Chapter 43
Aria’s POV
In the Blake family's elegant living room, Marianne was already surrounded by bridal magazines and fabric swatches. She beamed when we entered, patting the space beside her on the sofa.
"Aria, darling, come sit. I've been thinking about your engagement party, and I have the most wonderful idea." She flipped open a glossy magazine. "Given your position in the fashion industry, Ethan, I thought we should go with something truly spectacular for the announcement."
"What did you have in mind, Mother?" Ethan asked, his arm casually draped across my shoulders.
"I've arranged for us to visit Pierre Montagne's atelier tomorrow. He's agreed to design a custom gown for Aria's engagement portrait." Marianne looked at me expectantly. "What do you think, dear? His designs are extraordinary, and with your beauty, the photographs will be breathtaking."
Pierre Montagne was one of the most exclusive designers in New York, with a waiting list months long. Only Marianne could arrange an appointment on such short notice.
"That sounds lovely," I said, though my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about Devon, wondering if he'd seen the news about my engagement party. Would he care? Did I want him to?
"Excellent!" Marianne clapped her hands together. "We'll go tomorrow afternoon. The atelier is on Fifth Avenue, right next to Bergdorf's."
I nodded absently, my thoughts still drifting. The charade of planning this engagement was becoming increasingly exhausting, but I reminded myself of the endgame.
"Aria?" Marianne's voice pulled me back to the present. "Is three o'clock tomorrow good for you?"
"Perfect," I replied with a practiced smile. "I'll meet you there."
---
The day after installing the cameras, I went to Pierre Montagne's Fifth Avenue atelier for the fitting Marianne had arranged. Every step of this charade had to be flawless.
I arrived at Pierre Montagne's Fifth Avenue atelier precisely at three. The sleek, minimalist space exuded exclusivity, with only a few exquisite gowns displayed like works of art.
Marianne was already waiting, chatting animatedly with a tall, elegant man I assumed was Pierre himself. She waved me over excitedly.
"Aria, darling! Come meet Pierre. He's been designing the most breathtaking gown concepts for you."
I smiled warmly, extending my hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Montagne. Your work is extraordinary."
"The pleasure is mine, Ms. Harper," he replied with a slight French accent. "Mrs. Blake has told me all about your engagement. I have several designs I believe would complement your elegant figure."
Before Pierre could continue, the receptionist approached with an apologetic expression. "Mr. Montagne, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Kane and Ms. Hayes have arrived for their appointment."
My heart stuttered at the mention of Devon's name. Pierre frowned slightly, checking his watch.
"They're early. Please ask them to wait in the private lounge. I'll be with them shortly."
The receptionist hesitated. "I'm sorry, Mr. Montagne, but Mrs. Eleanor Kane specifically requested immediate attention. She mentioned something about their schedule..."
Pierre's expression tightened with professional discomfort. "I see. Please inform them I'll be right with them."
As the receptionist retreated, Marianne's face darkened with barely contained indignation.
"Devon Kane?" she whispered, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her handbag. "The man who ran Ethan off the road and put him in the hospital? And now he expects to be served first?"
"Mrs. Blake, I do apologize," Pierre said, clearly caught between two powerful clients. "Perhaps we could—"
"It's fine," Marianne interrupted, her tone clipped but controlled. Her eyes darted toward the entrance where other clients might overhear. "The Kane family does hold considerable influence. I understand your... position."
The resignation in her voice spoke volumes about the social hierarchy we all navigated. Even the Blakes, with their fashion empire and old money connections, couldn't afford to openly antagonize someone of Devon Kane's stature.
Before Pierre could respond further, the door to the private lounge opened, and Devon emerged with Caroline Hayes on his arm and an elegant older woman I assumed was his mother, Eleanor Kane. Devon looked as commanding as ever in his tailored suit, though I immediately noticed the dark circles shadowing his eyes. Our gazes locked for a brief, electric moment before Caroline tugged gently on his arm.
"Mrs. Blake," Eleanor Kane greeted Marianne with practiced warmth. "What a delightful coincidence. I understand you're here for your son's fiancée's fitting?"
"Indeed," Marianne replied, her social mask firmly in place despite the tightness around her mouth. "Pierre has created some exquisite designs for Aria's engagement portrait."
Caroline's eyes swept over me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "How lovely. Congratulations on your engagement to Ethan. Though I must say, I was surprised to hear the news. Ethan always seemed to prefer more... traditionally elegant women."
The implication was clear—I wasn't the right fit for the Blake family. I maintained my composure even as I noticed Devon's jaw tighten at Caroline's words.
"Pierre," Eleanor interrupted smoothly, "perhaps we could work this out? Maybe you could begin both fittings simultaneously? I'm sure your talented assistants could help."
Pierre, clearly relieved at the diplomatic solution, nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, Mrs. Kane. We have two private salons. Mrs. Blake and Ms. Harper can use the east salon, while you, Mr. Kane and Ms. Hayes use the west."
As we separated, Devon's eyes met mine again. Something unreadable flickered in their depths before he turned away, guiding Caroline toward their salon.
"The nerve," Marianne muttered once we were alone in our salon. "After what he did to Ethan, showing up here with that woman as if nothing happened." She smoothed her perfectly coiffed hair, adding with practiced pragmatism, "Still, his digital platform could revolutionize our distribution channels. In business, one must sometimes overlook personal grievances."
In the private salon, I was presented with several exquisite gowns. I selected a daring black dress with a plunging neckline—not traditional engagement photo attire, but certainly eye-catching. As I stepped onto the small platform surrounded by mirrors, I couldn't help thinking about how Ethan always insisted he preferred me in lighter colors—the same pale shades that Scarlett favored with her innocent white dresses. The thought made my stomach turn.
"Oh, Aria," Marianne breathed, clasping her hands together. "You look absolutely stunning. Though perhaps a bit... provocative for an engagement portrait?"
"I think it's perfect," I replied, smoothing my hands over the silk. "It makes a statement, don't you think?"
Through the partially open door connecting the two salons, I caught Devon watching me, his gaze intense and burning. When our eyes met in the mirror, he didn't look away, even as Caroline chattered beside him, pointing to fabric samples.
"Mrs. Blake," Eleanor Kane's voice carried from the doorway as she entered our salon. "I wanted to personally invite you and your husband to our charity gala next month. Caroline has been working diligently on the arrangements."
"How thoughtful," Marianne replied, the social dance resuming. "We'd be delighted to attend."
Eleanor's eyes drifted to me, a calculating assessment in her gaze. "And this must be the future Mrs. Blake. I've heard so much about your engagement. My congratulations."
"Thank you," I replied simply.
"She's lovely," Eleanor remarked to Marianne, though her eyes remained cool. "Ethan Blake is a fortunate man indeed."
Marianne beamed with pride. "We're thrilled to welcome Aria into our family. And speaking of fortunate matches," she added with deliberate lightness, "your son and Ms. Hayes make a striking couple as well."
Eleanor's smile tightened imperceptibly. "Caroline comes from an excellent family. But I'm afraid they haven't progressed to engagement discussions as quickly as your Ethan and Ms. Harper. Devon is... selective about his commitments."
"The best matches are worth waiting for," Marianne replied diplomatically.
I felt a curious mix of emotions—an unexpected twinge of jealousy at the thought of Devon and Caroline together, coupled with relief that they weren't yet formally committed. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Devon standing in the doorway, his expression darkening as he observed our conversation.
My phone buzzed with a text message.
Debt Collector: [Meet me at our place. 7 PM.]