Chapter 13 Sharon
SHARON
I’m in my hotel room at the Pine Inn, sitting on the bed with my laptop trying new marketing strategies, when there's a knock on the door that makes my entire body go tense.
I'm not expecting anyone. Cassian, Jett, and Pine are all doing something with work today.
Jessica is on a skiing trip with her siblings for the next couple of days.
I open the door to find Penelope standing there with red-rimmed eyes and her designer coat looking significantly less pristine than usual. Her matching eye patch tattoo seems to mock her as she stands there looking like she's been crying for approximately three days straight without stopping.
"Can we talk?" she asks, and her voice is small in a way that feels completely at odds with her usual imperious tone.
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to close the door, because I don’t know how she found out where I am staying.
Maybe I told her when I paid the bill. Yeah, I did, I just remembered.
Every part of my brain that knows what Penelope and Ben are planning is telling me that this is some kind of trap.
But I'm also an omega, and there's something in her scent that's making my protective instincts flare up despite the fact that I know better.
I step back and let her into the room, closing the door behind her.
She walks over to the window and stares out at Pine Hollow like she's seeing it for the first time.
Her shoulders are hunched, and her scent is absolutely all over the place.
It smells like desperation mixed with sadness and something that might be genuine distress.
"I know what you and Ben are planning," I say, deciding to get straight to the point instead of dancing around it like we're going to pretend that she hasn't been running up massive debts all over town.
"I know about the real estate development.
I know about the books you bought. I know about the fraud you're committing against Ben's family. "
Penelope turns to face me, and tears are streaming down her face in a way that looks genuine even though I know it could be an act. It could be a manipulation tactic. It could be something she researched in one of those books about psychological manipulation.
"You have it all wrong," she says, and her voice cracks in a way that makes my heart hurt for her even though I know I shouldn't trust anything she says.
"I need the money, Sharon. My grandmother is dying.
She needs medication that costs thousands of dollars a month, and I don't have insurance that covers it.
Ben said he'd help me. Ben said once we were married and I had access to his family's money, we could pay for her medication. "
I stare at her, trying to figure out if this is real or if this is the most elaborate manipulation tactic I've ever encountered. Her scent is definitely broadcasting genuine distress, but alpha scents are complicated. They can be faked by people who are good at lying.
"There are better ways to do this," I say quietly, sitting down on the bed and gesturing for her to sit.
She does, and she sits far enough away that we're not quite close but we're not quite distant either.
"You could have taken out a loan. You could have done a fundraiser or gotten a job or literally anything except commit fraud against his entire family. "
"I did ask Ben for help," Penelope says, and her voice is small and broken and sounds like the truth.
"He said he couldn't give me money without his family asking questions.
He said the only way to get access to money without questions was to marry him and then have access to family accounts. He said it wasn't fraud."
Which is complete bullshit, and we both know it. But I'm sitting here listening to Penelope explain how Ben manipulated her into committing fraud, and I'm starting to understand that maybe she's not the mastermind here. Maybe she's just the desperate woman who got caught up with the wrong alpha.
"I'm glad you're my friend," Penelope says suddenly, and it's so unexpected that I have to process it for a moment. "Even though you have every right to hate me. You're still sitting here talking to me like I'm not a complete disaster."
"I'm not your friend," I say, but my voice is softer than I intended. "But I'm not your enemy either. I'm someone who understands that sometimes people make terrible decisions because they're desperate."
Penelope nods, and she's wiping at her tears with the back of her hand like she's angry at herself for crying. "What should I do?"
"You should tell Ben that you're not doing this anymore," I say slowly.
“Admit what you've been planning and face the consequences. You should figure out a way to help your grandmother without committing fraud. There are organizations that help with medication costs, government programs, etc. which don’t involve breaking the law.”
"He's going to be so angry," Penelope whispers.
She doesn’t need to tell me. I know about Ben’s anger. It’s why I let him control me the way he used to do. Until he set me free, which is something he is clearly not willing to do with Penelope.
"Yes, he probably will be," I agree. "But that's better than ending up in jail."
We sit there in silence for a while, and I can feel Penelope working through her options in her head. The tears have stopped now, and her scent is shifting into something that smells like resignation mixed with a tiny bit of hope.
"I'm still going to marry him," she says finally. "But I'm going to figure out a different way to handle the money situation."
"Good," I say, and I mean it. "That's the right decision."
"Will you help me sort out the problems of this wedding?" Penelope asks suddenly, and the question catches me off guard. "I know it's a lot to ask, and you have every reason to refuse. But I need help, and you're the only wedding planner in town."
Every rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea. That I should not be helping Penelope plan her wedding to my ex. That I should tell her no and let her figure it out on her own.
But I also know that if I refuse, she's going to panic and probably go back to her original plan. I also know that the more I can stay involved with this wedding, the more I can make sure nothing illegal actually happens.
"I'll help you," I say, and I can feel the exact moment that my anxiety spikes in response to my own decision. "But we're doing this the right way. No fraud. No manipulation. No schemes. Just a simple wedding that's honest and legal."
"Thank you," Penelope says, and she sounds genuinely grateful. "You're saving my life."
The words should make me feel good, but they don’t, and I don’t know why.
We spend the next hour going through basic wedding planning stuff. She wants something modern but elegant for flowers. Not traditional because she's not a traditional person. Peonies and roses mixed with interesting greenery. Not just ferns.
For food, she wants seafood as the main option, but I remember Ben hates seafood.
Or maybe things have changed, and he loves it the same way he loves her.
She wants cocktails strong enough to make people forget how small the guest list is.
An open bar all night because if nobody else is going to show up, at least the staff can drink.
The wedding should be small and intimate. Who's going to come at this point anyway? The rejection from the RSVP list has apparently broken something in her.
As we're going through all of this, Penelope leans back on the bed and sighs. "I'm going to need to figure out how to pay for all of this," she says quietly. "The venue, the flowers, the food. Everything costs so much."
"How are you planning to pay for it?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.
"Once the will comes through, I can pay you back for everything.
" She realizes what she's said immediately.
Her face goes pale, scent spiking with panic.
"I mean, I can pay all my debts back. I'm expecting money from my grandmother's estate.
Once she passes, I'll have money for everyone.
The bakery, the florist, the restaurant. "
So her grandmother is actually dying. That part seems true. But the plan to access Ben's family money through marriage is still very much in play. Or maybe she's shifted gears to a different kind of fraud, taking advances on expected inheritance that might not materialize.
"That's not how this works," I say carefully. "You can't spend money you don't have based on assumptions about an estate. That's not a plan. That's fantasy."
"I know," Penelope says miserably. "But what else can I do? Ben's family won't help me. My grandmother's medication costs too much. I'm stuck."
I'm sitting in my hotel room with my ex's fiancée, who I recently discovered is planning fraud, and I'm starting to feel sorry for her. Which is probably the worst decision I've ever made, but here we are.
"Let me help you," I say, not entirely sure what I'm offering until the words are out. "Help you plan the wedding and figure out the finances. I can talk to vendors. Negotiate prices. Make sure what you're spending is realistic."
"You'd do that?" She sounds shocked. "Even after everything?"
"I'd do it because I don't want to see you destroy your life," I say honestly. I want her to make good choices. To help her grandmother without committing crimes. To be the kind of person who deserves happiness instead of always looking over her shoulder.
"Okay," Penelope says. "Let's do this. Let's plan this wedding the right way."
The next day, I'm standing outside Mercy's Bakery with Penelope, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. We're supposed to order flowers, but Penelope insisted on starting with the bakery. Face her debts head on.