07

The first rule : Communication. What are both you and your partner’s desires for the wedding outcome ? Planning is a task meant for two.

But Adrien did not have a fiancée, and even if she did, she had no idea what she wanted her wedding outcome to look like. To be honest, she didn’t even care. What did the floral arrangement or the texture of the silk curtains matter ?

The real question remained : Who the fuck was she going to marry ?

Adrien had never had any real long-term relationships. She’d never even had many female friends. No matter what any gender statistics said, the business world had always been dominated by men. Feminism, Grey Hansen always said, has no place when it comes to making money.

The thought of Grey Hansen―who would inherit the Vitale Enterprises if she failed to present herself as a devout family woman―made Adrien jump to her feet and dial her best friend’s number.

On the eighth ring, Ezra’s sleep-mottled voice intoned : « Hello ? »

« Ezra, I need your help. »

« It’s three in the fucking morning, Adrien. »

« I’ll meet you at the Moth Café in twenty minutes. » Adrien hung up and pulled on her overcoat. A quick glance in the mirror revealed her elegantly tousled hair and glossed lips. Even at three in the morning, she had appearances to maintain. A reputation to uphold.

If this were any other weekend, she’d be out partying at her favourite club. Dancing, letting her body sink into the electric rhythm of a song. Unwinding. But now that she had a marriage to plan and a wife to find, she needed to readjust her goals. She needed Ezra, above all.

Twenty minutes later, at the Moth Café, Adrien sat across from Ezra and said, « I wish I could marry you. »

Ezra’s dry laugh disappeared into the noise and music of the busy café. « You know, my wife might have something to say about that. »

Adrien sighed. « I can’t believe you’re married. »

« You were literally the best man. »

Ezra was twenty-eight, the same age as Adrien, and he’d already been through the steps : A proposal, a marriage and now a child on the way. Adrien had been happy for him, but she’d never, ever wanted that life for herself. Now, she had no choice.

The café around them, despite being the middle of the night, was as bright and lively as ever. Maybe because it was the middle of the night. Most of the patrons now were on the younger side―teenagers, students in their early twenties. Those who had snuck out just to be here, those who maybe couldn’t confront their sexuality in the daylight. Adrien understood : Once upon a time, she’d crawled out of her own window just to make it. To feel like she belonged. With music swirling around from the speakers, little rainbow flags everywhere and constant laughter, the Moth Café had always felt like somewhere she could be herself. No fear of judgment. A silent and unspoken sense of unity : Everyone here was in this together.

« Please, » said Adrien, taking a swig of Shirley Temple. « Please, just tell me how to approach this white-picket-fence lifestyle. »

Ezra narrowed his eyes. « Is this about your deal with your father ? The family woman thing ? I told you not to go through with that. A week ago. »

« And obviously I’m not listening to you. I just need―an illusion. For five months. Then the company will be mine, I’ll get divorced, and it’ll be like none of it ever happened. »

Ezra leaned back in his chair. Although he’d been sleeping less than half an hour ago, he looked as beautiful as always : full lips and high cheekbones, with smooth brown skin and close-cropped curly hair.

« Phoebe ! » he called out. To Adrien, he leaned in and said, « Let’s see what she thinks about this. »

The noise of the crowded café died down a little as Phoebe bustled towards them in her signature forest-green apron, silver hair piled high atop her head. Her cheeks, rosy as always, were dimpled now with a warm smile.

Once she reached their table, she pinched both Adrien’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. « How’s my cuddly little cupcake ? »

Adrien scowled and half-heartedly batted her away. « Stop infantilizing me, Phoebe. »

« Oh, but my bubbly sweet sugarplum, how can I help it ? You’re normally very fierce and scary. Sometimes, you deserve to be seen for your warm, fuzzy inner self. »

Fuzzy inner self ? Adrien seethed.

Phoebe pinched both Ezra’s cheeks, too, but Adrien noticed that he was not called a cuddly little cupcake. Or a bubbly sweet sugarplum.

« What’s the matter, darling ? » she asked Ezra.

« Adrien wants to get married. »

For a moment, Phoebe seemed as if she’d choke. « You ? »

Adrien had known Phoebe for ten years―since she was eighteen, closeted and in desperate need of a mother―and Phoebe had never seemed fazed by anything. Now, Adrien thought she might just have given one of her favourite people in the world a stroke.

« Who, » sputtered Phoebe, « is the lucky girl ? »

Just then, Adrien’s gaze slid towards someone familiar : a slender figure with glossy ringlets and brown―almost golden―skin. Pretty lips pursed into a half-smile as she spoke to another customer, laughter bubbling up around her. For some reason, the world seemed to stop. Although there was no smoke, no heat from the kitchens, no sense of urgency, Adrien couldn’t tear her eyes away from the girl with the birdlike tilt to her head and the soft, unstated self-assuredness.

« Muse. » The word escaped against her will : it sounded like art, like poetry, like a dream given flesh.

« Muse ? » echoed Phoebe, spinning around.

Before this could be questioned further, Muse’s head lifted. Her eyes locked onto Adrien’s―and they flared with . . . surprise ? Anger ? Contempt ?

Muse set down a mug of coffee she’d been holding, and she approached Adrien’s table like she was in danger of being bitten by a wild animal.

« How did you find me ? »

« Find you ? » Adrien scoffed. « You wish. This is my favourite café. » At the praise, Phoebe glowed.

Muse crossed her arms. « I work here. And I’m surprised to see you’re not dead yet. »

Right. The second-degree burn. « What, are you offering to finish the job ? »

« I figured your pride would do that by itself. »

« In that case, I’m sorry to say I’m well and alive. » Out of the corner of Adrien’s eye, she noticed both Phoebe and Ezra’s heads moving back and forth between them. Watching them like a tennis match.

« I’m sorry about that, too, » said Muse, eyes flashing gold.

Adrien’s bandaged hand, still a little tender, rested on the table. Muse’s eyes flicked down to it, taking in the fact that Adrien had seen a doctor after all.

« So . . . who is this ? » cut in Ezra.

Phoebe, rosy-cheeked but no longer smiling, said, « This is Muse Gardner. I hired her today. She’s our newest waitress. » She narrowed her eyes. « How do you two know each other ? »

She was obviously not talking about Ezra and Muse.

« I . . . » said Adrien.

« She . . . » said Muse.

« We met at a, um― »

« Waterpark, » blurted out Muse.

« Waterpark ? » Adrien didn’t think she had been to a waterpark in years.

« Splish-Splash-Slide Deluxe, » Muse continued.

Phoebe stared, bewildered. « When you― ? »

« When we― ? » echoed Adrien.

« Went down the Black Mamba slide. Um, together. » Muse’s eyes narrowed―just a fraction―in Adrien’s direction, and Adrien got the message : Lie.

Adrien had no idea why, but she said, « There was only one floatie. »

« Just one, » Muse replied gravely. « And the lifeguard was going to give it to Adrien, but― »

« Since I saw how badly Muse wanted to go down the Black Mamba, I offered to let her sit, um, on my lap. »

Ezra narrowed his eyes. « Don’t waterparks have a rule against that kind of thing ? »

« The lifeguard, uh, made an exception, » said Muse. « I really wanted to, uh, slide down that slide. »