7. Adair
Adair
The Palm Beach Club smells like old money and golf shoes. It’s got that polished, “we’ve always belonged” energy that makes me itch.
Bets sits across from me, all smiles and glowing with that new-mom energy, which is funny because she’s still the same smart, driven woman I used to look up to back in LA.
She’s always had this knack for making everything look effortless. Being a mom is no different. Add that to her badass accomplishments, and she's already crushed. She makes owning a business, raking in the dough, being a friend, and entrepreneur look like child's play, and now mom of the year.
I’m still over here struggling with one of those things. She’d never have a problem keeping a business afloat on an island that's the size of a postage stamp.
“So, tell me,” Bets asks, swirling her water with a little too much focus. “Did you get the chance to review the new business idea I showed you? I’m eager to hear your thoughts. ”
Our big meeting got sidelined last week when she started talking about a new development project. It's classic Bets, always thinking of innovative ways to grow. Little does she know, my foundation isn't stable enough to pivot, yet. Although it should be.
Now that we’re here, though, I have a feeling she’s going to want some hard answers.
And I'm not ready to go there.
“Not yet,” I answer candidly. I can’t even manage what I have, much less consider expanding.
She smiles indulgently at me. “Makes sense. You are laser-focused on your own company. Not to worry. We have time for the other project. How’s Citrine doing, anyway? You’re not just keeping it open, right? You’re growing it?”
I take a breath and give her my most confident smile. “It’s going fine. A little slow at times, but nothing I can’t handle. We’ve got some solid regulars, and I’m making adjustments where I need to make sure we focus on what works.”
The monthly check payments from Parker are helping relieve some of the immediate strain. They keep the lights on and the shelves stocked, but Citrine’s still hanging on by the edges. I don't want to just keep the lights on. I have bigger aspirations.
I'm just not there yet.
Until the estate clears and I get the rest, I’m treading water with glossy labels and too much caffeine. I'm going to need to do something else in the short term.
Bets leans in, her eyes bright with genuine curiosity. “That sounds good. What do you need to take it to the next level? You know, if there’s anything I can do?—”
Besides a magic wand, a celebrity endorsement, and a business degree from Harvard? I want to say, but I smile instead. Humor is always my go-to when I'm uncomfortable. But she deserves more than that from me.
"Thank you for that. You know I'll let you know if there is."
"I can tell by your face that you're stressing more than you're letting on. I'm going to let you work through it, but don't think you have to face it alone. You know I've been in your shoes. I know how this goes."
I wave my hand, brushing away her concern, trying to ease her into the realization that it’s under control, even though it sometimes feels like a house of cards waiting to collapse.
“It’s a matter of time, Bets. East Coast life is different. I’m still finding my footing here, but we're good.”
She gives me a knowing look, one I’ve seen a hundred times before. “I get it, but you’re one of the smartest people I know, Adair. Don't sell yourself short. And don't be a hero, not asking anyone for help.”
A twinge of guilt shudders through me. She’s right. I should lean on her more, but I'm too ashamed right now. She's done so much for me.
Also, a part of me wants to prove I can do it, even if the only one I’m fooling is myself. I’m not ready to ask for more help. “I know. Thank you for always believing in me.”
Bets raises an eyebrow. “Stop it. You're being melodramatic.”
I nod, but before I can respond, she presses on. "What about your life? It can't be all work and no play. You'll burn out faster than a Chinese lantern.”
I stiffen slightly. It’s that question again, the one I’ve been dodging since I relocated here from LA. I don't have time for a social life at this stage of my life.
“I still don’t have much time to make local friends. And I have no interest in dating, really, at the moment,” I say, the words coming out almost automatically. “My focus is on Citrine right now, and that's it.”
Which technically isn’t a lie. I’m not dating. Sleeping with my fake husband neighbor doesn't count… right?
Twice, nearly a year apart, doesn't qualify as a relationship. Even if one of those times was so good, I saw stars and forgot my name for a full minute.
Bets grins knowingly. “Trust me when I tell you that a healthy balance is part of the winning recipe to being successful. That's why I insisted on the club. You’re always so focused on your career, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have time for other things. You need to make time.”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes. “I hear you. And I will.”
While scrambling to save, I want to add. That’s the truth. The pressure’s so heavy I barely have a libido.
Well, except maybe with one ridiculously hot doctor, who is now my husband. I can't go into that with her right now. Soon, but we aren't there yet.
Bets doesn’t miss a beat. Her eyes twinkle, clearly savoring my discomfort. “I’m not going to stop bugging you about this. I’ll give you a little space today, but be warned, I’m very serious about this subject.”
Before I can even form a defense, a voice cuts through the buzz of the club.
“...Bets. And this must be our new ER doctor’s wife.”
Gunner. Bets’ brother, hospital board member, and chaos-starter, appears out of nowhere with none other than Parker in tow.
My breath stalls.
“Hi,” Parker says with a sheepish smile, eyes on me for half a beat before turning to Bets for an introduction.
Dammit. I literally just finished telling her I have no time, no social life, no interest in dating, and now I’m married?
Sitting beside me, Bets's face contorts as she digests everything, between our conversation and the announcement by her brother. Oh, boy.
“Wait a second. You two?” Her gaze bounces between us like she’s trying to do relationship calculus. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone.”
I laugh. It's a little too loud, but I can't help it. “Right. I did say that. Which was... technically true. Parker and I are, um, newly married. I’m off the market, now, so not dating, clearly.”
She raises both eyebrows.
“Newly—what?” Bets sputters, eyes wide. “You’re married? Like married-married? I have thought Gunner was joking.”
I'm speechless, and she senses my discomfort. Once they make the perfunctory greetings, Bets asks them to join us.
Parker slides in beside me, effortlessly charming. He drapes an arm around my waist in a practiced move that feels annoyingly natural.
“It's very recent,” he confirms smoothly. “Courthouse special. We couldn’t wait. In her defense, I asked her to keep it on the down-low until I had a chance to tell my dad.”
“Very new,” I repeat, nodding like I’m trying to hypnotize her.
“Like, less than seventy-two hours . That’s why I didn’t say anything earlier, Bets.
We were planning to make an official announcement together , ” I say with emphasis, pinching Parker and giving him the death stare.
"We might have a reception later this year for our 'coming out. '"
He looks down at me with what I think is supposed to be an adoring grin, but mostly says I warned you we needed a script.
Bets stares at us, processing. “Well,” she says finally. “That’s exciting. Congrats, you two. Now, Parker, you need to make this one work less.”
I’m about to thank her, but she leans in with a knowing smile. “So how exactly did this go from zero to married in a week?” She asks in a whisper as Gunner and Parker talk about something.
Oh, you know. Just a little light contract negotiation, a marriage clause, and two orgasms on a massage table.
“We reconnected recently,” I say, sensing my cheeks instantly light up bright red. “One of those fast-burn, didn’t-see-it-coming things. You know how it goes.”
She gives me a long look. “I didn’t, but apparently now I do.”
At that moment, the town’s biggest gossip, Hattie Sipp, turns around from a nearby table where she’s been eavesdropping. This scene is straight out of a sitcom, only I'm not laughing. She doesn’t even try to hide the excitement on her face.
“Oh my goodness! How wonderful! Young love in Palm Beach!” She practically floats over to our table, her eyes wide with delight. “I can’t wait to share the news with my mahjong group. You know my ladies adore a good love story.”
I’m suddenly acutely aware of how much of a scene this is becoming. Parker, of course, looks entirely unfazed.
I try to control my nerves, forcing myself to smile, but there’s a twinge of uncertainty gnawing at me. What are we doing ? How did things go from a “fake marriage” to whatever this is now, so quickly?
I thought I had some time to digest this.
I don't think I thought this all the way through .
“Everyone’s going to be talking about this, I bet,” Hattie says, clearly delighted. “Palm Beach doesn’t get many young couples like you two. It’s about time.”
I know Hattie through Bets, and I guess she knows Parker, or at least about him, through Gunner. She may be dating Samuel Taylor, the big shot cardiothoracic surgeon, but I think that's more wishful thinking on her part.
The web of connections in this town is convoluted to an extreme.
Hattie lingers long enough to turn the moment into an ambush. She asks about our story, how long we’ve been “official,” and where we live. I wasn't prepared for this.
Parker plays along like it’s nothing. I try not to choke on my salad.
I'm keeping my cool for the most part, but it’s hard when Parker keeps answering with more enthusiasm and leaning into this new couple persona like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I catch myself glancing at him more than I should.
We’re both pretending we’re fine with this, pretending that our marriage is real, but neither of us has said the words aloud yet. At least not in a way that makes sense to anyone else.
When Parker finally heads out to the terrace with Gunner, and Hattie flutters off to her next social event, I’m left with Bets.
She takes a sip of her water, then glances at me with that half-smile that always means she’s been paying more attention than I realized. “You never cease to surprise me.”
I raise an eyebrow, bracing for whatever comes next. “I try to keep it exciting.”
She nods. “You always pivot fast. You don’t adapt, you flip the script and land on your feet like it was part of the plan. That’s a great quality. ”
I let out a soft breath, unsure how to respond. If only she knew.
Compliments always sit funny on my skin. But something about the way she says it, low and matter-of-fact, sticks with me. It's part guilt, part excitement.
“Thanks,” I say, fiddling with the stem of my water glass. “Some days it feels more like a free-fall than a flip.”
Bets chuckles, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “It’s why Citrine’s still here. You’re scrappy and smart. People forget that’s all it takes.”
I nod, forcing a small smile. I want to believe her. I want to believe I’ve got it all under control, like I’m not one bad month away from everything slipping through my fingers.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I murmur, “I hope I live up to that version of me.”
She tilts her head, considering me for a second longer. Then she smiles and reaches for her napkin. “You already do.”
I watch her fold it neatly, finishing the last of her water like the conversation’s closed. But in my chest, something lodges tightly. I want to be that version of me, the one Bets sees. The one who flips the script and makes it stick.
And maybe this six-month marriage, the money, the lie, the risk of it all, will finally be the thing that gives Citrine the wings it’s been waiting for.