Page 34 of Seale the Deal

She turns back. What?

How are we supposed to pull off an actual wedding? I ask. I don’t exactly have money for that lying around.

Remi’s expression softens immediately. Don’t worry about it. I can cover things.

Remi, you’ve already paid for a lot.

She shrugs. I’m not going to be on the hook for all of it. I know the local baker, so I’m sure he’ll kick in something. I could probably work something out with the florist. And Walter already declared himself the officiant. I’m sure he’d do it for free.

I groan softly. Hearing that more people are going to invest in this sham makes it worse.

Remi bites her lower lip.

We don’t really have a choice, she says quietly. Unless you want to not go through with this at all. I mean, you know the consequences if we get found out.

Guilt creeps slowly into my chest. Do you really think people would say something?

She gives me a look. Wrenley. You’ve known this town for less than twenty-four hours, and you already know nobody here can mind their business.

Fair point.

I sigh.

Look, I love this town and the people in it, she says, but I’m also not willing to risk you and my brother getting in trouble because someone can’t keep a secret.

This all felt so much simpler when it was just the three of us.

Finally, I nod. Okay.

Hey, Remi says. Try not to stress. We’ll figure it out. Planning things is literally my favourite pastime, and I’m pretty good at getting stuff to go my way.

I laugh softly. That is all true.

Exactly. You’re in excellent hands.

She flashes me a bright grin before disappearing out the back door.

I rub my arms, trying to shake off the feeling that the town has become a huge complication.

But when I step outside and Remi is pointing at the grill while Ruger stares down at the meat in disgust, watching the two of them together, so familiar and ridiculous and seemingly completely unfazed by the chaos unfolding around us, something inside me loosens slightly. Maybe everything really will be okay.

Over a hundred expletives and one spirited debate about factory farming later, we’re all gathered around Ruger’s kitchen table, chewing in silence. The silence is thick and hot and filled with the echo of Remi yelling, Beef is murder! while Ruger tried to grill, which was a weird comment since he was cooking bison. Remi munches on her meatless burger like this is any other Tuesday. Ruger looks like he’s counting backward from one hundred to avoid spontaneous combustion.

You and I both know hunted meat isn’t the same as store-bought beef, Ruger says, barely looking up from his plate.

Remi lifts an eyebrow, expression blank. If that helps you sleep at night.

She leans down and slaps his stomach. He lets out a low grunt of protest.

You’ll learn, brother of mine, she says with a wink, that all your meat-eating is a mis-steak!

I choke on my bite, sputtering laughter, while Ruger shakes his head.

Okay. Remi wipes her fingers on a napkin and stands with a dramatic sigh. Well, I’ll let you two carnivores eat yourselves into an early heart attack. How about dinner at my place tomorrow?

I’m in, I say happily.

Ruger says nothing.