No. It was fine. I rolled the lie in my head like a marble, testing it out for chips and rough edges. No one would check up on it—least of all Bailey. She wasn’t going to call my GP to see if I’d actually been there. It was fine. All of it was fine.
Great. I was lying to myself now, too.
Hoping to drown myself in work, I stared at the stack of vendor invoices on my desk. I was trying to concentrate on them, but something else was calling my name, distracting me. Unable to stop myself, I compulsively grabbed my purse, stuck my hand in the side pocket, and pulled out the ring. The diamond was extraordinary, sunlight from the transom window hit it and cast a prism of brilliant flashes. Unable to stop myself, I slipped it on my finger.
I couldn’t get over how perfectly it fit. It looked beautiful. It looked right. It felt right.
“You are a godsend.” Bailey’s voice interrupted my thoughts at precisely the same moment the staccato click of her Louboutin knock-offs echoed down the hall, which meant she’d returned not just with an attitude but with backup. Before I could even slip the ring off my finger, she swept back into my office with Olivia trailing behind her, both wearing expressions of the sort of focused intent that usually preceded a “family meeting.”
Olivia, despite being small in stature, always managed to move with the authority of a supreme court justice. She cradled a biodegradable tray with three lidded coffees from Sweet Temptations, their warm, cinnamon-vanilla scent wafting through the room and swirling into the vanilla-powdery air like the world’s best cologne. I was so caught up in the panic of ring concealment that I had to remind myself to smile. In one practiced motion, I spun the diamond to my palm and let my hand rest casually atop my desk, in my best indifference pose.
This was another thing no one tells you about accidentally marrying your childhood crush, the number of tiny, split-second lies required to keep the entire charade from combusting. If love was an act of faith, this was a high-wire performance with no net.
Bailey, always the diplomat even in moments of hostile takeover, sat down across from me and crossed her legs with a flourish. Olivia took the seat next to her, perching delicately on the very edge of the cushion, like a bird who hadn’t decided whether to stay or bolt. They both eyed me with the sort of predatory attention usually reserved for bake sale saboteurs and reality show confessionals.
Bailey handed me a coffee, then fussed with her sleeve, which is how she telegraphed nervous energy. “You seem stressed,” she announced. “Here.” She shoved the cup in my direction as if handing me a loaded gun.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound normal. “But I’m fine, just a busy day.” I took a sip and immediately scorched the roof of my mouth. I hid the wince behind a smile.
Olivia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a grin. She’d once told me that her favorite part of being a matchmaker was “sussing out bullshit before it hits the fan,” and I could see she was in her element now, trying to read the tight line of my jaw or the way I held my cup. She set her coffee down on the edge of my desk with the gentle precision of someone who’d worked in customer service and never recovered.
“So,” Bailey said brightly, “Olivia says she’s here on official business.”
My stomach plummeted. The last time I’d heard that phrase, it had been about a bridal shop on the verge of bankruptcy after my grandmother died.
Olivia’s eyes sparkled. “I’m here for your follow-up.”
That word—follow-up—landed in me like a hot coal. I’d completely forgotten about my scheduled “feedback session”with her regarding last night’s date. Last night? Had that really been just last night? It felt like a million years ago, mostly because, in the hours since, I’d gone from reluctant dater to full-on, state-sanctioned bride.
“Follow-up?” I echoed, as if I genuinely didn’t know what she was talking about. The less I said, the less I had to remember later.
“Follow-up? You had a date?” Bailey’s head spun towards me.
“Last night,” I filled my sister in before turning to Olivia. “Do you always make house calls when people miss appointments?”
“I do when it’syou.”
Right, “VIP” translates to “difficult client.”.
“Wait, so how was the date? Who was the guy? Tell me everything!” Bailey clapped.
“He was nice. It was good.” He wasn’t Adam, and the entire date I sat there thinking, “You’re not Adam. I wish I were home with Adam.”
“Nice?” Olivia’s brow rose. “Good?”
“What?” Bailey’s eyes bounced between us. “What am I missing?”
Olivia began to explain, “I set her up with a unicorn client. Successful, age appropriate, smart, compatible, hot?—”
“It’s not him,” I interjected. “I’m just not in the head space to date right now, not with everything that’s going on.”
The scrutiny in which Olivia was staring at me made me feel exposed. It felt like she knew exactly what was going on. That somehow she was aware I’d gotten legally married that morning.
Bailey’s gaze softened for a moment. “Is it about the stalker? You can say if it is.”
I shook my head, maybe too quickly. “No, it’s just… everything. The busiest time of year for the shop, your guys’weddings coming up, and not being able to live at home. It’s just not a good time.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded, as if giving me permission to be a workaholic. “That’s valid. But Russell had a really good time. He gave glowing feedback and wants to see you again.”
