He’s barely looking at me, his demeanor as icy as his eyes. As much as I couldn’t stand the crude things Playful Aleck said, I now understand that Aleck enjoyed me. He was amused by me. This Aleck wouldn’t play with me if I was the last toy in the box.

What is more uncomfortable, is why it bothers me so much. I hate Aleck. Don’t I? I should be happy that I’ve somehow offended him because now he’s leaving me alone. And I’m ashamed to admit that I’m not happy about that.

As we walk into the Great Hall, my stomach drops—it’s absolutely breathtaking. Golden chandeliers drip from the gold-plated ceiling. The dark mahogany floor makes the gold of the tables and chairs, the white of the linens, and the silk draping over everything almost flicker. It’s stunning.

And it’s all wrong.

A tall, slender, clean-cut man, with jet-black hair dressed in casual business attire approaches us. “You must be Mr. Fox and Miss Sommers.”

Aleck’s head whips in my direction, an amused smirk lifts the corners of his mouth.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his smirk widening into a grin.

Whatever this is about, a fire lights in my stomach, burning up to my heart at the vision of Aleck happy again.

“What?” My lips curl into a smile, mirroring his.

“Your last name is Sommers? Your name is Winter Sommers?”

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out exasperatedly, I quirk an eyebrow. “Problem?”

“No problem.” He shakes his head, then reaches out and shakes the wedding planner’s hand. “You can call me Aleck. And this is Winter Sommers. First name Winter, last name Sommers—”

“I think he gets it, Aleck.” I roll my eyes, wishing Business Aleck would return.

“Right. Well, we have a lot to go over. My name is Angelo Serrano. But please, call me Angelo.”

Angelo, the wedding planner does not seem amused with us in the slightest.

“Angelo,” I say. “This room is beautiful, truly. But it’s a little big. Extravagant. Sondra is looking for something a bit more modest.”

Angelo cocks his head back like I’ve just told him I have a hand where my asshole should be. “This is our Great Hall,” he hisses. “This is where most of our high-profile weddings take place. The daughter of Max Bose should get married—”

“I understand, Mr. Serrano. It’s a gorgeous room, truly. I’m not trying to downplay its beauty. But Sondra and Preston have only invited one hundred and fifty people. That wouldn’t even fill half—”

“One hundred and fifty people?” he interrupts. “I have here that the guest list includes three hundred and fifty people. The Bose family—”

“You must not have received Sondra’s updated guest list. I was told she sent that to you weeks ago. Anyhow, I’ll get it for you as soon as I can. Max Bose’s daughter or not, she wants something quaint. Please…”

Angelo huffs, stiffening his spine. “Of course, Miss Sommers. Follow me.”