Page 48 of Seale the Deal

This was supposed to be simple.

Remi leans against the counter across from me, her energy finally calming. I know.

I thought we’d sign papers, eat grocery store cake, and move on.

Me too, she says. That trip to get the marriage license changed everything.

I groan and cover my face.

Look, we don’t have to make this huge and ridiculous, she says gently. We just have to make it believable enough that nobody starts asking questions.

I exhale slowly. Okay, I say.

Remi immediately brightens again. Amazing. I’m keeping the lanterns on the list.

Remi.

Fake antlers, then. Final offer.

Fine. I take another long sip of wine, draining the glass completely.

Remi points at it. Do we need…

Keep the wine flowing, I say.

Because right now, wine is the only thing standing between me and a complete spiral over the fact that an entire town of apparently lovely strangers is willing to invest in my deeply fraudulent future marriage.

Remi pours me more wine, then checks the lasagna. Okay. Food’s ready. Let’s eat and plan some more.

The lasagna is mostly gone. The salad bowl’s empty despite zero help from Ruger, who claimed he was allergic. We’ve migrated to the backyard to enjoy the crisp fall air, and even though the sun set over an hour ago, it’s still weirdly nice. The sky is deep blue, the stars just starting to blink awake.

I’m nursing my… fifth?… glass of wine while Remi is halfway through a dramatic story about the mysterious Soup, who, despite my pressing questions, still doesn’t seem to have a real name. Unsurprisingly, no firm decisions were made about the wedding.

And I—I’m drunk.

My cheeks are on fire. My head is floating somewhere above my body. When I reach for the bottle to top off my glass, I completely miss the mark and slosh wine all over the table.

Oops, I giggle.

Remi shrieks with laughter and grabs a paper towel. You are cut off, ma’am.

I’m fine, I lie, even as I wobble in my seat. Just hydrated.

I don’t think that’s how alcohol works, Ruger says dryly across the table.

I raise one finger in the air like I’m about to say something profound. Then I need hydration!

Remi is still laughing, but I feel a strange pressure building behind my ribs.

I didn’t mean to drink this much, but somewhere between lace dresses, prenups, and someone named Soup, I stopped pacing myself.

I stand up… well, try to. The world shifts sideways. My stomach lurches. Oh no.

Wait, I mumble, the word dragging. Wait—I think I need to—

I make it three steps toward the side yard before my foot catches something—air? Gravity?—and I stumble directly into the bushes. Actually, stumble is too kind a word. I full-on collapse. I land face-first in a tangle of wet leaves and damp earth, my knee jammed against something that might be a lawn gnome. For a moment, I just lie there, groaning.

Behind me, Remi gasps, then howls with laughter. I can’t blame her. She’s as drunk as I am. Ruger mutters a curse as I press my face into the mossy dirt. My eyes sting. My hair is probably full of twigs. Any ounce of cool I’ve ever pretended to have is gone. Then I feel a shadow over me.