Chapter 86

Kayla

The next day, Nicholas and I shifted focus—on the outside, at least. Behind closed doors, we were still investigating Gray’s involvement in Noah’s sudden coma. But in the public eye, we were as calm and unbothered as ever.

That day, Nicholas scheduled an interview with a local journalist to discuss Isabella and Liam’s rumors—and hopefully squash them.

As for me, I had a meeting with the wedding planner.

At first, I wasn’t so sure about the idea of publicly planning a wedding when I had told Gray that I loved Noah and intended to leave Nicholas. But when Nicholas explained that it might throw Gray off, potentially even causing him to wake up Noah to reignite the love triangle’s image, then I couldn’t argue with that.

I met with the wedding planner that morning. She was waiting for me on the front steps of our venue.

“There’s the blushing bride,” she lilted as I walked up the steps toward her. “I’m glad to hear that the wedding is still underway, what with all the… rumors going around.”

I hesitated, considering how much to reveal. Ultimately, I decided to plaster an angelic smile on my face and nod.

“Yes, those rumors are quite nasty, aren’t they?” I replied. “But they’re just that—rumors.”

The wedding planner seemed entirely convinced. Only Gray, myself and Nicholas, and a couple of guild guards had been there when I said I would leave Nicholas for Noah. There was no need to let the rest of the world know what I had said. And this way, if Gray and his associates did try to spread the gossip even more, there would be others like the wedding planner who could side with us and claim it was nothing but lies.

With that, we headed inside to go over the wedding plans.

The venue was just as I remembered: a warm and cozy space, with a large reception room and plenty of perfect spots to take pictures.

If it had been up to me, I might have picked out something more intimate—maybe a more forested venue, like the one I really wanted when I was planning my wedding with Liam.

Of course, Isabella had promptly squashed my dreams of a fairytale wedding. She said that a venue in the forest was “low-class”, that a proper Luna should have her reception in an upscale establishment with all of the high society wolves in attendance.

At the time, I had conceded to her demands. I wasn’t sure if I believed her or just wanted her to shut up. Maybe a little bit of both.

But even now, I wouldn’t get my fairytale wedding. Nicholas had picked out the most cookie-cutter place possible, just to sell the image we were trying to create. I couldn’t blame him, of course; I knew I was getting into this from the start.

And yet, no matter how much I tried to shove those feelings down, it still stung a little as I looked around the venue. This wasn’t what I had pictured in all my years dreaming of a perfect wedding, and that dream of mine was feeling further and further away by the day.

As the wedding planner and I discussed the plans, all I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears and the sound of fire department sirens passing down the street.

That, and the snapping of cameras outside.

The wedding planner sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Damn vultures,” she said, moving to close the blinds so the paparazzi couldn’t see inside. “Interrupting our—”

Before she could close the blinds, I caught her wrist, shaking my head. “No. Let them look.”

She raised her eyebrows, confused. I couldn’t exactly tell her why it was better for the paparazzi to catch pictures of me looking unbothered as I planned my wedding, so I just smiled languidly until she conceded.

“Very well.” She turned and dug into her bag for one last thing to show me. “Ah, I almost forgot! The seating cards for the reception.”

With a flourish, the wedding planner handed me a stiff cream-colored card. “This is just a mockup. But of course, if you like it, the print shop is just a couple blocks away. We could go and put in the order now.”

I took the card from her and scanned it, taking in the intricate floral border and the swooping script.

They were just seating cards—nothing more than an indication of where guests would sit during the reception.

But truthfully, they were so much more than that. At a wedding as politically charged as ours, the seating chart was everything. Nicholas and I would have to painstakingly choose who would sit next to whom, which tables would be clustered together, which of our family would sit with us at the head table, and which of our least favorite guests would sit closest to the exit.

It was more like a game of political chess than anything.

The card mockup wasn’t something that I would have picked out myself, but it would do.

“This looks good,” I said with a nod. “I wouldn’t mind taking a stroll over to the print shop.”

The wedding planner’s face lit up, and with that, we headed out into the afternoon air and began heading to the print shop.

Of course, the cameras followed us, which was all part of my plan.

But as we neared the print shop, the sound of sirens grew louder. The smell of smoke soon filled the air, and when we rounded the corner, we stopped short upon seeing the entire shop burnt to a crisp.

Gasping, the wedding planner and I hurried forward, pushing our way through the throng of firemen and onlookers. Up ahead, I could see an old man who I could only assume was the print shop owner, holding his face in his hands and shaking his head.

“What happened?” I asked, approaching.

The print shop owner lifted his head. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized me. “Luna,” he said, averting his gaze slightly as he gestured to the smoking building. “One of my printers caught on fire—must have been a paper jam. I tried to put it out, but…”

His voice trailed off, and he stared at his feet. His spine was slightly hunched with age, his fingers twisted and knobbly from arthritis. I could already picture him attempting to douse the fire, but due to his ailments, he likely couldn’t keep up with it.

“Anyway,” he went on, “this is going to cause a lot of trouble for insurance… They might claim it was negligence on my part… Oh, I need this shop. I’m not sure what to do.”

Without thinking, I reached into my purse and withdrew my personal checkbook. I had more than a tidy sum of my own money put away, which was separate not only from Nicholas but also Bluemoon pack—thanks to my father’s smart investing since before I was even born.

“How much?” I asked.

The print shop owner snapped his head up, and the wedding planner gasped. Nearby, several onlookers were murmuring amongst themselves, shuffling closer to see what was going on; no doubt my generosity would reach the internet within minutes.

But I wasn’t doing this to help my image. I wanted to help this man. Truly.

He took a deep breath. “Luna, there’s no need—I couldn’t possibly pay you back—”

“I’m not asking you to pay me back,” I cut him off. “Just tell me how I can help.”

After hesitating for a moment, the owner nodded and quietly responded with an amount, which I happily scrawled onto the check. After signing my name, I ripped it out of the book and handed it to him. His fingers trembled as he took it from me.

“T-Thank you,” he blurted out, his voice nearly lost amongst the sound of snapping cameras and chattering onlookers. “But… Why me?”

I merely shrugged as I slipped my checkbook back into my pocket. “Your business has served Nightshade pack for years,” I replied simply. “As the Luna, it’s the least I can do.”

The print shop owner’s eyes immediately welled with tears, and he thanked me profusely. With that, I left, feeling just a little bit better about the world.

Truthfully, I wanted to help him because he reminded me a little bit of my father. But I didn’t want to admit that—not to the paparazzi, not to the wedding planner, and not even really to myself.

But as I walked away, my eyes drifted to the seating card sample still clutched in my hand, and I sighed. The print shop likely wouldn’t be reopened in time for the wedding, which meant I’d have to find another place to print the cards.

Or… I hesitated, looking at the card in the sunlight.

I could just make my own cards, couldn’t I?