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Fine. I’ll open up.
Ollie vB:
Such a good boy.
Zach Sun:
Shut up.
Ollie vB:
Only with a silicone ball gag, baby.
T-MINUS 26 DAYS.
The sound of a fifty-plus orchestra woke me up from my sixteenth consecutive hour of sleep.
I couldn’t even be miserable in peace.
I shoved a pillow over my head. A saxophone blasted past the plush feathers, followed by the most useless instrument on Earth. The triangle.
“Goddammit.”
I shot out of bed and stormed downstairs, not bothering to throw on a shirt.
“Oh, baby, you’re awake.” Mom lit up at the sight of me, perched on a barstool at one of my islands. “Help me choose the music piece for the wedding.”
Dozens of musicians crammed into the open kitchen. They lowered their oversized instruments, nodding to me.
I ignored them, glaring at Mom. “Has this become your second home?”
“Are you complaining that I’m here too often?”
“Sounds like a cry for help.” Celeste Ayi waltzed into the room, holding a mimosa, and squeezed my cheek. “Oh, Zachy, we’ll absolutely come every day, since you asked so nicely.”
“There’s no wedding anymore, Mom. I told you this.” I stared down the orchestra until they began packing up. “I went to the Hamptons and royally screwed up the engagement.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Mom waved a hand. “Eileen confirmed the date with me in person just yesterday.”
How convenient, considering Eileen hadn’t returned any of my thousand or so texts, emails, or voicemails. She obviously wanted this farce of an engagement to remain intact.
Never knew her dodging skills rivaled White Goodman’s. It was, in fact, the only interesting thingabout her.
“Now that you’re here, I would love your input on the cake.” Mom lugged a five-hundred-page catalog from her bag, pounding it onto the counter. “I’m thinking a floor-to-ceiling lemon cake in ivory. Not too sweet, of course.”
“I’ll order you one for your birthday.” I waited until every musician shuffled out, heads tucked down, before turning back to Mom. “Because I’m not getting married.”
In my pocket, Tom’s last text taunted me. I’d let it go unanswered.
Tom:
Do you want me to follow her or not? Because you are not hot enough for me to put up with your mixed signals, man.
My nostrils flared.
I had made myself a promise to respect Farrow’s privacy, not to hunt her down.
Be good, Sun.
