Chapter 1- Cruel
Life is cruel.
It's even crueler when the person you love is outright not interested in you— better still, sees you as a sibling from another mother.
The type of situation where you don't want to break a good friendship that has existed for over a decade. The kind that was built on loyalty, strength, and pure love.
A situation where you've been friends since the day you both were born—but the only difference is that you were dumped in an orphanage because you weren't loved by your fucking mother.
The situation where you both shared stories of your first kiss, first sex, secrets, and the like.
The situation where you both fight for each other and have each other’s backs no matter how shitty and bittersweet life gets.
The situations are countless. But… that's the story of Alexander and me.
I've known the guy all my life. He was basically my first crush when my boobs started peeking out—I even got wet dreams about him.
He's like a beautiful sin I don't want to repent from.
Slicked black hair like a mafia don in those hot stories, he's over six feet tall, well built but decently ripped. He's pretty, funny, and very decisive when it comes to his career and life.
To the world, he's a billionaire and the only heir to inherit an empire—Exportex Corp.
But to me, he's just the nicest and sexiest man alive.
Alex and I mean everything to each other, basically everything until this very moment that he's looking at me like Mona Lisa’s painting, awaiting my answer.
Right now, his lips are slightly parted and his deep grey eyes are piercing into mine with curiosity.
The air is stuffy because I can't decide. His fragrance lingers in my nose while I swallow hard.
“Debbie, aren't you saying anything?” he asks to confirm that I'm still listening. Or breathing.
I snap into reality, my palms wet with sweat coined from shitfaced anxiety.
Alex wants me to be his wedding planner.
“Oh, um, ye- yeah, why fucking not, Alex?!” I say to him, plastering a fake smile that makes me appear like a coward. It's my fakest smile ever.
This is the first lie I've told Alex through my 25-years of existing on this goddamn planet.
Or maybe the second because I've been in love with him all my life.
My head is spinning in cruel circles, almost losing my balance but Alex lends a hand—actually wrapping it around my waist and we lock eyes like Beauty and the Beast.
Okay. I'm the only one feeling the chemistry, he's basically not since he's only worried sick about me, feeling my temperature with the back of his hand once he helps me stand on my feet.
“Shit, D, are you fucking okay? Should I get a doctor? You've been zoning in and out of earth,” he asks with concern etched across his face like a fucking curse.
For once, Alex, read the room. It's not my health that matters, it's my heart that's practically and slowly broken.
I steady myself, wafting into my professional mode, straightening my tight burgundy dress.
The big question in my head is why should I plan a wedding I want so badly with Alex?
“Actually, I'm ovulating. My eggs are tired of being buried in there,” I stupidly say the lame joke that comes spur of the moment and he laughs it off, suppressing his laughter with a fake cough.
“Stop playing, honey!” he snaps with a billion-dollar smile. Perfect white teeth and a radiant smile that makes my V throb instantly.
Alex is a real asshole who shakes the room with his decent smile. He could be naughty and very modest. He tells me about his girlfriend, now fiancée, now soon-to-be bride, and how they've fucked in every corner of his penthouse.
We literally plan his next fuck-ation together with the girl I thought that he'd never marry and here I am standing vefire him with my files pressed against my chest, wondering how on earth this happened?
I've been a fan of the relationship. The therapist. The shoulder to cry on and now the wedding planner.
Fuck.
I'm the worst joke ever.
Nothing is ever mind except this company that I've built with Alex’s support.
“Alright, as I was saying, I would like you to handle the wedding plans and all that shit combined. Samantha thinks you'd do a great job and I can't wait to see where this goes. Unfortunately, she can't join us today because she's doing her lashes and stuff…”
Wow. Stupid excuse and he keeps falling for all her bullshit.
Alex furthers to tell me what he envisions the wedding to be like; a destination wedding by the beach with doves and a slutty after party in a club that he's about to rent for the wedding night.
We walk into the white and gray hallway that stretches to my office on the extreme end.
It's my company that I started about five years ago. Alex, again, has been my rock through it all. I'm an orphan who managed to overcome trauma.
Once we walk into my office, we pair a couch. I write down the essential information in my writing pad while I listen to him tell me a bunch of things that he and Sam want. After he's done, he pauses and says;
“I'm not even sure this is the type of wedding I want…” he sighs, exhausted from talking a whole lot.
I know Alex, he’s not one to talk too much, and all that he's said feels rehearsed. I just know.
“Why?” I ask, putting away the writing pad.
“Sam—”
“I knew it, she made you rehearse all that stuff…” I snap interrupting him knowingly as he nods.
“How did you know?”
“Dude, I've known you since forever and you're practically my brother. I know pretty much…” I say to him confidently.
Another dumb move; calling the guy I'm dying for my brother.
“Honestly, D, plan whatever it is. I trust your judgment—we trust your judgments!” he says, a streak of exhaustion crossing his tone.
“At least, I'm gonna need Sam one of these days to pick the colors and—”
“Don’t bother, honey!”
He's calling me honey again, always does.
“She thinks that she'd suck at it. Do your thing. Or… I have a proposition for you,” his tired gaze turns serious as I adjust to hear him out.
“What is?” I ask.
“We are besties, right?” I nod. “Good. Imagine this was your last gig on your deathbed, how would you plan it?” he asks, his voice calm and soothing as he let out a nervous chuckle.
“Fuck! I would plan it as if it were mine since I'm practically unmarried. At least, I would die smiling,” I jokingly say to him but that's the truth
I would do it would thinking twice. At least, I got one thing right.
“Really?”
“Yeah!” I nod like an infant. Shy but truthfully.
“Great. Do it! Plan my wedding like yours, Debbie. If it's okay with you…” He adds, tucking the strands of my hair behind my ear almost swiftly amd he finally flashes a smile at me.
He then waves his fingers dismissively when our gaze lingers too much—more than two seconds—and exhales as I place my legs on his thighs to shake off the awkward moment.
Now he's gently rubbing my feet, giving them a soothing massage; gently with precision after taking off my YSL heels.
We do this all the time, it's normal but now it kinda feels wrong knowing that he's going to get married sooner. And... I'm hanging between confessing the truth even if he wouldn't marry me but I don't have the balls to say a word because I don't want to ruin what we've shared over ten years.
My fingers dig into my hair nervously but he is unable to see my trembling fingers while I catch the corner of his gaze unconsciously splitting between the boobs and my feet.
Things are getting super awkward but maybe I'm only overthinking it.
“Um, I think now that you're getting married, there are some things that we can't do anymore… that's if the wedding is real…” I say to him casually as he stops and fully stares at me.
Something about his gaze feels unfamiliar and strangely in sync with my deepest, secret thoughts.
“I don't care what Samantha thinks about us, nothing will break us apart and I will always keep it that way…” he vows, his baritone like rough edges and soft like silk and sincere at the same time.
Does he know that this is not a friendship vow to me but it is deeper than what we already share?
