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I put the little dog on the sofa. “No, that’s crazy. Kate broke her elbow, and I’m simply helping her. I’m not trying to escape.”
I can’t believe she brought up Josh. I’ve asked both of my sisters to stop asking about him. We were happy, and then he decided he wasn’t. I tried everything to convince him to work things out, but he didn’t want to. I refuse to let my mind go too far down that rabbit hole. I need to focus my energy on helping Kate.
“You’re running away, Immy.”
My eyes suddenly get misty. Maybe I’m running away, and maybe that’s okay.
I remove my phone from my handbag. “I’m helping my best friend. There is a difference. I have to go. We can talk soon. Good luck with the holidays.”
“I’ll miss you, Immy.”
My voice softens. “I’ll miss you too.” I end the call.
I find my notebook and start jotting down things I need to do before leaving. Cancel flight to South Carolina. Get Binna to handle the mail/pay bills/collect packages. Find passport. Figure out what to pack. Box, wrap, and ship gifts.
I barely have time to obsess over anything. I only have a few hours to get everything together. After getting a text from Kate, I start to worry a tiny bit. She reminds me to pack swimsuits and hiking gear for Antigua. I borrow a few things from my roommate and decide to purchase hiking boots and other essential gear in London. I’m hoping Ivy will be back in London before I leave for the Caribbean; she’ll know where to shop and what to bring.
At midnight, I get a text from Kate.Pack light, and remember, don’t worry—you’ll be fine.
2
A Convenient Lie (Alex)
Idespise waiting. Yet I’m standing on the front porch of a rented manor house outside London on a cold, damp day. I don’t understand why my mother wants to get married in this traditional country estate. There is barely central heating. The house is cluttered with antiques and old family heirlooms. Not the best place to start a marriage.
Regina insists on a posh, romantic wedding with forty of her closest friends. She has three relatives. Me, her brother, and a nephew. The man she is marrying is divorced, ten years older, and not on speaking terms with his adult children. It’s hardly romantic.
Not only am I forced to come to this miserable place, the person tasked with organizing this event emailed me last night that she injured her arm and is sending a replacement. She had the gall to send a photograph of a blonde woman, wearing a football jersey in a bar, squinting at the camera. She appears to be a young partygoer. I haven’t decided whether to send her away or let her flounder. It would serve my mother right.
A small car makes its way through the winding driveway. It’s as if my thoughts summoned her here. My jaw tightens. I don’t enjoy making small talk or greeting young partygoers. I seriously doubt Kate found anyone last minute that could fill her shoes. She promised me this wedding would be… what were her exact words…easy peasy? The phrase grated on my nerves. In my experience, very little in life is easy.
At least her name is memorable. Imogen Smith. I watch her step out of the car and swing the door shut. She looks like the photograph Kate sent. Blonde hair, slim and on the taller side. She proceeds to remove her luggage from the boot. My employees know they are permitted one backpack, which must be light enough to take anywhere. She has four suitcases.Four.
I step off the porch. “I wouldn’t bother removing the rest of your belongings.”
She smiles, and my chest tightens. “Pardon?”
Imogen Smith has shiny blonde hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and enough makeup to gloss the front of a fashion magazine.
“You don’t need all that baggage.”
She closes the boot and taps on the car. The compact car pulls away and shoots down the driveway.
“The driver didn’t even get out?” I’m frowning and cannot keep the irritation out of my voice.
She shrugs, picks up all her suitcases, and approaches the porch. “Uber drivers don’t usually assist with suitcases.”
Stopping in front of me, she puts down her luggage and sticks out her hand. “Hi there. I’m Imogen. My friends call me Immy. Kate sent me to help with the event this weekend.”
I hold back what I want to say and instead say, “You mean to put together the event.”
She retracts her hand and asks, “And you are?”
“I’m part of Bespoke Events. Sent to greet you.”
She moistens her lips. “Kate said the company doesn’t have any employees as of yet. Who are you?”
I resist giving her my full name. Instead, I settle for my first and middle name. “Lorimer Alexander.”
