Chapter 4 Ghosts on Heels

"Zane," I said quietly.

He froze, hand on the knob. "Mr. Blackwood," he corrected.

Ouch.

"Mr. Blackwood," I echoed. I hesitated. My throat tightened. Why? I wanted to ask. Why are you pretending? Why are you doing to me?

But all I said was, "Chrysanthemums? For the flowers?"

"My bride loves chrysanthemums. Put enough of them." He turned to face me. His voice was cold. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. Not at all."

I was allergic to chrysanthemums.

"Anything else?"

I hesitated. My throat tightened. "Why me?"

He turned. His voice was cold. "Because you're the best. Isn't that what your portfolio says?"

I didn't have an answer. "I hope this venue meets your standards."

"It does."

A stab wound straight to my chest. Five years ago, he told me that this was where we were going to get married.

He watched me for a long moment, then said, "We start walkthroughs next week. Don't be late."

And just like that, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

##

I stayed in the room for extra thirty minutes just to catch my breath. When I came out, Leah was by the door.

"Amara," she whispered, looking at me in shock, "you didn't tell me that the groom was Zane Blackwood."

"I didn't know until he walked in. If I had known earlier... I wouldn't have taken the offer."

"And he pretended like be doesn't know you?"

It was a hard pill to swallow. I sighed. "Yeah."

"Do you think the rumors are true? That he had memory loss after his accident."

"What accident?" I asked, making my face to be a portrait of cluelessness.

She looked at me weirdly. "You haven't heard about his accident?"

"I don't like keeping up with my exes," I replied, but that was a lie.

I knew all the details of the accident. Supposedly, it happened a few months after I ended things with Zane. He was on his way to work when the driver of his vehicle lost control of the brakes and slammed into a truck coming from the opposite side. Both drivers died instantly. Zane was hospitalized for months.

It was double humiliation for him and his family – first, my whistleblowing which caused their business empire to crash to the ground. And then, the accident and the resulting pressed charges and damage control from the truck driver's family. Most people saw Zane as a victim of circumstances, so they laid him off, but the accident definitely had a toll on him. Media tabloids and articles all headlines Zane's amnesia, an aftermath of the accident. I didn't believe it. Surely, memory loss only belongs in fictional tales. But right now, with Zane claiming not to remember me?

I sighed again. "Leah, I don't know what to believe."

She looked at me with sympathy brimming in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you sign the contract?"

I barely nodded.

"Are you okay?" she repeated, reaching out to touch my hand.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

I smiled tightly. "I'm just trying to process things."

She didn't say anything for a while. Then she nodded. "I'll get started with the layout updates. Do you want me to handle the follow-up with Wade?"

I shook my head. "I need to distract myself," I whispered. An ache was creeping behind my ribs and aiming for my heart. My vision was already getting blurry.

Leah understood. She was there for me through the breakup with Zane and the scandalous media coverage, my father's death, and the painstaking process of rebuilding my business from scratch. Her father was my father's assistant, and although at twenty-two, Leah was four years younger than me, she was the closest thing I had to a best friend.

Especially as my former best friend, Rosa, had turned her back on me after the scandal. We were best of friends during university, and it's hard to believe that someone who was like a sister to me could act in such a way. Years had gone by, but the betrayal still hurt deep.

It's crazy, though. Life is crazy. I had left everything in flames and ran away. I lost everything that night; what else did I have to lose? Now, however, watching the guy I loved plan his wedding with someone else at the venue we had originally picked out for ourselves, I had hit an all time low.

And he claimed to not remember me.

Worse yet, I was to be the wedding planner.

Screw my life.

##

The morning after my first meeting with Zane left a sour weight in my chest, like a nightmare I can't fully get over. I nodded when I was supposed to, smiled when I should. Acted like everything is okay. Gave Zane's pretense a run for his money.

But my senses were dulled, and it showed through some of my actions. I should've known better than to climb a ladder in heels. But deadlines didn't care about practicality, and neither did I when a centerpiece looked crooked on the third-floor display shelf.

What I didn't expect was the shelf to wobble just enough to make me twist my ankle on the way down. One sharp gasp, a muted curse, and boom-I was on the ground, surrounded by falling ribbons and shattered pride.

"Brilliant," I muttered, trying to sit up.

A shadow fell over me.

"Tell me you didn't just fall off a damn ladder," came Zane's voice, deep and threaded with amused disbelief.

I looked up at him, scowling. "It wasn't a ladder. It was a step stool. Slightly less humiliating."

He crouched beside me, his dress shirt rolled up to his forearms, that smug mouth twitching. "You'll forgive me if I don't laugh."

"I won't."

"You should."

"I'd rather limp for eternity."

"Stubborn little thing," he murmured, already reaching for my ankle.

"I can manage," I said sharply, trying to scoot back.

But his hand wrapped gently, firmly, around my ankle. "Stop fighting me."

"Stop acting like Florence Nightingale with a six-pack," I shot back, heat crawling up my neck.

He raised a brow but said nothing, carefully slipping my heel off. I sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed my skin, unreasonably tender. He was quiet for a moment, examining the swelling.

"You need ice. And elevation."

"I need you to stop acting like you care."

His jaw flexed, and his thumb grazed just below my ankle bone. "I don't care," he said too evenly. "I'm just not interested in dragging an injured wedding planner down the aisle like a sack of rice."

I laughed, even though my ankle throbbed. "Such a romantic."

He lifted his eyes to mine. "I can be. When I'm not babysitting women who throw themselves off ladders."

"Step stool."

"Still dumb."

I tried to kick him with my good leg. He caught it easily.

For a second, we just stared at each other. My legs were in his lap, his hand gripping one ankle, the other trailing down my calf like it belonged there.

"Don't flatter yourself," I whispered, suddenly breathless.

"Too late." His voice dropped. "You're already in my lap, sweetheart."

My cheeks burned.

The air thickened between us, and for a second, it wasn't about my ankle anymore. It was the way his hands lingered. The way his thumb grazed the inside of my knee too slowly. The way his gaze dropped to my lips before jerking back up.

"Done?" I said, voice shaky.

He leaned in slightly, carried me in his arms and lifted me up before I could argue. "Not even close," he said, his breath fanning my face. "Let's go take care of your ankle."