“I do, honey. That’s just not you. You can have whatever kind of wedding you want.”

“You’re okay with this, right? Preston said you and Aleck may not have met in the best way…”

May not have met in the best way? I interrupted his threesome, then he compared my appearance to a Marvel character. A giant, ugly one.

But I don’t tell her that.

“I just want to make sure this isn’t too much for you, Winter.”

“Sondra, I’m fine. I can handle Aleck. I’ve dealt with worse.” I refrain from filling her in on our current state of battle. That’s the last thing she wants to hear right now. “You just do what you have to do, and I’ll take care of the wedding. You’ll love it. It will be preciously quaint. No extravagance, I promise.”

* * *

Aleck exits his room in exactly twenty minutes, like he said he would, looking like he’s ready to model for the cover of GQ magazine. My eyes scan his navy Italian wool suit, tailored so perfectly to his body, I wonder if he could even feel it on his skin. Crisp white collared shirt, black tie, and dark brown Derbies. It’s become clear to me this man came out of the womb in formal business attire. I can imagine him winning cases purely because the jury, men and women alike, couldn’t peel their eyes from him. The word captivating doesn’t even begin to do him justice.

I look down at myself in frayed and whitewashed cut-off jean shorts, a fitted black V-neck T-shirt, and white low-top Chuck Taylors, and laugh. Remembering the women he brought home the night before, in their sparkly silk mini-dresses and Louboutin heels, it’s clear Aleck stays in his social class, or at the very least, his tax bracket.

“Hitting the runway after our meeting?” I tease.

Aleck drags his icy blue stare from fastening his button cuffs to my feet. His leering eyes soak me in slowly from the ground up as if his hands were all over me, even though it’s clear I’m leaving him bored. When his eyes meet mine, my lips part, but the words die in my throat when he looks away with indifference.

“Where are we meeting the wedding planner?” he asks, dryly.

No snide comeback. No classic Aleck smirk telling me he enjoys the push and tug of our banter. Playful Aleck has been replaced with Business Aleck. Cold, stoic, and uninterested. Probably what he looks like during business meetings. Or when he’s firing someone.

“Um, in the Great Hall. Wherever that is.”

Aleck checks his wallet for his keycard, then puts it back in his pocket and heads toward the door without sparing me an additional glance. “Let’s go.”

The walk from our room to the Great Hall is uncomfortable at best. The treatment he’s giving me now shouldn’t feel like I’ve been banished to the Island of Unlovable Things, but I do. I shouldn’t feel like I’ve wronged him or that I’ve displeased him in some way, yet I do.