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I knew Holden wouldn’t believe that I had been too busy with work to attend any other wedding-related events. Somehow, I also knew that she would always be a wedge between us if I wasn’t honest with him about my relationship with Sissy. I wasn’t sure why; I just knew that it was fundamentally important.
“Sissy and I have always had a...complicated relationship.” I twirled my straw restlessly in my lemonade. “The word ‘relationship’ might be an exaggeration. She always seemed — I don’t know, annoyed by my existence? Sissy has this need to be the center of attention at all times, and it always kind of felt like she resented me being born and stealing some of her spotlight.”
“That sounds like Sissy,” Holden said. His voice was devoid of judgement, and that encouraged me to tell him a bit more.
“We’re very different people, and if I’m being fair, I think we’re both disappointments to each other.” I gave him a sad smile. “It wasn’t so bad most of the time when I was younger, since I was usually more than happy to live in her shadow, but it seemed like the older I got, the harder it was to make myself small enough for her.” I let out a frustrated breath. “It’s hard to explain, I guess.”
“You’re doing fine. I also have the benefit of knowing Sissy.”
I nodded in understanding. He’d had a front row seat to Sissy at her best and worst with all her wedding planning.
“We pretty much stayed out of each other’s way. She made it clear that she didn’t want me tagging along with her, and I suppose that’s probably normal,” I continued, using the terminology my therapist had given me. “I felt like she was also finding little ways to make my life miserable, though. I also felt like my parents were willfully blind when it came to some of Sissy’s behavior. I didn’t know that she had cheated with Macon until I overheard you at the picnic.”
“Sutton,” Holden said, but I waved away his concern. I wanted to get through the most embarrassing part of our history.
“It’s okay, Holden. I understand,” I assured him before dropping my eyes to my fingers which were nervously dancing across the edges of my napkin. “I confronted her in the bathroom at the church, and God, she was so awful, even for her. She had absolutely no remorse for what she’d done to someone who was supposed to be her best friend. My mom and Mrs. Thomas are best friends, so they both noticed the tension between Sissy and Cam. When she asked Sissy if they had gotten into a fight, Sissy said everything was fine.” I huffed out a breath. “And I just...I guess I was tired of Sissy getting away with her bad behavior all the time, and how easily she could manipulate our parents, so I told them that she had cheated with Macon.”
I braved a glance up. Holden was staring at me with an intensity in his eyes that made me swallow roughly. I was unable to identify the emotion behind the look. I waited for an agonizing moment, hoping he would say something — anything. When he remained silent, I plowed on, mentally flushing what little dignity I had left down the toilet.
“Less than a week later, my fanfic staring Beacon Hill residents was plastered all over town. I knew it was Sissy. I’ve spent the last ten years avoiding her and trying not to show my face in Beacon Hill since. I didn’t even know that she was engaged to Macon until my mom told me after my dad’s accident. Sissy was supposed to be keeping me updated but clearly didn’t bother. I have no idea what she was planning on telling my parents when I failed to show up for the actual wedding. So, there it is. The dumpster fire that is our relationship.”
“And now you have to play the cheerful maid of honor to keep everyone happy.”
I startled at how perceptive he was, even though it really shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“My parents deserve a happy day, even if it’s a lie. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.” I shrugged, braving eye contact again. The understanding I saw written on his face almost took my breath away. The little tendrils of love that had slowly been growing the past few weeks uncurled and started growing into something that threatened to engulf me.
“I remember that.” His thumb lazily chased the condensation cutting a path down his glass. “Your stories being published in theBeacon.”
Yes, our town newspaper was called the Beacon HillBeacon. What the town lacked in creativity, it made up for in crazy.
“Oh, good. I was worried that you might have missed the most humiliating year of my life. What a relief.” His lip twitched and I wanted to press my own lips to the spot. “Please tell me you were too busy doing your annual re-read of Tolstoy to read any of my stories.”
“I read all of them.”
I groaned, covering my face with my hands.I take it back, I thought.I hope this place gives me a fatal case of food poisoning.Death by suspect seafood seemed so much better than having to look Holden in the eye again, knowing he’d read my fanfic starring Macon as every single romantic lead. I hadn’t even given him a clever pseudonym. I’d named him Conam.Conam.
Then I felt Holden’s warm hands wrap around my wrists, slowly tugging first one hand away and then the other.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” How he managed to utter that sentence with a straight face had to be one of the greatest mysteries of the universe. “I kept reading them because they were enjoyable. You’re a good writer.”
“I wroteStar WarsandHobbitfanfic using people from our town, a literal bottomless pit of shame. Truly nothing you can say will make me feel better about it, but I appreciate the effort.”
His warm chuckle washed over me, chasing out the shadows that always appeared when I talked about Sissy. I hated that my childhood had to be intertwined with memories of her; hated the power she still had over my past.
“What are the odds that you were the only member of your family who read my stories?” It was his turn to suddenly be very interested in the table. “Great. Perfect. I’m changing my name and entering witness protection. It’s been nice knowing you.”
Another warm chuckle, this one accompanied by those lines at the corners of his eyes that made me squeeze my legs together.
“I get it, to some extent. Families are complicated.”
“The great St. James family — the Kennedys of Georgia — had complications?” I made sure my accent was thicker than the coffee they served at church on Sunday.
His brows winged up in surprise. “Do people actually call us that?”
I nodded in confirmation, enjoying the fact that the knowledge clearly made him uncomfortable.
“My parents had high expectations for their children,” he said. “We were more reflections of them, like trophies, than kids. Our paths were set — private schools, Ivy League undergrad, Ivy League law school, work in public service for a couple years and then go into the family firm.”
