Sweet Little Lies

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING

The next morning, I roll over and reach for Tucker, but my hand meets only cold sheets. He must have left for work early and not even bothered to wake me. A dull ache begins to bloom in my chest.I sit up, the sick feeling in my stomach a sharp contrast to the bright morning light seeping through the curtains. The memory of last night’s fight, the anger in Tucker’s eyes when I mentioned Charlotte, makes me want to crawl back under the covers and hide.

What was I thinking, bringing her up like that? I think as I rub my eyes.I knew it was a sore spot, knew he didn’t want to talk about it, especially after we ran into Amanda Spencer on the street. But I just couldn’t help myself. And the way he reacted.

It was…so unlike him.

With a heavy sigh, I force myself out of bed, wincing as my bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. I stare in the bathroom mirror. I’m not having the worst hair day, my long red tresses still carrying some of the waves I styled into them last night. But my face is puffy from the wine, and there are some dark circles under my eyes from not getting enough sleep. I splash on some makeup, and go through the motions of getting ready. But it’s like I’m on autopilot, my mind a million miles away.

I glance at the clock and realize it’s already seven o’clock. I’m not due into the shop until ten, as I have one last fitting for my wedding dress.

My wedding dress. The words echo in my mind, along with another thought I can’t suppress: If the wedding is still on.

I shake my head, forcing the ridiculous thought to the back of my mind. Of course it’s still on. Tucker and I just had a little fight. All couples fight, right?

My two responsibilities for the wedding were simple—find a dress and build a beautiful cake. The rest was left to the wedding planner.

Nanette’s is the only wedding boutique within twenty miles of Somerville, conveniently located just a few blocks from my bakery on Main Street. It’s a charming shop with pastel decor and large display windows showcasing dreamy dresses. The only catch? Nanette, the owner, is a not-so-distant cousin of Charlotte.

As I’ve said, escaping any connection to Charlotte seems nearly impossible in this town.

I thought about driving into Charleston, which would add about an hour to the trip, but given everything that’s going on at my shop and all the other activities related to the wedding, I just didn’t have time. So I had to swallow my pride and any bit of discomfort and get my dress from Nanette’s.

To her credit, she never mentions Charlotte. But I always get the impression that she’s on the cusp of bringing her up. She is her cousin after all, and I’m certain Charlotte came here when she was dress shopping for her wedding to Tucker.

“Reese!” she exclaims when she sees me walk in. Nanette practically runs across the room to plant two air kisses on each of my cheeks.

“How are you holding up, dear?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” I say, forcing a smile.

“You look absolutely lovely,” she says, her eyes appraising me from head to toe. While I appreciate the compliment, something about her tone feels disingenuous. And I know I don’t look fine—dark circles like the ones I had this morning don’t disappear that quickly.

“Well, your dress is ready, and I can tell you it looks absolutely fabulous. Why don’t you go slip into one of the dressing rooms and I’ll bring it to you.”

Nanette gestures toward the silk-curtained room in the back. As I walk to the dressing room, I pass a wall adorned with photos. Gold letters proclaim, “She Said Yes to the Dress!” above a collection of about thirty images, each featuring a beaming bride in her chosen gown. I scan the pictures, wondering if any of these women ordered cakes from my bakery.

My heart stops when I spot the bottom right photo. Charlotte . My fiancé’s ex-girlfriend, smiling radiantly in a delicate white lace gown. I squint, leaning in closer just to confirm I’m not mistaken. Why on earth would Nanette display Charlotte’s photo when she never actually got married?

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Nanette’s voice startles me. She’s suddenly at my side, eyes fixed on Charlotte’s picture. “I remember how lovely she looked in that dress. Such a shame things didn’t work out.”

My mouth falls open, heat quickly rising up my cheeks. She did not just say that. A wave of indignation washes over me, then anger. Does everyone in this town still see Tucker as Charlotte’s almost-husband? Am I just the consolation prize? I want to scream at Nanette, demand she take down that ridiculous photo. But the words catch in my throat. This is Somerville, after all. Making a scene would only fuel the gossip mill for months.

Before I say something I might regret, I duck behind the curtain into the dressing room. My hands shake as I grip the fabric, trying to steady my breathing. I slip into the gown as quickly as I can, forcing the straps over my shoulders while swallowing my words. Once the dress is on, I take a deep breath, smoothing the material over my stomach before stepping out.

“Are you ready, dear?” Nanette chirps from the dressing area.

As soon as they see me, Nanette and her assistant gasp audibly. “Beautiful!” she says, and she clasps my shoulders, turning me until I face the mirror. I want to be angry at her, give her a piece of my mind about the photo, but as soon as I catch sight of my reflection, I stop. I’m momentarily stunned. The gown is gorgeous, hugging my curves perfectly before flowing out in a cascade of silk. My red hair, vibrant against the white fabric, completes the picture.

I feel like the bride I’ve always dreamed of being.

But the moment fades as my eyes drift to Charlotte’s photo on the wall. Her frozen smile seems to mock me, a constant reminder of my fiancé’s past. Suddenly, the beautiful dress feels suffocating. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m an imposter in Charlotte’s world, trying on a life that was meant to be hers.

“It’s perfect,” Nanette coos, but her words barely register. I nod mechanically, desperate to escape. All I want now is to get out of this dress and leave this shop. The next few minutes seem to stretch on forever while Nanette and her staff pinch and pin the dress to their satisfaction. Nanette has to step into the dressing room to help me slide off the gown, which has now been practically painted onto my skin. I barely make eye contact with Nanette as she informs me the gown will be delivered tomorrow morning.

A few minutes later, I pull open the front door of Couture Cakes and step inside. The familiar smell of the shop instantly puts me at ease. My shoulders relax back into place.

The first thing I see is a giant bouquet of white roses, magnolias, and lilies sitting near the register on the counter. The fragrance fills the room, a pleasant complement to the sugary-sweet smells of my cupcakes. I take a few quick steps and pluck the card from the bouquet.

I open the seal and pull out a small, gilded note card. I think I know whom they’re from.

I just hope I’m right.

My dear Reese,

I love you more than words can say. I’m sorry about last night.

I can’t wait to marry you on Saturday.

Love, Tucker.

I press the card against my chest and take a deep breath, the smell of the flowers tickling my nose. Tucker has no idea how perfect his timing is.

I have to leave the past behind. No matter how much everyone wants to remind me of Charlotte, Tucker chose me.

The mantra repeats in my head, an attempt to quell the unease that’s been growing over the last few days. But it’s not just about Charlotte anymore—it’s about the flashes of a Tucker I don’t recognize, the lingering questions about the Snaptalk messages, and the gnawing fear that I’m missing something.

Sometimes just being chosen isn’t enough.

But then I look at these flowers, this thoughtful gesture, and I want to believe. I want to believe that this is the real Tucker—caring, attentive, loving. That the other moments—the anger and jealousy—are just aberrations. Stress-induced blips in an otherwise perfect relationship.

I stand there for several minutes, taking in the heady scent of flowers. When I feel like I have finally made my peace, I tuck the card into my pocket to make my way around the counter. I busy myself pulling some cupcakes from the back cooler and placing them in our display. We mostly sell our pastries in bulk to local customers and companies, but I always love having a full display out front to showcase our selection.

When the bell from the front door jingles, I turn on my heel, ready to greet one of my customers with a smile. My elation over the apology flowers suddenly falls flat.

Monica Harding is walking in the door. And even though she’s wearing that sickly sweet smile, I know she’s not here for anything good.