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Like everything else she’s shown us, they’re undeniable.
Row after row of Holly and Reese in Vegas. Selfies galore and dozens of pictures obviously taken by a third person. I see the famous Bellagio fountains in the background. Bright casino lights and the fake Eiffel Tower looming up just over Holly’s bare shoulder. They’re smiling in every last one of them. Deliriously happy. So happy I can almost taste it.
It makes me want to vomit.
The last row of photos is cast in a palette of white. The inside of a wedding chapel. White walls, white neon, white suits and white smiles on the faces of people lining the white pews.
On the left side of the altar is Reese, wearing a white hockey jersey with his name on the back and white ripped jeans. He’s holding hands with Holly, who’s the picture of pure perfection in a white cotton dress. The bloody splash of her red heels is the only trace of color to be seen in the entire image.
It is both incredibly cliché—a Vegas wedding with Elvis officiating; are you kidding me?—and still somehow genuinely sweet.
Sickeningly sweet.
I swallow my nausea and hand her phone back to her. “You never said anything about this, Reese,” I murmur in a dull, dead voice. I look to him, hoping that there’s some kind of valid explanation. Anything would be better than nothing at this point.
Say something, for the love of God. The silence is killing me.
“Because it’s a bunch of bullshit!” he growls. “I don’t remember any of this!”
Somehow, that just makes this whole thing worse.
“Yo, Reese, come on! We gonna cut this cake or nah?”
We’re suddenly reminded that we’re not alone, and that there’s very much a group of people eager and waiting for a party to continue. I give Reese a startled look, unsure what to do.
Holly speaks up before either of us can. “Cake? Lovely. I can give Violet her first taste for her birth?—”
“Like hell you will.”
Reese snares Holly by the upper arm, keeping her rooted in place. Without even looking at me, he barks over his shoulder, “Tell everyone to leave. I’ll deal with this.”
“But Reese?—”
“Just do it, goddammit!”
I shrink back and turn on my heels. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to everyone. What’s the protocol for this situation? Sorry, guys—Reese’s maybe-wife who is also Violet’s maybe-mom just showed up and, boy, does she have receipts! Anyway, party’s canceled!
He doesn’t give me the chance to ask another question. He tugs Holly away from the door and down the hall toward his office. It slams shut behind her and I can’t help but think that, if he’d just shut the door on her face instead of letting her in, this all could’ve been avoided. We could’ve just barricaded it closed and lived in this little bubble of bliss forever.
If only, if only.
2
OLIVIA
I look down to Violet. Her wide green eyes reflect confusion back to me. She can’t possibly understand the situation, but babies can sense when things aren’t quite right.
And this sure as hell isn’t right. None of it is. It’s not right and it’s not fair and my God, it all hurts so bad.
I force down the feelings of betrayal and anger. Adjusting Violet a little more comfortably on my hip, I go out to the backyard where everyone else is.
“Hey, guys!” I call out, hoping that my voice doesn’t waver or betray that there’s something wrong. “I’m so sorry, but it looks like this little girl is ready to call it a day and we don’t want to overstimulate her.”
I’m impressed with how quickly my mouth makes up an excuse, because my brain is still stuck on Holly being somewhere in this house. It’s amazing, the mental gymnastics that the nastier voices in my head are doing already.
They’re probably in the bedroom. He’s probably ripped that black dress right off her already. She’s probably?—
Stop it, Liv!
