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“What does that mean?” I frowned.
“She lived a very different life to yours for many years. She was in Hollywood, Kyle. Those people aren’t like us. Like you,” Dad contended.
“What is she? An alien?” I had laughed, though my parents hadn’t found my comment funny.
“This will blow up in your face if you’re not careful, Kyle,” Dad warned roughly. And we didn’t talk about it again. Mom and Dad had made their feelings clear. They didn’t agree with it, but they would keep their feelings quiet, and they’d go along with the plan as long as it meant Katie stayed here.
Clearly, Mom had been stewing, though. She handed me Grandma Webber’s engagement ring after she finished with my tie. She didn’t let go of the box, holding it tightly in her hand. “You really want to give Whitney your grandma’s ring? Don’t you want to save it for the real thing?” Mom’s brow furrowed in that way it did when she was feeling particularly critical.
I covered her hand with mine. “This is real, Mom. Legally anyway. Whitney will take care of Grandma’s ring.”
Mom sighed again—she had been doing that a lot lately— and let go of the box. I opened the top and looked down at the antique gold band studded with diamonds. It wasn’t flashy, but it was elegant. It was perfect for Whitney. We hadn’t talked about an engagement ring in our haste to plan the whole thing, but it didn’t feel right for her not to have one.
And maybe a part of me imagined that this was for real.
No. I couldn’t let myself go there. I had to keep this marriage in perspective ... No imaginings. No complicated feelings. I had to do this for Katie. I couldn’t afford it to be for any other reason. I could tell by the way Whitney talked about her life in L.A. that whether she realized it or not, she missed it. Southport could never keep her. So, while she was doing me a huge favor, this was never meant to last.
Just as well. The woman had broken every piece of my heart once already. It had never fully healed from the last time she crushed it. I wasn’t in a rush to hand it over to her again to do the exact same thing.
If I was so worried about her hurting me, how could I go through with this?
I could hear Katie laughing with my dad downstairs. Her childish giggles made me smile. I would do anything if it meant making sure that kid had the life she deserved. So, I steeled my shoulders and locked away my heart. I would marry Whitney Galloway, and I would build a life for my kid that Josie Robinson could never dismantle.
“I always pictured you getting married in a church. Dressed in a tux with a flutist playing in the background. Not at the town hall,” Mom grumbled, straightening the skirt of her floral print dress. She had insisted on buying a new one for the occasion. “Even if it’s a load of bull, it requires a nice dress,” she insisted with a frown.
I hated disappointing my mom. I knew that for all her complaints, she was only worried. And I knew she wanted more for me. She thought I was shortchanging myself. But I wasn’t. This marriage would hopefully give me exactly what I wanted. Peace of mind. I put my arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, I’m wearing a suit,” I pointed out.
Mom pulled away and looked at me, giving me the maternal once-over. “I guess it’ll have to do.” She smoothed her hand down the front of my jacket, tucking in my tie. She patted my cheek. “You do look handsome.” She squeezed my hand, and the heavy brick in the middle of my chest shifted slightly.
This would work out. It had to.
“We’d better get going. We’re meeting Whitney and her mom at 2:00.” I put the ring in my pocket where it sat next to the wedding bands I had purchased from the internet. Thank you for two-day shipping. I only hoped I got Whitney’s size right.
We went downstairs to find my dad giving Katie a piggyback ride around the living room.
“Dennis, look at you! Your shirt is untucked, and is that coffee on your pants?” Mom scolded.
Dad looked down at himself sheepishly. “It’s fine.”
“Your son is getting married today. Even if it’s all a big lie, you should still look presentable,” Mom went on, and I tried not to roll my eyes. She was the queen of passive-aggressiveness.
“Come here, my little bug,” I said, holding out my arms so I could take Katie from my dad. My daughter launched herself at me, giving me a noisy kiss on the cheek. She was dressed in a pink frilly dress, with her dark hair pulled up into pigtails.
