his phone—toward the doors that open onto the street.

Halfway there, I notice a woman standing at the front desk. Her back is to me, but she’s wearing jeans, a white blouse, and a pair of pink heels. I trail my eyes up from the splash of color, tracing her curves up until I reach the elaborate braid her brunette hair is pulled back in. Hair the same color as…

“Scarlett?”

The woman’s shoulders rise and tense. Lower, like she’s letting out a long breath. She didn’t come here to see me, that much is obvious.

“Never mind,” I hear her say before she turns around.

In what I guess is her idea of casual attire, she still stuns me. Nothing about her is what I thought was my type. Not the superiority complex or the snappy retorts. Her red lips are twisted into what could best be described as a sneer as she studies me.

“I was hoping not to see you.”

Bluntness is a trait I used to think I did appreciate.

Asher does a shitty job of muffling his laugh.

“That explains why you’re in my building,” I retort.

Scarlett sighs. “Since you’re here… I need to talk to you.” Her glance at Asher is pointed. “Alone.”

“I can take a hint,” Asher says. “See you outside, Crew.”

My eyes stay on Scarlett as Asher disappears to join Oliver and Jeremy on the sidewalk. Scarlett holds out the envelope she was attempting to hand off at the front desk. “Here. Store it somewhere safe.”

I open it and glance inside. There’s a plastic keycard, like at a hotel, and a piece of paper with a series of numbers written on it. “You got me a wedding gift?”

“You’ll need the code to call the elevator and the card to get into the penthouse.”

“If you want to fuck before we’re married—”

Scarlett cuts me off with a laugh, like the idea of us having sex is a ludicrous one. “That’s not what this is. I won’t be home on Saturday night, and since you were so insistent on living together, I—”

I cut her off. “What do you mean, you won’t be there on Saturday night?”

“I’m flying to Paris as soon as the reception ends,” Scarlett replies. “For a work thing.”

“No, you’re not.” The dispute is automatic. It’s our wedding night, and she’s planning on flying to France? I probably shouldn’t be surprised, but I’m shocked.