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Me: I’ll see you on the plane at nine.
She replies immediately, and I drag my thumb along my bottom lip, watching the bubble and the three dots dance.
Georgia: Ah! Thank you. Thank you! I could kiss you, but I won’t. Incidentally, how did you know what time we’re taking off?
I don’t bother responding to that as I slide my phone into my pocket and head upstairs to pack, only by the time I reach the top step, my phone vibrates.
Georgia: Zax came by my hotel room late last night. He told me he spoke with you and is glad you’re going to do this for me. He was worried about me, but I told him I hated you, so he didn’t have to worry about any of that. Also, he gave me something that might upset you. I thought you should know I have Suzie’s ring, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
Fuck. Why did he go and do that?
The engagement ring Zax was never able to give Suzie because she died right before he could has made the rounds recently. Callan gave it to Layla when he needed her to be his fake fiancée so he could secure guardianship of his niece Katy. But once that ruse was over—and now that they’re actually engaged—Callan gave it back to Zax.
I know what Zax is doing. I know what he’s thinking. A woman like Georgia Monroe, with her money and social presence, doesn’t get engaged or married without a rock on her hand, and he wants this to appear as authentic as it possibly can for Georgia’s sake.
But fuck.
Suzie’s ring on Georgia’s hand.
I wipe my hand across my brow and enter my bedroom, where I pull out a suitcase and shift through the things I have here. I don’t go out in Maine, so any events or things I’m dragged to all happen in Boston, which is why my closet here is full of expensive items—most with the Monroe label since Zax owns Monroe Fashions, a designer brand.
Finally, I manage a reply.
Me: You should wear it.
Because it would give Suzie the biggest fucking kick to know I was getting fake married to Georgia and that she was wearing her ring. She would have laughed and teased me relentlessly—as only she could. She would have said something along the lines of “Don’t fall in love the way they do in my romance books.” And I wouldn’t have said anything in rebuttal because it wouldn’t have been necessary.
Falling in love isn’t a natural part of who I am.
Except the only woman to ever challenge that is the woman I’m about to marry.
Two hours later, I’m through security at Logan Airport and walking toward the terminal when I spot her red hair. The plane is just about to board, people are standing all around, but Georgia is sitting, her face cast down toward the industrial carpet, two black suitcases upright beside her.
I take the seat next to her, but she doesn’t move or speak. She’s simply breathing hard, her eyes pinched shut.
“We’d now like to welcome our first-class passengers,” chimes out through the PA system, but Georgia is still unmoved despite us now being able to board. On her hand is Suzie’s ring, a big fucking diamond sparkling almost mockingly at me. There isn’t a moment of any day that I don’t miss my sister. That I don’t wish she were still alive.
I’d give anything for that.
I tap Georgia’s finger with the rock on it. “You can’t ever tell Zax this, but Suzie would have hated that ring.”
Her head slowly rises, her face pale and clammy, even as her eyebrows pinch together, confused by my statement. I stand, take the handles of her suitcases, and start to head for the boarding area. She quickly scurries to her feet, clutches her mammoth purse to her chest, and starts to follow me.
“What do you mean she would have hated it?” she asks, only to indignantly squawk, “Hey. What are you doing?” at me as I grab her phone from her hand, use her face to unlock it, and swipe her boarding pass to get her on the plane. She starts to resist, but I push her in front of me, forcing her along as I drag our suitcases behind me, giving her no room to escape.
“Suzie didn’t like flashy or ostentatious.”
Georgia takes exception to this, turning her head over her shoulder to give me a scathing look. “It’s not flashy or ostentatious. It’s beautiful.” She holds up her hand, admiring the ring.
“It’s a mafia bride ring.”
She laughs, but it’s shaky. “Is that what I am then? Because I would have loved a ring like this.” It is a beautiful ring. I helped Zax pick it out, and Suzie would have loved it.
She falters at the edge where the walkway meets the plane, and I shove her on, practically making her stumble onboard.
“Good morning, Miss Monroe,” the flight attendant greets her, but Georgia is a hot beat from losing her shit, so I thrust her down into the window seat and then block the aisle as I toss her heavy fucking bags up into the overhead bin.
I take the aisle seat, watching as passengers board, eyeing Georgia as they walk past us because everyone in the country knows her face and not just from what she’s been through in the last six months. She’s been a celebrity her entire life. The girl was in a dozen films between the ages of fourteen and eighteen and before that, she was a fixture at award shows with her mother.
