8.
After a look in the rearview mirror and a muttered curse at Anders, I demanded he pull over so I could grab my makeup bag. It’s now sitting on my lap, and I pat concealer under my eyes as he pulls off the highway. He reaches over and presses his finger on the side of the vanity mirror, where LED lights surround the glass.
“Wow, I can see every single pore on my face. Turn it back off.”
His laugh is warm and echoes, or it does in my head, anyway. “You don’t—”
“If the next words out of your mouth are something along the lines of you don’t need makeup, then swallow them.”
He raises a hand from the wheel. “Note taken.”
After some silence, I speak, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he says.
I swipe gloss over my lips, then drop it back into my bag, zipping it shut. “Why are you paying me so much?” He’d agreed to double what I needed to buy my share of Save a Paw, simply because I asked. “I mean, you know I’ve been evicted, and I’m unemployed, so really, you could have paid very little, and I might have agreed.”
“I have the money. You need the money. Why would I say no?”
“Because my pricing is unreasonable?”
His head tilts slightly to the side—a habit I’m noticing he does whenever he takes a few extra seconds to think before answering. “But your reasoning is not.”
I squint my eyes, but I can see nothing in his face that seems like an ulterior motive or a lie. He answers everything I ask, not vaguely either, yet I still feel more questions take root after he does.
“You seem pretty steady, so I can’t imagine why your aunt would have to worry about your spiraling,” I say without thinking, but Anders doesn’t tell me if the statement crosses any boundaries.
Instead, he shrugs. “My aunt says I keep my emotions in my bones.
That no matter what I’m feeling, I don’t let it show or let it out. It just merges with my body and becomes part of my foundation—she’s worried for the day it crumbles. What’ll be left behind.”
“Are you? Worried, I mean.”
“I’m not sure. I feel fine, more often than not.”
I purse my lips and watch a man walking two large dogs on the sidewalk as we drive. I have to know, seeing as I’m meeting with his family, but it still feels like trespassing into Anders’s private, meticulously locked corridors when I ask, “Where are your parents?”
“My biological mom? Somewhere in the world, traveling, maybe remembering to send a postcard from wherever her free spirit pulls her. My dad and stepmother are here in South Carolina. My father’s an executive director at a law firm; my stepmother doesn’t work.”
“You talk about your aunt as if she’s more maternal than them.”
He rolls his shoulders. “She practically raised me. My mom was my father’s mistress, so my being born caused a lot of problems. For my mom, who never wanted kids, and for my dad, for obvious reasons. My mom kept me because she figured my father would send her money to keep her away.
She was right.”
“That’s horrible.” I can’t keep the horror from my voice. “I’m sorry.”
My resentment at the loss of my parents is entirely directed at the universe, and my love for them remains this great, beautiful thing. So much less burdensome than it must feel to be entirely, voluntarily left behind the way Anders was, without ever feeling the love a parent should give.
“Don’t be sorry. My aunt is the greatest person. I’ve lacked nothing in my life.”
There seems to be no underlying grief behind the words, but I can’t imagine it being true unless Anders is far more emotionally resilient than most, or he truly has just accepted his mom abandoning him. I’m not sure what’s sadder.
“They’re still assholes,” I mumble and earn a low chuckle from Anders.
“So, anything else I should know about you? Something your family will expect me to be aware of?”
He shakes his head. “We went over the basics already, but nothing is pressing. Don’t worry about that; they’re easily charmed by compliments and gifts. Just try and get to know them, especially Val.”
I blow out a breath and nod. I needed that, the reminder of what I’m here for. It’s not about getting to know him, though my brain keeps forming
questions that branch off endlessly. No matter how sweet Anders is, his sister is also his priority. I need to focus.
“Right, so I’m going to impress them all. Charm them into letting me in on the wedding planning and get invited as a participant.”
“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.
“Not yet. I have to figure out what kind of wedding your sister’s is.”
“What ‘kind’ of wedding?”
I nod. “Each wedding, the ones that need wrecking, falls into one of three categories: Because of Family, Because of Opportunity, or Because of Delusion.” I explain, “There are smaller umbrellas, too, that couples can fall under. Usually, it’s Trust, Lust, or Rust. Trust, there’s infidelity. Lust, you only said yes because you had rose-tinted glasses, or you’re in love with someone else. Rust, the love got stale, and you’re staying together out of obligation and duty. Once I figure out that, I can decide how to ruin it.”
“Wow.” He whistles. “I know you said this isn’t what you want to do forever, but you seem to know a lot about such a niche gig in the short amount of time you’ve been doing it.”
“If you’re going to do a job, do it right,” I say, echoing one of my
father’s many mottoes.
He grins. “A true professional.”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and I catch myself watching Anders more closely than I probably should. Part of me wonders if I’m genuinely curious about him—or if it’s just the shallowness of finding him so attractive that I want to know what’s really underneath.
My curiosity buzzes too loudly to stay quiet any longer. I tilt my head and ask, “An inappropriate question, maybe—but do you believe in it?”
He lifts a brow. “In what?”
“Love,” I answer. “You’ve had some pretty crappy experiences with it, and it seems too many examples of it haven’t surrounded you— romantically, of course.”
He exhales, looking past me for a second like he’s thinking about how honest he wants to be. “I used to, so it exists, maybe.” He huffs a short laugh—no bitterness, just distance, like he’s not even talking about himself.
“More like, love exists, but it’s not built to last.”
“That’s cynical,” I point out.
Another smile. “Maybe so. I think love is more fragile than people want to admit. And way more common. People fall into it all the time. It’s
staying in it that seems impossible. I loved Anna, but now that love is gone, it’s something affectionate, but not as intense anymore.”
I nod slowly. “I’ll downgrade you from cynic to skeptical.”
“Still feels like the same meaning.”
“Skeptical sounds less harsh.”
He nods. “Thanks, then.” Another beat of silence. “And you?”
I’m saved from answering as the car rolls to a stop in front of a two- story home surrounded by a deck filled with furniture, rocking chairs, benches, and couches, like it’s the main living room. And curved windows with no curtains to let in every bit of sunshine the sky offers.
Nerves circle the pit of my stomach as a lanky girl comes barreling down the porch toward the car. Before I can say anything, she yanks
Anders’s door open.
“Uncle Anders!”
“Little Olive!” Anders jumps down and sweeps this preteen into his arms. I let myself out and wait until they make it around the Jeep, Olive riding piggyback with a wide grin matching Anders’s. They’re technically cousins, but Anders mentioned she refers to him as “uncle” and Valerie as “aunt” because of the age difference and how they’ve helped raise her since she was a baby. Olive’s dad is not around, a one-night stand that didn’t want a kid.
She hops off and places her hands on her hips, looks me up and down with a full-blown assessment before speaking. “Pretty, and smells like peaches even though you just got off a plane, two pluses. Do you like dogs
or cats?”
“Dogs.”
She crosses her arms, covered in colorful friendship bracelets running their length. “If you had one superpower, what would it be?”
“Teleportation.”
“Who wins in a fight: Iron Man or Thor?”
I smirk at the interrogation. “Verbally: Iron Man. Physically: Thor.”
“What’s the best sauce to dip fries in?”
“Ice cream.”
“Do you think nine is too young for a phone?”
“All right.” Anders ruffles Olive’s light-brown hair, blond in spots because of the beaming sun. “Introduce yourself like a normal human being, please.”
“Mom says ‘normal’ is a man-made construct that I shouldn’t have to abide by.”
Anders half laughs, half sighs. “Olive.”
Olive rolls her big, hazel eyes framed with blue mascara—the only thing about her I can attach to Anders. She holds out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Olive; it’s nice to meet you. You seem cool enough. For now.”
I shake her hand, firmly, each of her fingernails painted a different color. “I’m Lucy, and you seem cool too. For now.”
She smirks, then wraps an arm around me, leading me to the front door. “How’d you know about the ice-cream thing?”
“My little sister has asked for that combination almost every week of
her life.”
“So cool.”
Olive leads us through the home, so many frames pinned along the walls that it takes me a moment to spot the sliver of gold paint behind them.
I trip over someone’s boot as we walk through the living area to the kitchen, overlooking emerald couches and chairs, dozens of colorfully patterned rugs, and candles surrounding us in warm cinnamon and vanilla scents.
A woman in a flour- and grease-stained red apron that matches the bright red shade of her silky hair approaches us, then punches Anders’s arm.
He feigns pain before Bethany wraps him in a hug. “I haven’t seen you in months. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Anders pulls away, his clothes stealing some of Bethany’s flour. “It’s been a single month.”
“Wow, and now you’re claiming I don’t know how to count? I hope your guest has more manners than you.”
Bethany turns to me then, and I get the full view of pale, glowing skin, so good I honestly can’t tell if it’s skin care or makeup, and a sharp, heavily defined Cupid’s-bow smile not unlike Anders’s. The only sign of her age is the wrinkles by her eyes and nose, made more pronounced when she smiles at me. “Lucinda.”
“Please, call me Lucy,” I say, hand outstretched, “and I promise I am filled with abundant manners. I can say thank you in seven different languages.”
A joyous laugh erupts out of her as she tackles me into a hug. “Thank you for coming. I know you’re right from the airport.”
Anders wraps an arm around me, pulling me against him so my back is tucked into his chest. “If I had known you were cooking, I would have stopped at a diner so my poor girlfriend could have something edible after her trip.”
The warmth of his body behind me feels comforting enough, and it almost tricks me into thinking it’s real. But it’s all an act, one I’d have no problem falling into in any other situation. I have to view this as a job, because it is, and that doesn’t change just because Anders is beautiful and sweet and way too affectionate for his own good.
“Don’t worry.” A voice comes from behind as a woman so strikingly beautiful I actually gasp enters with oversized brown bags on both her slim arms. She drops them on the circular island and brushes her hands together.
“I brought Vinnie’s.”
“Did you get calamari?” Olive pipes up from the couch she threw herself on.
“Obviously.” Valerie pops a hand on her hip, stopping just out of arm’s reach. The silky white top clinging to her petite frame is something I swear Taina tried to sneak into my luggage, and her curled, layered hair could be one of those pictures you look up as a reference for your own hair stylist who can never get it right. “So, you’re the secret girlfriend.”
“Not so secret anymore,” I say.
She snorts, her tiny nose wrinkling as her green eyes land on Anders.
“Hard launching your girlfriend right after your ex-girlfriend’s wedding.
You sure you’re not spiraling?”
Anders pulls away and reaches for Valerie in a full hug. “Is that sibling concern I hear?”
Valerie makes a disgusted noise before wiggling out and walking toward me, scanning me up and down, then twisting my hair in her fingers.
Her once-over is a lot more focused and x-ray-like than Olive’s. “Cute, if a bit understated.” Her sharp nails poke at the side of my face. “Ever heard of microneedling?”
“Nope.” I reach over and press a finger to the side of her face. “But if it can get me looking a fraction of how pretty you are, I’m more than willing to try.”
She lightly slaps my shoulder. “Shut up,” she says, her grin filling her heart-shaped face. “Do you mean it?”
“Absolutely,” I say, and it helps because I genuinely do. “You look like you’re a freshman. Maybe I misheard Anders. Are you sure you’re not a student?”
Valerie tucks her hair behind her ears, two diamond studs hanging on the lobes. “Yeah, right. As a proud nepo baby, I wouldn’t step foot into a nonmandatory school. I’d rather wear something off the rack for a year straight.” She presses her finger to my nose. “But I did technically go to Clemson if you count all the times I was invited to sorority parties and found myself in the back seat of my favorite tight end’s car.”
I can’t help but laugh and then feel my brows furrow. Anders did go to college, had a job, and didn’t give off any nepotism vibes. Though he quickly agreed to my pricing without so much as blinking, like he had a lifetime without financial worries.
Anders and I trade glances, and I wonder if he can see the question in my eyes before he looks away. I bring my focus back to Valerie. “I was more of a quarterback girl myself. Something about the star quality.”
She nudges me. “Oh, taste.”
Bethany grabs Valerie’s arm. “Come help set the table.”
“Ugh, manual labor? You have a perfectly capable teenager lounging around to help.”
Bethany flicks Valerie between her brows. “The preteen over there has more manners and is more helpful than you have been your entire life.”
“Excuse me, I’m the one who got us real food so we don’t have to eat your penitentiary home-cooked meals.”
Valerie’s scream lasts the entire time Bethany pinches her ear and drags her to help.
Anders’s arm makes its way around my shoulders again. “You know I was the quarterback in my elementary school gym class.”
“Of course I know; my soul did. It’s a prerequisite to dating me.”
“Anders,” Bethany calls, “come grab the good plates. I can’t reach them.”
Anders kisses the side of my head before helping, and sirens go off in my skull. I need to keep my head straight. It’s pretend; it’s just for show; keep it together. I’d be an idiot to romanticize anything done within the confines of my time here. Any relationship-esque actions taken by Anders are strictly to keep up our ruse—he’s probably not giving any of it a second thought.
Given what happened to him and his first love, his perspective on his sister’s relationship, and his parents, I can’t help but wonder if his affection is so easy to display because there is no pressure on it?
I thought I believed in love—but maybe not as heavily as I used to.
Maybe it’s less this grand, all-consuming thing, and more something smaller now. Or some people simply go through life without a lasting version of it, and I might be one of them.
I doubt he’d be interested, but he’d do amazingly as a wedding wrecker, a pretend boyfriend, an actor, all of the above.
My mouth opens to offer help, when I catch sight of a gold frame surrounding a young boy holding a clear bag with a goldfish swimming within. I walk over to it and grin at Anders’s smile, spotted with missing teeth.
Beside that is a younger Bethany holding an even smaller Anders by the leg and a Valerie on her back, nearly choking her in her tiny arms.
“Cute,” I can’t help but say.
A hand settles at the small of my back, its warmth pressing into the inch of skin my raised shirt reveals. “Ready to eat?” Anders whispers to me, his lips brushing my ear.
Surely he doesn’t mean to ask the question as gravelly as he does, eliciting more heat throughout my body. But I burn up all the same, clear my throat, and remind myself it’s an act, and I’m not an amateur.
I chew on my lip and tell myself to tighten the hell up as Anders leads me to a long mahogany table, pulls out a chair, and takes the one beside me.
Valerie takes the spot across from me, Olive facing Anders, and Bethany at the head.
“This is so lovely.” I gesture to the table, the Italian takeout still in its to-go boxes, and what I think is meat loaf, or lasagna, or casserole that must be Bethany’s doing, along with burnt pieces of bread and a salad covered in Parmesan shreds. “Thank you for having me.”
“Thank you for coming,” Bethany says, waving a hand. “Go on, fill your plate. Since you’re vegetarian, I made shepherd’s pie—mushroom for the beef.” She looks over at the burnt dish and sighs. “But if you want to eat some pasta, I can’t blame you.”
“That’s shepherd’s pie?” Valerie starts filling her plate with calamari, stealing the tongs from Olive. “I thought that was a gathering of the neighbor’s three-day-old bird food.”
I lean over, grab the ladle, and fill my plate with the homemade dish, ignoring the bread. I take a forkful and raise it to my mouth, when Valerie holds out a hand.
“Oh my God,” Valerie says. “Do you have a death wish?”
Even Bethany winces. “This is a big moment for me, for us, for Anders. We’ve only met one girl before, so I felt it was right to make a meal, but my hands are meant for gardening, riding horses, and pressing the buttons on a microwave. You really don’t have to.”
Guilt pries its way into my side at that. Even though Anders asked me to do this, being here and lying to these people feels a little too . . . personal.
Maybe my other jobs felt more clinical because of my lack of connection to clients, and I’ve only pretended to be a fake girlfriend once.
But Anders’s family thinks I will be a staple in his life, and Bethany made a meal for my diet, and Olive keeps looking at me with wide, curious eyes, making my chest tighten.
“You cooked it, so I’ll eat it.” I place the forkful in my mouth and swallow it down. It tastes like charcoal, rubber, and salty potatoes. I don’t flinch as I take another bite, this time strategically mixing it with the salad.
“Olive, close your eyes. I think we might be witnessing a death,”
Valerie whispers.
“Awesome,” Olive says.
“It’s really not that bad,” I say. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.” Or, often enough, nothing at all.
Anders puts a hand on my knee, and when I face him, his eyes are warm and soft, with just the slightest touch of heat glistening in them, so the skin behind my ears begins to warm.
“Well,” Bethany says, with a wide smile, “your parents raised you very polite.”
At that, Anders squeezes my thigh. The touch isn’t fake this time but for comfort. I squeeze him back: I’m okay.
“So, Valerie,” I begin as everyone starts digging into their own plates —Anders, too, is eating the burnt pie—“how is the wedding planning?
Anders says you’ll be walking down the aisle in three months.”
She frowns, pointing her knife toward Anders. “I’m sure that’s not all he said. Usually, any conversation that starts with ‘wedding’ ends with ‘don’t get married, you idiot.’”
“I have never called you that,” Anders says, aghast.
“No, you only say that it’s foolish for me to. I can read between the lines.”
“You’re one of the smartest, wittiest people I know,” Anders tells his sister. “There are no lines to read between.”
“Oh, shut up—”
“And there’s no need to worry about me disapproving anymore,”
Anders interrupts. “Lucinda here has convinced me to let it go, that I should let you make your own decisions and support you along the way. I won’t try to talk you out of it anymore.”
“Shut up!” Valerie drops her knife and snatches my hand across the table. “I love you, you’re amazing. Can I call you my sister-in-law? I’m going to call you my sister-in-law. What are you doing tomorrow? I’m scoping out venues. You have to come.”
“Sure,” I say. “I can tag along. If you don’t mind.”
Valerie shoots up. “Do you like wine? Let’s drink wine.” She scurries off to the kitchen.
“If you can convince Uncle Anders to leave Valerie alone,” Olive begins, “can you convince Mom to buy me a phone?”
“Hush,” Bethany tells her while Valerie comes over with a glass for
me. “So, Lucinda—”
“Lucy, please.”
“Lucy,” Bethany says, “Anders tells us you work in a publishing house in New York. How is that going for you? The travel you guys must do to see each other has to be taking a toll on you.”
This is the cover story Anders told me he gave to his family. We met at a book launch, I was marketing the title, and he did the cover for it. After we made small talk, we couldn’t stop thinking of each other. I place a hand on Anders’s arm. “Not at all; every time we reunite, all the exhaustion leaves my body.”
Valerie pours my wine. “Because I love you right now, I’m not going to mention how disgusting I find that statement.”
“So, how often do you guys get to see each other?” Bethany asks.
“Every two weeks,” Anders answers. “We take turns visiting each other.”
“John travels a lot for work, right?” I ask Valerie as she moves back to her seat, wineglass in hand. “As a management consultant. Is he going to settle down for a bit after the wedding?”
“We have a week in Croatia for the honeymoon before he has to travel again.”
“That’s lovely,” I say, sitting up straight, taking a sip of wine. “So, I’ve been dying to know how you two met? How did you know he was the one?
Anders has been stingy with the details. All I know is they were best friends in college.”
Valerie sips her wine and smiles. “Okay, so it’s actually crazy. I’m all about signs, you know? They’re everywhere, but most people overlook them or brush them off as coincidences, déjà vu—but not me. I’m not so good at reading them, but I have this psychic I go to, and she has guided my life since I was twelve.”
Anders sighs, and Bethany asks Olive to pass her the wine.
“Boo to both of you,” Valerie says at the reactions. “Anyway, my psychic has always said four is my number. I always check the time and see fours, I ranked four hundred and forty-fourth in school, four times is all it takes for me to ask someone for something and they give it.”
Anders wraps his fingers around mine holding the wineglass. He lifts our hands toward his mouth and drinks, the bottom of his lip pressing against my pointer finger on the glass, sending a lining of fireworks in the pit of my stomach into a violent show. My throat dries as he places the remaining wine on the table and pulls away.
“So, I’m in this relationship with this guy for four months, and we break up on the fourth of April. Then, I ran into John on the fourteenth floor at this party, and we hit it off. We hook up that night—”
“Valerie!”
Valerie pokes Olive’s ear. “Erase that from your memory. Anyway, John was born April fourth, and it felt like fate. My psychic said that my thread of destiny has been pulling me toward him my whole life.”
“Right,” I say, ignoring Olive’s snickering. “That sure is something.
So, do you still go to this psychic?” I ask, an idea forming in my brain.
If Valerie is into signs, the universe, and fate, I could try to warp their relationship from her perspective. Taina went through a yearlong astrology phase and spent every other sentence scolding me with “That’s so Aquarius of you.” I’m sure she can give some insight.
“Ugh,” Valerie groans, throwing her head back. “She died last year. So sad, for sure. But, like, I’m so lost without her. The last thing she told me
was to cling to my love, so I haven’t found someone to replace her. I need to get this feeling, you know? To know who the right fit is.”
“Really?” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket and checking the time. I stretch out my words so they come out slow, almost slurred. “That’s.
So. Interesting.”
I feel Anders’s eyes on me as I go on. “So. Special.”
The time changes, and I clap my hands. “I know someone.” Valerie’s eyes widen. “My sister is similar to you. Studied astrology in school and everything,” I lie. “She sees someone regularly, and you know what? My sister lives an amazing life. Her girl travels. I can give you her information.”
“Oh my God!” Valerie shoots up again. “Really? That’d be perfect. I have been searching for someone to no end.” Subtly, I push my phone closer to her side of the table. Her eyes flicker toward it, and she snatches it up. “Oh my God.” She holds out the phone for us to see. “Look at the time!”
“Four-forty-four,” Anders reads with a smirk.
“A sign,” I say.
I finish my wine, carefully avoiding where Anders placed his lips.
Maybe I can get Valerie to back out of the wedding earlier than I thought with the help of a psychic who can show her all the red flags in her relationship. I’ve never tried it before, but somehow, I know this wedding will require a little more creativity than I’m used to.
Anders reaches over and swipes a stray bead of wine from my bottom lip.
Creativity and the willpower of a much better woman than I am.
