Chapter 11: Wedding Planning Hell

I’ve discovered there are circles of hell Dante never wrote about.

Like sitting in your sister’s future in-laws’ estate while she picks out flowers for her wedding to the man who knotted you three times in one night.

"Runze? Hello?" Feifei waves fabric swatches in front of my face. "Earth to my brother, ivory or champagne?"

I blink at her, trying to focus, trying to care about tablecloths when all I can think about is the fact that the man she’s marrying fucked me in a bathroom two weeks ago.

"Um. Champagne?"

Feifei beams. "I thought so too! It’ll complement the flowers perfectly."

We’re in some parlor that’s bigger than our entire dining room, surrounded by wedding planners and decorators. Grandmother Wuchen sits in a chair near the window, observing everything with her sharp eyes. Mother is taking notes frantically, trying to keep up.

And Bael is standing near the fireplace, supposedly reviewing contracts, but I can feel his eyes on me.

Feifei turns to show the planner, and I risk a glance at Bael.

He’s looking directly at me, his expression neutral, professional, but there’s something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.

I look away quickly.

"Now, about the centerpieces," the wedding planner says, pulling out photos. "We have several options..."

I tune out, focusing on my water glass, my phone, anything except the fact that I’m sitting here helping plan a wedding that shouldn’t happen.

Because I know what Bael tastes like, I know the sound he makes when he cums, I know how his hands feel on my skin.

And Feifei doesn’t.

"Runze?" Mother’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. "Are you paying attention?"

"Yes, sorry."

"The flowers. Do you prefer roses or peonies?"

"I... don’t know. Both?"

Feifei laughs. "You’re so hopeless with this stuff, but thank you for being here anyways."

Guilt twists in my stomach.

"Of course," I manage.

Bael’s phone rings, he excuses himself, stepping out into the hallway.

I breathe a little easier with him gone.

The planning continues. Colors, flowers, table settings, guest lists, Feifei is glowing, excited, making lists and checking things off. Mother is in her element, networking with the Wuchen staff, making sure everything is perfect.

I sit in the corner, silent, hoping no one asks my opinion on napkin rings.

The wedding planner spreads out invitation samples, cream cardstock with gold foil lettering. Feifei debates between script fonts while Mother takes notes on guest count logistics, three hundred people, five courses, a string quartet.

This isn’t a wedding, it’s a corporate gala with vows.

"We’ll need the final headcount by next week," the planner says, checking her tablet. "And the menu selections should be confirmed within three days."

Feifei nods eagerly, already making lists.

I count the minutes until this ends.

Twenty minutes later, Bael returns.

"Apologies," he says smoothly. "Business call."

"Of course, dear," Grandmother Wuchen says. "The company won’t run itself."

He takes his position back near the fireplace, and I feel it immediately, that awareness, that pull.

I don’t look at him, I won’t.

"Oh!" Feifei jumps up. "I almost forgot, I need to show you the dress options, come on, Mom!"

She practically drags Mother toward the door. "We’ll be right back!"

And then they’re gone.

Leaving me alone in the parlor with Bael and his grandmother.

Grandmother Wuchen stands. "I believe I’ll take some tea, excuse me."

She sweeps out, and the door closes behind her.

Silence.

I’m alone with Bael.

I stare at my phone, scrolling through nothing, pretending I don’t notice.

"You’re avoiding me."

His voice is low, conversational, like we’re discussing the weather.

I don’t look up. "I’m sitting right here."

"You haven’t looked at me once today."

"Why would I?"

I hear him move, footsteps crossing the room, then he’s standing in front of me, too close.

"Look at me, Runze."

I keep my eyes on my phone.

His hand reaches out, fingers tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

Those cold gray eyes that see too much.

"Let go," I say.

"Make me."

We stare at each other, the air between us feels charged and dangerous.

"They could come back any second," I say.

"I know."

"Your grandmother.."

"Is giving us privacy, she’s not stupid."

My heart stops. "What?"

"She knows I wanted a moment alone with you." His thumb traces along my jaw. "I told her we needed to discuss your role in the wedding party."

"We don’t.."

"I know." His eyes drop to my mouth. "But she doesn’t."

"You’re insane."

"Probably." He leans closer, and I can smell his scent, cedar and something darker that makes my body respond despite everything. "You look good today."

"Stop."

"Stop what? Noticing you? Watching you squirm while your sister plans our wedding?" His voice drops lower. "Thinking about how you looked bent over that bathroom counter?"

Heat floods my face. "Fuck you."

"You already did, quite memorably."

I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

"Get away from me."

"Why? Afraid you’ll give in again?" His hand moves from my jaw to my neck, fingers pressing lightly against my pulse. "Your heart is racing."

"Because I’m angry."

"Liar." He leans in closer, his mouth near my ear. "You want me to touch you, you’ve been thinking about it all day."

"You’re wrong."

"Lies." His lips brush against my ear.

Footsteps in the hallway.

Bael steps back immediately, putting distance between us, his expression shifting back to neutral professionalism in seconds.

The door opens and Feifei bounces in, holding fabric samples.

"Okay, so I’m torn between these two..." She stops, looking between us. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," Bael says smoothly. "Just discussing the groomsmen arrangements."

"Oh good!" Feifei smiles at me. "I’m so glad you two are getting along."

I can’t speak, I can’t breathe.

Bael’s expression is perfectly pleasant. "Your brother has been very helpful."

Feifei beams and launches back into wedding talk.

I sit there, my heart still racing, my skin still tingling where he touched me, and wonder how much longer I can survive this.

The wedding is in two months.

Two months of watching him play devoted fiance while his eyes promise things he shouldn’t.

Two months of this torture.

I’m going to lose my mind.

Or worse.

I’m going to give in again.