Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I smile and nod. “It smells so wonderful in here. I’m sure dinner will be delicious.”
A woman walks into the kitchen carrying an iPad and asks the head caterer if dinner is still on schedule.
“Right on time,” he confirms.
Then the woman—a party planner by the looks of it—turns to me.
“Mrs. Jennings! Wonderful. I thought we could go over the seating arrangement quickly, just in case you had any changes you’d like to make.”
I’m a little slow on the uptake, frozen in confusion for a microsecond too long before I laugh and remember that I’m Mrs. Jennings. She wants me to go over the seating arrangement.
“Of course.” I nod. “Lead the way.”
“So I’ve placed you and Walter at the center, rather than at the heads of the table so that you can mingle among your guests. I know this isn’t exactly proper, but it’s common enough nowadays. If you’d like me to arrange it differently—”
“No, that’s fine.”
I glance between Walt’s seating card and mine. Walter and Elizabeth Jennings. What a perfect fictitious couple.
The thought makes me smile to myself.
“So then, moving on,” she says, going down the line of seats around the rectangular table. “We have Jake, Christina, Sara. Then Martha, Sylvia, Matthew, Ying, and Doreen—”
“Where did you place Camila?” Walt asks, stepping into the dining room and abruptly cutting off the party planner.
He’s not quite done getting ready, still adjusting the lapel on his dark navy jacket and then fixing his watch so it sits perfectly on his wrist.
“She’s down at that end,” the planner says, pointing at a spot near the left side of the table.
Walt reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a set of cufflinks. I watch as he starts to put the first one on, but he’s focused on where the planner has put his guest, so he’s having trouble.
I step forward and take the cufflink out of his hand without asking.
His attention jerks down to me and I narrow my eyes teasingly, as if to say, I dare you to reprimand me for trying to help.
“Allow me,” I quip with a private smile, slipping the first cufflink on easily and then holding my hand out for the second.
He places it in my palm, though I don’t receive any sort of thanks.
“I’d like her to be on my left,” Walt says, referring to Camila’s placement.
“Of course. That’s not a problem,” the party planner says, rushing to swap cards around.
“These are nice,” I say, noting the heavy weight of the round cufflinks. At their center, they carry a stone that looks like blue granite.
“Where did you get them?”
“They were a gift.”
“From who?”
He glances over at the party planner before he replies, “A friend.”
Clearly, he’s aware of her presence in the room more than I am.
A fact he drives home when he tells me I look lovely, likely for the planner’s benefit more than mine. Still, I’m glad I’m focused on his second cufflink so he can’t see how much his compliment has caught me off guard.
He’s never made any reference at all to my appearance. I hate that I know that, but well…facts are facts. This compliment, however small it may be, still feels like a million bucks.
“Thank you. I grabbed this dress today.”
I didn’t have much say in choosing it. As promised, the sales associate collected half a dozen dresses for me to try on, and then she waited outside to confirm which one I should choose.
“Too short.”
“Too gappy around your waist.”
“Not the right color on you.”
The fifth one—a black one-shoulder midi dress—she absolutely loved the moment I stepped out of the dressing room. The slinky jersey knit sweeps across my chest with a one-shoulder neckline into a tight bodice. The curve-hugging fit continues just past my knees.
I liked it as much as she did, but the price was slightly over my allotted budget.
She shook her head. “No! I don’t care. I’ll share my employee discount with you. Consider this a fashion emergency. That dress was made for you!”
Up until this moment, I assumed she was just really good at her job, convincing people to buy clothes, but Walt is glancing down at me with what I can only assume is approval before the elevator dings and his guests start to arrive.
I wish we’d had more time to chat before this moment, more time to go over our game plan.
I wish he didn’t get immediately whisked away by friends anxious to chat with him. I have no clue what they know about me. I’m not sure who might know the truth about us or who assumes we’re really in love, which makes conversation tricky.
I’m swept up into a small group of women, wives whose husbands all work at Diomedica.
“I’m dying to know all the details about the wedding. Tell us everything! Who were you wearing? I saw your dress in The Times and I loved it. Good for you for bucking tradition.”