The Vows We Fake

Bellmare Estate reminded me of Zane.

Rosewater. Honeysuckle. Old memories. Face to face with the gates that led into the Estate, those are the scents that welcomed me. The iron gates groaned open, leading to a vault of memories I had tried so hard to suppress, memories of Zane and I engaged with dreams of getting married in this same estate. Wedding dress shopping with Rosa, my ex-best friend. Rehearsing our vows, our dance.

I let out a breath and stepped through the gates anyway.

"Damn," Leah, my assistant, whistled. Her baby blue eyes widened in amazement. "Some people are rich!"

Rich didn't cover it. Bellmare Estate was magnificent, a dream carved into the hills. There were white stone archways framed by climbing jasmine, a beautiful courtyard that opened into a blue, shining lake. It had not changed in the five years since I had been here. It was the venue we had once dreamed of for our wedding, me and Zane. The one I had circled in bridal magazines. The one I had whispered about in nights while wrapped up in his arms. The one I had fantasized so much about.

Despite the beauty, the estate had the kind of silence that pulled at my heart.

My sober thoughts must've been evident in my expression, for Leah side-eyed me. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Perfect," I replied. The lie was easy.

"You sure? Your portfolio is..."

I glanced down to the portfolio in my left hand. I turned it around, right side up, cleverly hiding my fingers behind it. I hoped Leah won't notice that they were trembling. "I'm a bit nervous," I admitted. "But it's just a wedding."

It wasn't just a wedding.

My stomach had been in knots since the offer first came. I had planned luxury weddings before, but this one felt different. The premise was anxiety inducing. The contract had arrived anonymously. High profile wedding. No in-person meetings until after the contract was signed. No names. Just an outrageous offer (triple the pay) and one stipulation: total discretion; do not ask questions.

The only thing I knew was this venue, which was also where I would meet with of the client to talk things over with because I needed clarity on the contract. Bellmare Estate, the same venue that I had picked five years ago for my wedding.

And now, here I was. Not as a bride. Not even part of the guest list. As a wedding planner.

It had to be a coincidence, because there was no way...

My heart was beating rapidly inside my cream blouse. I was reviewing the facts over again. Anonymous client. No negotiations. First meeting at the venue itself. I should have said no. But the client paid triple the normal price upfront. And I had loads of debt to clear.

We crossed through the courtyard, the click of Leah's heels echoing across the marble floor. A middle-aged, salt-and-pepper haired man in a grey suit approached us.

"Ms. Ibe," he greeted stiffly. He didn't acknowledge Leah. "I'm Mr. Wade. I manage client interests on behalf of the groom."

I extended my hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

He didn't take it.

Leah brows shot up to her hairline.

"Follow me," Mr. Wade said, already turning on his heel. "My client is waiting for you."

"The groom is here?" I was confused. "I'd assumed he wouldn't be here for the first meeting."

"You wouldn't want him to be part of planning his own wedding?"

I narrowed my eyes slightly at his arrogant tone. After all, the contract stated that neither the groom nor the bride would be around for the first meeting.

The double doors of the main building creaked as Mr. Wade pushed them open. And there he was.

Tall, really tall, too sharply dressed for someone who once loved to dance barefoot in my kitchen. A charcoal suit clung to his body. His posture was stiff. He was examining the floral samples laid out on the table, so his back was to me. The sunlight cut across his silhouette.

I knew that silhouette, hell, I knew him. He didn't even have to turn for me to know it was him.

Zane Blackwood. My ex-fiancé.

What was he doing here?!

I felt the world tilt beneath my feet. The conference room blurred around the edges. Blood rushing behind my eyes distorted my view. I told myself it wasn't real. Perhaps the lack of sleep had gotten to me. Perhaps I was crazy. But there he was.

Zane Blackwood stood by the table, his back partially turned away from the door. He was taller than I remembered. Sharper. Colder. His hair was even darker, nearly black instead of dark brown.

He turned, and I stopped breathing.

Five years hadn't softened him, hadn't dulled him. His face was more chiseled now, mouth flatter. His suit molded perfectly to his frame. And his eyes, God, those dark eyes! His gaze swept across the room. He took in Leah first. Then Mr. Wade. Finally, he looked at me. My heart thrummed in my chest. I stared right back at him, bracing myself for a flicker of recognition. Shock. Surprise. Anger. Anything.

Nothing. He looked through me like I was invisible.

I stood, frozen. I couldn't make my legs move. The last time we had seen was five years ago, when I destroyed everything. And for years, I had dreaded our reunion. Would he allow me to explain? Apologize? Did he still hate me? In my hearts of hearts, I wanted to meet with him again, but not like this.

I would've preferred a reaction from him. A sign that this man who once loved me hadn't blotted me out completely from his memory. This impassiveness... it hurt more than anything.

Mr. Wade stepped forward. "Mr. Blackwood," he greeted. "Glad you could make time in your schedule."

Zane gave him a short nod. "Let's make it quick. I'm only here because the bride insisted."

The realization suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. My heart felt ripped into pieces. My mouth fell open. "You're the groom?"

My mouth fell open. "You're the groom?"

Zane was getting married? To someone other than me? And I was to be the wedding planner?

My legs wanted to give out.

"Surprise," Zane said with mock enthusiasm. "Is there a problem with that Ms. Ibe? Or do you usually greet your clients like they are suspects in a felony case?"

I took a step back. "My apologies."

The room was silent for a while until Mr. Wade cleared his throat. He gestured towards me. "This is Miss Amara Ibe, our lead consultant and wedding planner for the Blackwood-Voss wedding."

Blackwood-Voss wedding? He was really getting married. It was a stab straight to my heart.

Zane gave a single nod. "Ms. Ibe."

His voice, God, his voice! I had missed it so much. Deep, low, slightly rough.

I stepped forward. "Yes, I'm Amara Ibe."

Zane extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I hope we get along."

That hurt. It was as if I was a stranger. As if we had never been lovers in the past. As if I didn't know his body as well as he did mine. As if our morning breaths had never mingled days on end. As if I wasn't the only woman that mattered to him. As if we never ruined each other.

I didn't take his hand. I couldn't.

His lips twitched. Then he lowered his hand and began flipping through a portfolio.

"This is the final venue list, I assume?"

"Yes, it is," I replied. The words tasted like granite on my tongue.

"Good."

Mr. Wade cleared his throat. "Shall we begin the interview?"

My legs ached under the weight of memories I couldn't voice, so I pulled out a chair and sat. Mr. Wade began with clipped questions. Experience? References? NDAs? I answered on autopilot. But my eyes kept shifting to Zane. He was silent at the window, arms crossed.

He hadn't forgotten me. I was sure. He was just pretending. Why? And why hire me to be the planner?

"Do you know each other?" Mr. Wade asked.

I opened my mouth.

"No," Zane said. "But I heard she's the best in the game. And Sera specifically wanted her."

My stomach clenched. Was this a joke? Was this really how we were playing it?

Leah cleared her throat. "We've reviewed a lot of the packages and timelines. So we could begin scheduling design walkthroughs next week."

"For today," I said, forcing myself to speak, "we've prepared a walkthrough of the main garden and reception areas. The bride hasn't arrived yet?"

Zane shook his head. "She's a bit... occupied. Sera is a private woman. Let's do the walkthrough another day."

"Perfect," Mr. Wade said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with legal."

Mr. Wade stepped out the room, leaving just the three of us. The silence in the room was pronounced, tension so thick a knife could cut through.

Leah stood up abruptly and gathered her stuff. "I'll give you two a moment," she said, aiming a meaningful look at me. She exited the room soon after, the door clicking shut behind her, offering me silence and an opportunity to think.

I had heard rumors about Zane. He had an accident after the scandal (that I caused) five years ago which resulted in memory loss. Apparently, he doesn't remember anything from his past. I dismissed all of them as rumors, ignored any information about him for self-preservation... until now. It all seemed fabricated though, yet it was easier on my heart to believe that he truly didn't remember me rather than him pretending not to remember me.

We were standing face to face in the same room, wedding planner to groom, ex-lover to ex-lover, reunited in one of the most insane, unexpected ways ever. I wanted to say something, to scream. Yet the words couldn't form. So I kept silent and stared at him. He stared back at me, posture relaxed, arms still across his chest. His eyes were empty. I wanted him to speak, but it was clear that he wasn't going to unless I did.

I spoke up. "Is this a joke?"

He picked up a glass of water, his expression was unreadable. "Do you find it funny?"

It's either I laughed or I cried. "You really don't know me? You, Zane Blackwood, with your elephant's memory?"

"I really do not know you," Zane stressed calmly. "Although, your name, Amara Ibe... seems to ring a bell." The way my name rolled off his tongue caused shivers to go up my spine. He tilted his head. "Do I know you? Am I supposed to know you?"

That startled a sharp laugh out of me. He was too good at pretending. "So this is how it's going to be?"

He set the glass down, took a step toward me. "How should it be, Miss Ibe?"

The heat between us sparked to life, unwanted and familiar. My skin prickled. Zane was close enough now that I could see the faint scar beneath his left eye. I remembered how he got it. A night of too much whiskey and too many secrets.

"Professional," I said, keeping my tone even. "This is business. Nothing more."

He tilted his head, studying me. "You do look familiar."

"Don't play games with me, Zane," I snapped.

"You seem tense," he said, voice dipping lower. "Nervous?"

"Just disappointed."

"In what?"

"That I agreed to work for you before knowing who you were."

He smiled again, wolfish this time. "And now that you know?"

I crossed my arms. "Now I know to keep my guard up."

His smile sharpened. "Have we met really before?"

The question knocked the air from my lungs. "What?"

"You're staring like we have history," he said, mouth curving slightly. "But I think I'd remember someone like you."

My breath caught. He was still pretending. I hated him for it, and for how badly I wanted to drag the truth from his mouth.

"No," I said tightly. "But you're acting like you want to."

That earned a smirk. "That obvious?"

"You're two inches from crossing an HR boundary."

He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek, fingers grazing my skin. I shivered. Damn him.

"Funny," he murmured, "you feel familiar. Like something I used to dream about."

His voice caused shivers to crawl up my spine. He took another step towards me. I moved away from him and my back hit the wall.

He didn't touch me, not fully. But he braced one hand beside my head, leaned in so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. The other hand came up to my face. He dragged a finger down my cheek. I shivered at his touch. His gaze moved downwards and unashamedly settled on my lips. I swallowed hard, and he caught the movement, eyes darkening.

I knew the look in his eyes. It was the one he got when he was consumed by desire, the expression he had just before he kissed me. And he looked like he wanted to kiss me. Eyes dilated, hands positioned in place, lips slightly parted, finger on my chin slowly moving my head towards his.

Zane leaned in further, his lips merely a hairs breadth away from mine, and...

Zane leaned in further, his lips merely a hairs breadth away from mine. My lips parted open, but I quickly shut them back.

"You should step back," I said, voice shaking. "Now."

"Why?" he whispered. His minty breath fanned my face. "Am I making you nervous, Miss Ibe?"

I met his gaze. "No. You're making me nauseous."

He laughed under his breath. "Was your tongue always this sharp?"

"Back off, Zane."

"Speaking of tongues..." he said, his eyes darting downwards to my lips. "Why don't you let yours caress mine?"

He was clearly seducing me, and the worst part was that I wanted to give in. Oh, to be loved and touched by this man. I tried to banish those thoughts. Remember how he left you years ago. And now he's engaged to someone else.

I tried pushing him off me. He held my hand firmly and pushed me back to the wall.

"Wrong move," he growled softly. "You can't escape."

My chest heaved, rage and heat twining in my throat. Angry words bubbled at the back of my throat, but the words couldn't come out of my mouth.

"Tell me what you want, Amara," he said, voice like silk over fire. His lips were a whisper from mine. I could feel the tension in his body, the restraint, the raw, maddening awareness. He dragged a finger down my cheek. "To be touched? Or to be remembered?"

I stared at him. "Neither. I just want you gone."

"You don't mean that," he said, leaning in just a fraction closer.

"I do," I lied.

His breath fanned my lips. His nose grazed mine. I felt every inch of my body coil, traitorous and trembling. Then, just when I thought he might close the distance... he smirked and stepped back.

"You're right," he said. "Strictly professional."

My legs wobbled under me as he walked back to his desk like nothing had happened.

I hated him.

I hated him so much.

I hated that I still wanted to kiss him.

Zane now stood by the window, overlooking the city view, suit molded perfectly to his frame. He wore black on black with no tie. He never cared what anyone thought. Not about his dressing, not about his tastes, not about him. He looked good; I hated that he still did. He commanded the room, the kind of presence that was to be helming empires, not haunting my present and past.

He didn't turn around when he asked, "If, as you claim, you know me so well, how do you think my wedding should be?"

"I do not know you so well," I countered. "I never claimed so."

"You're going back and forth with your statements." He tsk-ed. "That's not so professional."

"You are being cruel."

He coolly lifted a brow. "Cruel?" he echoed.

"Yes," I said, trying to make my voice stable. I fear I failed. "Cruel. Pretending as if you don't know me... what's the point? I thought we would both mature enough to handle our next reunion."

Zane was silent for a moment. I felt the air in the room shift. His eyes darkened even more. Then he slowly advanced towards me. "My fiancée, Sera, was so bent on hiring you. I thought you would be the most composed, professional wedding planner ever. I thought highly of you, but meeting you, I am a bit disappointed. You are highly emotional and rash, Ms. Ibe. I wasn't looking for a robotic wedding planner, but you're crossing boundaries."

Oh, so I was the one crossing boundaries? He really wanted to spin this around on me and make me seem like the volatile, rash one? After he nearly kissed me?

I tamed down my anger and grit out, "That was not my intent-"

He was merely inches away from me now. He lifted my chin with his finger, making sure our eyes met. "I'd assume you knew me in the past," he interrupted, his face dangerously close to mine. "Perhaps I knew you also. Pardon me for not remembering, because my memory fails me. However, I do not appreciate mixing emotion and sentiment into a business deal. If you can't handle the job, I'm sure we'll find someone more-"

"I can handle it."

Zane's brow lifted. "I only value professionalism."

'Professionalism.' That word was grating. "Of course."

"I won't take anything less."

"Deal."

He observed me for a while. I looked right back at him, my face a mask of indifference. Inside, my belly churned. Why was he seductive one minute and cold the next? What did he mean by "my memory fails me"? Did he really have amnesia? Am I that forgettable? Granted, I had ditched my braids for Vietnamese bone straight wigs and had forsaken the girly tones of my teens to more womanly tones of my twenties. I'd also added a bit of weight. Yet I could still be easily recognizable. I didn't change much.

Zane walked up to the head of the table and sat down. His posture was relaxed, like he wasn't just reunited with the girl who healed and then hurt him. I didn't sit. Not immediately. Instead, I hovered by the table, fingers grazing the edge if the folder Mr. Wade had left for me to sign. My heart was thudding like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest.

I decided to focus on my job. My shaky fingers flipped through the journal. I was still very aware of Zane's presence, but I tried to ignore it. There was a vision board, venue bookings, the bride's preferences which were minimal and clinical. It seemed cold and dry. Nothing suggested warmth or excitement.

"Your fiancée," I said. "She doesn't seem too... involved."

"She trusts me to handle the details."

To plan the wedding with your ex-fiancée? I wanted to ask.

"What's your vision for this wedding?" I asked instead. "Traditional? Contemporary? Destination... though I assume that this venue is non-negotiable?"

He looked at me. "This venue has always been her dream."

My dream. It was my dream.

"Hmm," I replied. I turned a page. "And the date?"

"Six weeks from now."

"Six weeks? That's short notice."

"You said you can handle anything."

I bristled. "I can."

"Then handle it," he said evenly. He nodded to the contract. "Aren't you going to sign it?"

I signed the contract with fingers I no longer trusted.

He stood. "Anything you need, request it through Mr. Wade. My fiancée, Sera prefers not to be disturbed."

What about you?, I thought, but I said, "Of course."

Zane offered his hand in mock politeness. I rose and put my fingers in his. They felt the same. I knew those fingers, memorized every inch of them. I could imagine them on my skin, loving, caressing, before our love story turned into ashes.

It was too much. I tried removing my fingers from his grasp, but Zane held on even tighter. His grip didn't hurt, but it was firm enough to hold my fingers in place until he wanted to release them. He stared me down, and I looked him back in the eye.

Finally, he let go of my fingers. "It was nice to finally meet you, Miss Ibe. I hope we get along."

I didn't reply.

He walked to the door and was about to open it. He wouldn't just walk out like this. I had to say something.

"Zane," I said quietly.