Chapter 8
EIGHT
SADIE
Gideon worked long hours, and I had the sneaking suspicion he was trying to avoid me.
He slept on the couch and was usually gone by the time I got up.
And that was fine. Totally fine. We weren’t actually a married couple, we were just making life easier for each other by staying married. So he owed me nothing.
Or so I kept telling myself.
I spent the next couple of days puttering around town, checking out the few shops that were still open, and visiting the bakery as often as possible.
Caroline was sarcastic and friendly, and she made amazing matcha lattes.
Main Street was a nod to a bygone era, with added graffiti, boarded-up shops, and big trees.
The people were friendly, with a few oddballs who treated me like I was trying to ruin their town.
The one time I went into Ivan Popov’s antique shop, he looked at me with such disdain and suspicion that I left without buying anything, even though I spotted an amazing vintage dress form half-hidden behind a hideous lamp.
Gideon would come home late, and our conversations were stilted.
He didn’t touch me. Not even accidentally. Not a hand between my shoulder blades or a touch of the elbow. I realized just how much physical contact we’d had in the first day of our acquaintance, and its disappearance made me feel hollow.
Those were my own issues to deal with; I was a lonely person who hadn’t quite resigned herself to living a partnerless life. But this marriage was the best I could expect.
The family group chat was active, and I grimaced as they booked the Airbnb with the pull-out couch.
We always celebrated the holidays a week early, since there were typically holiday-themed weddings booked between Christmas and New Year’s, and we all had to be available for them.
I didn’t tell them I was married, and I wasn’t sure when or if I would.
In essence, it was a week of stasis. I made the best of it, exploring my new home, going on long walks, and treating myself to daily coffees from Knead More Bread.
I explored some of the restaurants in town: a Chinese place called Golden Chopsticks, an old diner out on the freeway.
Everyone told me the one restaurant I absolutely had to try was a surprisingly fancy place called The Pier.
On Thursday evening, I dressed up and went to check it out.
I sat at a balcony table and looked over the glittering ocean, sipping a crisp white wine.
The day had been warm, and I was glad for the sea breeze.
There were a number of people eating, more than I expected.
A few older couples, one young couple, and one family.
Over in the corner by a big fern was another single diner, a man in a blue baseball cap.
I tried to glance over and nod at him in solidarity, us being two loners and all, but he kept his head turned toward the sea and away from me.
“How was your meal?”
I turned my head to see Mrs. Gretzinger standing next to my table.
She wore a black pantsuit, her red hair gathered at the nape of her neck.
Her ears were adorned with diamond earrings that winked in the fading light.
Her substantial cleavage was difficult to ignore.
She gestured to a waiter, who hurried over to refill my glass, and I gathered that she was the boss.
“The halibut was fantastic.”
“Fresh-caught,” she said with a nod. “Our head chef was thrilled with it.” Her eyes were brown and very sharp as she looked me over.
“I’m surprised Gideon isn’t here with you.
Newlyweds should be spending all their time together.
I told Etta she should ship you off on a honeymoon as soon as you said ‘I do,’ but she insisted that you’d need to get to know the town to decide if you wanted to stay. ”
Her stare was birdlike, and I knew she was fishing for information. I played with the stem of my wine glass and reached for the polite smile that I used to use with clients at my studio. “Gideon’s working a lot these days. All that Mr. Titty business…”
It was a weak excuse, even to my ears. Gideon should’ve been here. We should’ve been getting to know each other…if we were trying to be a real married couple.
But this was what we’d agreed. Separate lives. A marriage on paper.
Could I really survive this way?
The other woman nodded knowingly. “He really threw himself into work after…”
Now it was my turn to fish for information. “After?” I probed.
Mrs. Gretzinger gave me an assessing look. She enjoyed having more information than me. “After the fire,” she said quietly. “And everything that followed.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I tried to keep my face neutral as I nodded. “Of course.”
“It was very hard on him.”
“I can only imagine.”
“We’re all so happy that Gideon’s found someone else,” she said. “He’s a good man, and he deserves a good woman by his side.”
There was an edge to her voice; a hint of a threat. Just like Etta whispering in my ear, If you hurt him, I will ruin your life.
But that wasn’t what caught my attention. I got stuck on one particular word that she spoke: She’d said, “someone else.”
Which meant Gideon had been with someone before me, and something big had happened between them. Was that why he had no interest in me? Because his heart was broken beyond repair?
Was he with her on our wedding night?
“Well, you’ll have dessert,” Mrs. Gretzinger said brightly, drawing me from my whirlwind of thoughts. “On the house. And I’ll have a talk with Etta. She’ll get Gideon’s head screwed on straight again, and we won’t have you eating dinner all alone every night anymore.”
I burned with embarrassment. Of course everyone had seen me wandering around on my own this past week. But what was the alternative? I wasn’t going to live my life as a shut-in. I wanted to at least try to be happy, or at least content.
I left The Pier and walked along the beach for a while, then climbed up over the scrub-covered dunes and headed back up toward Main Street.
The air smelled of salt and seaweed, and the breeze was strong.
Sea birds cried above as waves crashed behind me.
Only a handful of cars passed me as I made my way up the hill, and once again, I was filled with yearning.
I loved it here. These days of lonely wandering had been peaceful—the first bit of rest I’d had in years.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket, half-expecting more annoying texts from the family group chat. But it was a call from an unknown number. As a general rule I didn’t answer those, but something made me swipe.
“Hello?” There was a silence, and then a click. I pulled the phone away and saw that the call had ended. Strange. Probably spam. I put my phone away and kept walking.
I passed Knead More Bread, dark and closed at this hour, and looked across the street at a small hardware store, but my feet took me where they wanted to go.
A shop a few doors down from the bakery had plastic stuck on the windows to darken them, with one corner of it peeling down enough that I could see inside. A round sign hung above the sidewalk, showing a logo of a needle and thread surrounded by curved writing: Life’s a Stitch.
The vacant seamstress’s shop still had two sewing machines on a long work table, a couple of dress forms, and big cabinets lining the back wall. On the window was a sign that said, “FOR RENT,” with a phone number handwritten in the blank space beneath the words.
I’d walked by every day this week, stealing glances inside, wondering, wishing. It was a good space. I probably wouldn’t be able to afford it—the only reason I could afford my life right now was that I had no housing expenses while I was here—so it was pointless to even consider it.
But it was a huge space, and it was already set up for sewing.
Shaking my head, I made my way to my car and drove back to the cottage. As I crossed the garage toward the interior door, my gaze snagged on the cardboard box full of work stuff I hadn’t bothered to bring inside. Impulsively, I opened it up and grabbed a sketchbook, then went inside.
The pencil scraped across the thick paper as I drew the familiar proportions of a female figure.
A dress appeared on the page, draped and gathered to flatter the body.
I’d drawn a million of these before; I already knew it wouldn’t ever get made—but it was the first time I’d put pencil to paper since I shut the doors on my studio in Manhattan six months ago.
My movements were stiff and awkward at first, and soon became easier.
I flipped to a fresh page and drew some more.
That’s how Gideon found me: curled up on the couch with a sketchbook on my lap, drawing pretty dresses that only existed in my imagination.
For some reason, I was embarrassed. I slammed the sketchbook closed and sat up. “Hi.”
His gaze flicked to my lap, then up to my face. “Am I interrupting?”
“I was just sketching dresses,” I said, shrugging.
“A new client?”
I shook my head. “No. Unfortunately.” I huffed a laugh. A new client would definitely help my bank account right now.
He grunted, then headed to the opposite couch where he’d made his bed. His sheets were neatly folded on top of the pillow, and he dropped into the seat, propping his leg on the coffee table that separated us. “Can I see?” he asked, nodding to the sketchbook.
I slammed my hand on top of it. “No!”
Gideon blinked. “All right.”
“It’s not... They’re not good.”
“Last I checked, you had an entire business designing wedding dresses. They can’t be that bad.”
“Key word: had.”
The bitterness in my tone made him tilt his head. “What happened?”
I chewed my lip before answering. I didn’t want to tell him about the shame of my failure.
But if this was going to work between us—if we were going to coexist, maybe become friends—then didn’t I owe him at least a piece of me?
So, hesitantly, I said, “My target market was wealthy brides. I charged a lot, but I provided a luxury service. My overheads were too high, and eventually I just couldn’t sustain it.
For a while, the business was propped up by… ”
“By?”
My chest burned, but I told him anyway. “By my ex. He owns this really popular wedding venue. He got to meet a lot of brides who were right at the beginning of their wedding planning journey—his place gets booked out years in advance. So he’d send them my way.”
“And once you broke up, that ended.”
I touched the edge of my sketchbook, running my thumb along the corner of the cover. “My turnover dropped to about a third of what it was before we started dating. I guess I’d gotten lazy about finding clients for myself. And then everything fell apart really quickly.”
“And now you’re here,” he murmured. I flicked my gaze up to meet his, and Gideon lifted his palms. “Hey,” he said, “I get it. No one signs up for an arranged marriage unless they’re at least a little desperate.”
We studied each other. I still found him stupidly attractive. Sighing, I asked, “Are we crazy to be doing this?”
“Yeah.”
I laughed. “I’m serious.”
He shrugged, then winced and dug a knuckle into his lower back.
“Sore?”
“Just this busted-up old couch,” he grumbled. “If my grandmother wasn’t a tyrant, we could each have our own bedroom right now.”
I snorted, then tilted my head toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you take the bed tonight?”
“No,” he said. “I get up earlier than you. Makes sense for me to be out here.”
“Well, we could both…” I gulped. “I mean, not, like… We could both sleep in the bed.”
His gaze was steady, eyes intent. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sadie.”
I burned with shame. “Right. Of course.”
“This only works if we stick to the plan.”
I remembered his reaction to me speaking to his cousin, and I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe we should discuss some more particulars if this is going to work out long term.”
“As in?”
“You went all macho possessive at Sunday lunch. In this arrangement of ours, are we not allowed to see other people?”
His eyes twitched. “Is that what you want?”
“Is that what you want?”
“I asked first, Sadie.”
I blew out a sigh. “Well, if we’re being honest, what I want is to meet the love of my life, fall head over heels, and have him treat me like a princess for the rest of my life so we can both live happily ever after.”
His face went still. “Seems like this marriage is doomed, then. Why bother going through with the next five weeks?”
I exhaled as I dropped my head in my hands. “Because if we don’t, your grandmother will chop your business into pieces and sell it off. And I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
When I looked up again, Gideon was watching me. I couldn’t read his expression. Finally, I pushed myself up to my feet. “Are you sure you don’t want the bed tonight?”
He shook his head and started spreading the sheets over the couch. Throat tight, I retreated to the bedroom.
GIDEON
Maybe I was a fool for refusing her invitation to sleep in the bed beside her.
But before I lay on the couch, I opened her sketchbook and flicked through her designs.
I wondered how quickly she would drop everything and leave Marswood Harbor—leave me—if the opportunity presented itself.
If someone wanted her to create one of these dresses for them.
If she got any chance whatsoever to go back to her old life.
She said it herself: She had nowhere else to go. This was her very last resort in a life that had crumbled apart.
If I got attached, it would only hurt that much more when she left. It was easier to shut her out and wait for these torturous weeks to pass.