Chapter 1
POV: Giselle
“Oh my god, it’s the most perfect wedding gown ever!"
The Colette Dubois wedding gown hugged my curves from my knees up with beautiful beaded adornments and Swarovski crystals. It showed the right amount of cleavage with a dipped neckline and soft accent sleeves, the perfect mix of sexy and feminine for my star-studded wedding.
“It is certainly stunning on you Ms. Priestley," The saleswoman at Alaura, the most exclusive wedding dress store in New York City, looks at me hopefully. "So…is this the one?”
I tilt my head side to side as I study my curves in the mirror, trying to see myself through the tabloid's eyes. Trying to determine what the paparazzi will praise or pick apart.
“Hmmm I don’t know," I said, wishing my stylist was here. It is a gorgeous gown but I wonder how mad Oliver will be at me for going over my wedding dress budget? Then again, how often do two A-List celebrities get married? Go big or go home, I keep telling myself. " It's definitely in the top five but let’s just add it to the hold list for now."
The woman's shoulders slump slightly as she writes on her clip board.
“With the other 31 dresses?” She asks with a hint of annoyance.
I turn around and gawk at her.
“31?! I have 31 wedding dresses on hold?”
“Well, 32 with this one,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Oh my god, um okay. Let's schedule a time for me to come back with my entourage and try all 32 on in one day,” I say.
“Very well Miss Priestley,” she responds with a small yet exasperated sigh.
My best friends, Bella and Sophie, were traveling at the moment and my stylist had another meeting to attend. I normally wouldn’t come without them but I couldn't wait to try the new Colette Dubois dress on. I hand my phone to the saleswoman so she can snap a few photos of me to send to them.
After changing back into my carefully chosen outfit and touching up my make-up, I leave Alaura and wave politely at the paparazzi outside before stepping into a black SUV. As I am scrutinizing every detail of the photos, my phone dings with a text: my lunch date, a writer for a fashion magazine I have appeared in multiple times, had to cancel our interview at one of my favorite restaurants.
“Shit, my lunch date can’t make it,” I say out loud.
“Do you want to keep the reservation?” Aimee, my assistant, asks.
“Um could you just duck in and snag my favorite salad? I’ll eat it at home,” I say. "I can't be photographed eating alone.”
“Yes, of course,” she says as she begins tapping away on her phone.
Several minutes later, Aimee and I step into my, or rather, Oliver’s penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side.
The apartment is over 10,000 square feet of tall ceilings and spacious rooms but I still call out to Oliver.
“Hey babe! You home?”
Aimee bustles into the kitchen to plate my salad from the restaurant while I walk back to our bedroom to put my purse away. As I enter our bedroom, the sound of moaning makes my heart drop. Is Oliver watching porn again? In the middle of the day? How awkward.
As I enter the room, I trip on a bright blue stiletto. In fact, the floor is littered with discarded clothing. My eyes widen as I take in the tangled sheets and Oliver’s muscular backside clenching as he thrusts into a woman while looking out at our spectacular view of the city.
Not just any woman, my stylist, Erin.
“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!” I yell.
Oliver and Erin both swivel around and look at me with horror on their sweaty faces.
“Oh my god, Giselle! I thought you were at lunch with the writer?” Erin says as if I am inconveniencing her by being in our bedroom. They quickly scatter to gather their clothes and cover themselves.
“She canceled, I guess she didn’t know she was supposed to keep me out of the house so you could seduce my fiancé!” I say as I turn on my heel and storm out of the room.
I stomp past Aimee and out to the balcony where I locate my hidden cigarettes and quickly light one. I pull my phone out, ready to text Bella and Demi then stop myself.
Those two can’t keep their mouths shut to save their lives. If Oliver is apologetic, we will stay together and then they will blab to everyone about his affair.
Instead I look at a text from my mom. I had sent her one of the photos from the dress shop. Her reply was quick but sweet.
Beautiful G, just like all the others.
I sigh and toss my phone down as I light another cigarette and take in the view. Erin is young and beautiful, she probably seduced him. Maybe this was their first time? I don’t even believe the lie as I’m thinking it.
A few minutes later, Oliver steps out onto the balcony in Gucci sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. He looks sheepish but not remorseful, more just embarrassed, like his mom caught him having sex instead of his fiancé. He runs his hand over his shaved head and down his scruffy face. I always used to joke that he pulled off the prison chic look so well. He could’ve been a model if he wasn’t already a businessman worth millions.
“Is she gone?” I ask, though I am not sure why it matters.
“Yes,” he says. “Giselle, I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
“No shit, what the fuck Oliver? You didn’t like me having a male personal trainer last year. I’m a little taken aback right now.”
Oliver sighs, he sits down next to me on the outdoor couch.
“I know, I think I was projecting a lot of my own insecurity onto you. I have made a lot of mistakes,” he says as he fiddles with his hands. “But it’s time to come clean and make things right.”
I fold my arms.
"Is it stress or something? I mean, we can certainly have more sex if that will help you," I say as I put the cigarette out in the ash tray.
Oliver leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands.
"You and I both know we've been drifting apart for awhile," he says. "I just didn't know how to end it."
Had we been drifting apart? It was difficult to keep the spark alive in a relationship like ours, where first dates occurred on yachts and second dates on private jets. How do you keep topping the lavish dates and expensive gifts? Maybe I needed to do more for him, in and out of the bedroom.
“Can you promise me it was a one time thing? We can keep this between us if you fire her and make her sign an NDA. I don’t want anyone getting wind of this before the wedding,” I say softly, giving him an opening to grovel, to beg.
Oliver looks at me with shock, a long pause hangs in the air between us before he speaks again.
“I’m sorry Elle, I can’t,” he says.
“You can’t make her sign an NDA? I’ll do it if you want,” I say with a shrug as I examine one of my nails. If I didn't just have them done, I'd have probably clawed her eyes out.
“No, I can’t promise it was a one time thing. In fact, I think I’ve been hoping you would catch us for a while,” he says as he looks down at his hands. “I’m in love with Erin. We are in love. I want to marry her.”
Suddenly, it feels like I’ve been hollowed out from the inside. The breath is violently knocked from my lungs.
“What?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“I love her Elle, I wish I had the balls to tell you myself but I’m so glad you know now,” he says. "It's such a relief."
"We're...we're getting married Oliver, what about that?"
He sighs, as if I'm being unreasonable.
"Right, that's...not going to happen."
“You’re calling off our wedding?” I say, my voice coming out hoarse and strained.
“Well, yes, I am sorry,” he says again.
“But, we’ve already finalized so much of it. What will we tell everyone?” I ask.
Oliver looks confused.
“Do you hear yourself Elle? You just caught me having sex with someone else. I told you I loved her and you are concerned about our wedding guests,” he says. “Does that sound like the makings of a happy marriage? Did you even want to marry me or did you just want to get married?”
I think about it for a second.
“Of course I wanted to marry you. I just…I guess I’ve been really wrapped up in the wedding and I…”
Suddenly the tears come out of nowhere.
“So that’s just it then? We aren’t together anymore?”
“I’m afraid so. I will hire a moving crew to pack and move your stuff out,” he says softly.
“I have to move out?!” I say through a sob.
Oliver looks taken aback.
“Well, yeah. This is my apartment. You need to move into your own place.”
“Where?!”
“Well, I don’t know. That’s why I told you not to get rid of your apartment. The market is nuts right now. You should probably meet with your accountant and get a handle on your finances,” he says, slipping into business mode.
I drop my head into my hands and start crying. I can’t believe this. I’m losing my fiancé, my home, and my beautiful Colette Dubois wedding dress? What in the world am I going to do?
“Elle?”
Oliver takes my hand as I look up.
“Yeah?” I say through the tears and the pain, hopeful for a bit of good news within my dark cloud.
“I’m gonna need the ring back.”
