Page 31 of Souls and Sorrows

9

You will not get awaywith this.

Swiping left, I clear the text from the unknown number on my phone, rolling my eyes at Vitus’s dramatics. For someone who cares so much about the end of our relationship, he hasn’t even once come to fight for me.

I pause my finger over the message app, tempted to see if one of my sisters has tried to contact me. I haven’t heard from Elena or Stella since that night at the club despite seeing Kal twice, and part of me wonders how worried they could actually be without doing anything to quell their fears.

Then again, maybe the tracking is enough. Maybe, so long as my GPS continues moving, they assume I’m fine.

Ignoring the urge to disappoint myself, I go back to the article I was scanning.

Cassius Reed Primrose. Age thirty-one, born the seventh of September in Savannah, Georgia, to real estate mogul Thomas Primrose and 1990 Miss Georgia Runner-Up Erin Farmer-Primrose.

Senior associate with Cupid & Associates, a multinational law firm specializing in the business and environmental fields.

Net worth: unknown.

Blowing out a breath, I minimize the Wikipedia page as the door to the private restroom swings open, not wanting to get caught doing recon.

What you don’t know can kill you, and I never want to give anyone that power.

Cash. The irony of his namesake reflecting his supposed interests doesn’t escape me. I just wish I’d known it before I agreed to go through with this wedding.

Not that I’m sure it would’ve changed the outcome. For whatever reason, the man seems hell-bent on dragging me down the aisle, and while I would argue his intentions, the bite of his rejection just twenty-four hours ago still reverberates in my chest.

It isn’t something I’m used to, especially when presenting myself on a silver platter for a man or woman’s pleasure—I’ve never had a preference, so long as he or she could make me forget real life for a bit. Now, I’m not really sure how to reconcile Cash’s resistance, but I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t thrown me off a bit.

“Ariana?”

A tall, slender woman with shimmering brown skin and a head of black curls steps into the room with a dry-cleaning bag draped over one arm. She shuts the door behind her, locking it with a manicured hand, and anxiety pulses in the pit of my stomach.

“Zephyr Corentin,” she offers, walking over with her palm out. I glance at it from where I’m sitting at the bathroom sink, and she seems unbothered by my apprehension, giving me a warm smile. “Mr. Primrose’s legal assistant. He asked me to make sure you were on schedule for the ceremony.”

I take her hand, wrapping mine around it gingerly. “Does he often send you on such personal outings?”

“Well, no. A lot of my time is spent doing research and meeting with clients he doesn’t want to deal with. Which is most of them actually. Cash isn’t really fond of people, nor is he the trusting sort. So, enter me.”

She smiles again, releasing my hand, and annoyance pricks at my fingertips. I’m not sure why, but her answer doesn’t satisfy me, leaving more questions in its wake.

Just how much does he trust this woman?

Do they share secrets?

Does she know our wedding is a farce?

Leaning away from her, I scan the length of her body, noting the business-casual mauve pantsuit and the folder tucked under one arm. Then, my eyes fall on the dry-cleaning bag, and curiosity prevails over stale, misplaced jealousy.

Seeming to notice where my attention has veered, she snaps her fingers and shoves the bag into my arms. “Your dress,” she says, and I crack a grin, lowering the zipper. Her eyes widen as luxurious fabric comes into view. “Oh, wow. Has Cash seen this?”

I shake my head, smoothing my fingers over the material. My one request yesterday when he asked what I wanted was for as traditional a wedding as we could muster. If nothing else, I wanted the party I’d been planning my entire life, the one I would have had to sacrifice parts of to satisfy Vitus’s desires if I’d gone through with our engagement.

Cash acquiesced, but on the condition that it could take no more than half a day to plan. I’m not sure why things with him are so time sensitive, but regardless, all the necessary contacts were already in my phone, and I had no budget limitations.

It’s amazing how much you can accomplish when you shove enough money at a problem.

Putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I follow Zephyr out of the bathroom to St. Leonard’s business office, which I’ve turned into a makeshift dressing room.

“So, you’re a dancer?” she asks, clasping her hands behind her back as I shimmy out of my lounge shorts and tank top.

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