CHAPTER 249: CHAPTER 250 MIRA: MYSTERY WOMAN

Finally, Fabrizio said, ‘That’s fine. Just keep them private, that’s all.’

He perked up noticeably after lunch, and I liked to think I had something to do with that.

I planned to show Ashton the reports tonight. Who says a fiancé can’t double as your financial analyst?

If he said everything checked out, I’d invest in Valmont & Cie. I had enough money—well, technically Ashton’s money, but he’d said it was mine to spend however I wanted. Still, I’d run it by him first.

The afternoon drifted by pleasantly. Paris lived up to its reputation as the gourmet capital of Europe. Fabrizio picked a restaurant with zero Michelin stars, and I still ended up going back for seconds.

Okay, fine. Thirds. Plus two slices of cake. The mille-feuille alone could make a grown woman weep.

Which explained why I asked Fabrizio to drop me off a few blocks from the hotel. That, of course, meant offering an awkward explanation for why I’d moved out of the lovely, work-adjacent house he’d set up for me and into a hotel.

I couldn’t exactly say ‘Ashton made me.’ Though that’s what happened.

Thankfully, Fabrizio was too polite to pry. He just smiled in that painfully gracious way and let me off the hook.

I thanked him for the lift, said goodnight, and walked the rest of the way to help digestion.

‘Keep eating like this and you’ll need a bigger wedding dress,’ I told myself.

Then it hit me—I had no idea what my wedding dress even looked like.

Ashton and I had set the date, and that was the sum total of my involvement. Then I’d flown to Paris.

So... who was sorting out the dress? Shouldn’t there be fittings? Measurements? Fabric choices? When was I meant to do that? There were two months to go. That was enough time... right?

Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t even asked Ashton who he was inviting.

My list had about three people: Yvaine, and maybe a couple of colleagues.

Neither of my parents was on the list: one hated me, and the other was in jail.

Ashton’s family situation wasn’t much better: his dad was faking illness to avoid being shipped to some godforsaken post in Africa, and his stepmother had finally learnt to keep quiet and stay out of sight.

I doubted he’d want either of them there. And if he did, he’d find a way to keep them on a leash.

Yvaine was obviously going to be my maid of honour. I hadn’t asked her, but it went without saying. Just like I’d raise hell if I wasn’t hers.

But Ashton’s best man? Maybe Cassian. They were close. But Cassian was Yvaine’s ex, and those two still had leftover beef. Her new boyfriend—the young, painfully hot internet sensation Cade Lawson—was bound to be there too.

Ex meets current. Cue drama.

I pictured it and realised, to my horror, I was actually looking forward to it.

Not that I wanted a disaster, but a bit of chaos at a wedding made it memorable, didn’t it?

‘You’re insane,’ was Yvaine’s response when I rang her and shared my thoughts. ‘If anyone causes a scene at my wedding, they’re cut from my life. Permanently. And that’s me being generous.’

‘It was just a passing thought,’ I said. ‘Not like I WANT it to happen.’

‘Getting cold feet?’

‘What? No. Why would you say that?’ I frowned, suddenly remembering Ashton asking me the same thing just days ago.

‘You’d rather daydream about a possible fistfight than focus on your actual wedding.’

‘I said it was just a thought.’ I was feeling a touch defensive.

‘You haven’t sent out the invites.’

‘Ashton’s sorting that. You know I’ve got work.’

‘You haven’t even asked me to be your maid of honour.’

‘You ARE my maid of honour. That’s so obvious, it doesn’t need saying.’

‘You’re missing the point.’

‘Which is?’

‘You’re just waiting for the wedding to happen, like some passive bystander, instead of the bride. Other women go full-on bridezilla with only two months left. You don’t even care if the dress fits.’

‘Ashton’s handling it. I trust him—’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. He’s got taste, he’s got connections, he’s run a business empire. Surely he can stage-manage a wedding in his sleep. That’s not the point. It’s always Ashton this, Ashton that. Where’s your hand in any of it, Mira?’

‘I...’ I got up and stepped out onto the balcony.

I’d had a shower after getting in, and the night air was sharp.

Still, I felt suddenly flushed, like I couldn’t breathe. I needed the cold.

‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Wi-Fi cut out? Or did I just hit a nerve?’

‘You don’t have to sound so bloody smug about it,’ I muttered.

‘That’s what friends are for, darling. To burst your bubble when you get cocky and slap some sense into you when you’re being blind.’

I breathed in the night air, scented faintly with lilacs and wisteria. ‘Fine. I’ve not really been paying attention to the wedding. There, I said it. But it doesn’t mean I’m getting cold feet, all right?’

‘You trying to convince me or yourself?’

‘I—’ My gaze drifted towards the street, and I paused.

A car had pulled up outside the building. Not Ashton’s red convertible, but it was definitely him stepping out of the front passenger seat.

Then the driver stepped out too.

A tall, curvy blonde in a fitted red dress that made it impossible to pretend she wasn’t stunning. Even from eight floors up. Even in crap lighting.

I couldn’t see her face properly, but the way she carried herself—the clothes, the heels, the way she moved—made it painfully clear she was the kind of woman who didn’t get ignored.

And right now, that goddess was wrapping her arms around Ashton’s waist and looking up at him like she was expecting a kiss.

‘Hello? Mira? You still there?’ Yvaine said through the phone. ‘Don’t tell me you’re playing the bad signal card again. You’re not in a tunnel. Don’t dodge the subject.’

‘I’m not. I’ll call you back.’ I hung up.

I don’t know what possessed me, but I raised my phone and snapped a photo of Ashton and his mystery woman.