30. Billie
BILLIE
“Where were you this morning?” Bailey’s voice cut through the tranquil silence of my office like a hot knife through fondant.
My heart did a guilty little hop. I’d gambled that her late start and my early escape would cancel each other out, that I’d be able to coast through the day with no one noticing my absence. A rookie mistake, really.
I quickly shut down my PC hoping she hadn’t seen what was on the screen.
I’d contacted a private investigator to look for Adam’s mom.
I knew he was never going to do it, and after seeing the way he’d looked at that ring, I also knew he wanted to know what had happened to her.
Also, if he was going to come into a lot of money, I wanted to make sure that she wasn’t going to suddenly show up and take advantage of him.
I figured as his “wife” it was my legal and moral duty to protect him.
“I had some errands to run,” I said, forcing my voice to the precise, neutral tone I reserved for clients returning a gown without a receipt.
Bailey’s nose wrinkled, the universal Bliss signal for, I’m about to ruin your morning. “Errands?” She repeated the word as if she’d just bitten into a lemon.
She stepped fully into the office, shutting the door behind her with more finality than was strictly necessary.
I nodded, pulling my chair closer to my desk, using it as emotional armor to hide behind. “It was nothing. Just a couple of things I needed to handle.”
Her lips thinned. “You didn’t block out your time.”
My stomach performed a slow, mortified somersault. In the sacred family temple of Bliss Bridal, failing to share your schedule was a sin just shy of embezzling from the till. “I forgot I had them,” I said, not even bothering to put much polish on the lie. She’d see through it anyway.
“You forgot?!” It came out shrill, and I could see the vein in her neck starting to pop.
Poor Bailey, born middle child and destined forever to mediate, organize, and manage everyone else’s emotional baggage.
She was supposed to be prepping the latest batch of “Blissful Beginnings” welcome boxes, not interrogating her older sister before lunch.
I hated to go on the attack, but I honestly had no choice.
“Birdie came in two to four hours late twelve days last month, eight the month before that, five so far this month. You’ve left in the middle of a workday six days last month, left early twenty-one, and not come in at all on four.
I was out for four hours once since we took over the shop and didn’t block out my time and I get the third degree. ”
“Birdie and I aren’t getting stalked, Bill. And your phone was off.” Bailey’s voice trembled, her hand leaving the doorknob to swipe at her dampening lashes. “I thought—” She stopped, chewing the inside of her cheek so hard I almost heard it pop.
Shit. I’d been so fixated on the mind-bending strangeness of my own wedding—being half-drunk on adrenaline and Adam’s cologne—that I hadn’t spent one single neuron remembering that, to my sisters, my world was still a dangerous place.
Or that I, the perennial planner, had left them without a way to reach me thanks to the courts’ no cell phone policy.
In retrospect, I’d handled it like a jackass.
All of the anger and defensiveness deflated from me like a popped balloon.
Suddenly, my own panic and the memory of that marriage license, hastily signed and dated, as if we were on the run, seemed like the punchline to a very sad joke.
My entire world lately had been the twins and Adam, the stalker had completely slipped my mind.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so… I should have thought about that.”
Bailey’s eyes flashed. “That’s exactly it. You always think. So why didn’t you today? What’s going on with you?”
There it was, the real question. Not about time sheets or errands, but about why I’d let down my guard.
And I—master of plausible deniability, queen of the diplomatic half-truth, couldn’t bring myself to look her in the face and say, Actually, I was off marrying the boy next door so he could claim his inheritance and maybe, possibly, so I could justify spending the rest of my life knowing, even if it was just for 90 days, I was Mrs. Adam Knight.
Instead, I lied. “I had a doctor’s appointment.”
Bailey’s jaw went slack. “You had a doctor’s appointment,” she repeated, like I’d said I was out test-driving tanks.
I shrugged, putting as much casual indifference into the movement as I could muster. “Just my annual. You know how they are about scheduling. They had a last-minute cancellation and I grabbed it. I’m fine.”
Lying had never been my fatal flaw. I wasn’t so na?ve as to believe that a little harmless fabrication was the death of civilization, or even a smudge on my personal record, but I’d always preferred the truth, mainly because I refused to lie to myself and the lies you tell others become the lies you tell yourself, and then you had to remember which version you told to which person, and the whole thing snowballed into a logistical nightmare.
It’s much simpler to keep people at arm’s length and tell them nothing.
Today’s lie, however, felt like swallowing fire.
It wasn’t the content of the falsehood—I’d gotten so used to telling people I was “fine” or “just busy” that I could do it with my eyes closed—but the fact that I had to lie to Bailey, of all people.
Bailey would be heartbroken if she ever learned the truth, but it was a necessary evil.
There were several reasons she absolutely could not know.
One, she was about to get married in a few weeks and Birdie was getting married in a few months.
I wasn’t going to do anything to take the spotlight away from their big days, or the lead up.
Also, she would read too much into it. It was on paper only.
So why did I feel like his wife? And why did it feel real when he’d said his vows to me? And that kiss… That kiss was…
No. Ridiculous. The truth was, it’s just paperwork, I reminded myself. A means to an end. The end being Adam’s ability to access his trust and inheritance. Nobody was getting hurt. Nobody even needed to know.
The marriage was fake. That was the lie.
It was only a problem if I started to believe the lie.
Bailey gave me a hard squint, then her crisis-management instincts overrode whatever speech she’d been cooking up.
The bell at the front desk rang—three quick dings in a row, which meant either a courier with no boundaries or a bridal party here a full hour early.
She adjusted the cuffs on her button down, gathered up her planner, and swept out with a purpose, the soft thud of her heels echoing off the oak floors.
I let out a breath and shut my eyes for a moment to regroup.
The “annual” I’d just invented was a better story but not a great one.
It had flaws. I needed to find out when my annual actually was so I could figure out how to go to it without her knowing.
This was why lying was so wrong, it always created more problems.
No. It was fine. I rolled the lie in my head like a marble, testing it out for chips and rough edges. No one would check up on it—least of all Bailey. She wasn’t going to call my GP to see if I’d actually been there. It was fine. All of it was fine.
Great. I was lying to myself now, too.
Hoping to drown myself in work, I stared at the stack of vendor invoices on my desk.
I was trying to concentrate on them, but something else was calling my name, distracting me.
Unable to stop myself, I compulsively grabbed my purse, stuck my hand in the side pocket, and pulled out the ring.
The diamond was extraordinary, sunlight from the transom window hit it and cast a prism of brilliant flashes.
Unable to stop myself, I slipped it on my finger.
I couldn’t get over how perfectly it fit. It looked beautiful. It looked right. It felt right.
“You are a godsend.” Bailey’s voice interrupted my thoughts at precisely the same moment the staccato click of her Louboutin knock-offs echoed down the hall, which meant she’d returned not just with an attitude but with backup.
Before I could even slip the ring off my finger, she swept back into my office with Olivia trailing behind her, both wearing expressions of the sort of focused intent that usually preceded a “family meeting.”
Olivia, despite being small in stature, always managed to move with the authority of a supreme court justice.
She cradled a biodegradable tray with three lidded coffees from Sweet Temptations, their warm, cinnamon-vanilla scent wafting through the room and swirling into the vanilla-powdery air like the world’s best cologne.
I was so caught up in the panic of ring concealment that I had to remind myself to smile.
In one practiced motion, I spun the diamond to my palm and let my hand rest casually atop my desk, in my best indifference pose.
This was another thing no one tells you about accidentally marrying your childhood crush, the number of tiny, split-second lies required to keep the entire charade from combusting. If love was an act of faith, this was a high-wire performance with no net.
Bailey, always the diplomat even in moments of hostile takeover, sat down across from me and crossed her legs with a flourish.
Olivia took the seat next to her, perching delicately on the very edge of the cushion, like a bird who hadn’t decided whether to stay or bolt.
They both eyed me with the sort of predatory attention usually reserved for bake sale saboteurs and reality show confessionals.
Bailey handed me a coffee, then fussed with her sleeve, which is how she telegraphed nervous energy. “You seem stressed,” she announced. “Here.” She shoved the cup in my direction as if handing me a loaded gun.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound normal. “But I’m fine, just a busy day.” I took a sip and immediately scorched the roof of my mouth. I hid the wince behind a smile.
Olivia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a grin.
She’d once told me that her favorite part of being a matchmaker was “sussing out bullshit before it hits the fan,” and I could see she was in her element now, trying to read the tight line of my jaw or the way I held my cup.
She set her coffee down on the edge of my desk with the gentle precision of someone who’d worked in customer service and never recovered.
“So,” Bailey said brightly, “Olivia says she’s here on official business.”
My stomach plummeted. The last time I’d heard that phrase, it had been about a bridal shop on the verge of bankruptcy after my grandmother died.
Olivia’s eyes sparkled. “I’m here for your follow-up.”
That word—follow-up—landed in me like a hot coal.
I’d completely forgotten about my scheduled “feedback session” with her regarding last night’s date.
Last night? Had that really been just last night?
It felt like a million years ago, mostly because, in the hours since, I’d gone from reluctant dater to full-on, state-sanctioned bride.
“Follow-up?” I echoed, as if I genuinely didn’t know what she was talking about. The less I said, the less I had to remember later.
“Follow-up? You had a date?” Bailey’s head spun towards me.
“Last night,” I filled my sister in before turning to Olivia. “Do you always make house calls when people miss appointments?”
“I do when it’s you.”
Right, “VIP” translates to “difficult client.”.
“Wait, so how was the date? Who was the guy? Tell me everything!” Bailey clapped.
“He was nice. It was good.” He wasn’t Adam, and the entire date I sat there thinking, “You’re not Adam. I wish I were home with Adam.”
“Nice?” Olivia’s brow rose. “Good?”
“What?” Bailey’s eyes bounced between us. “What am I missing?”
Olivia began to explain, “I set her up with a unicorn client. Successful, age appropriate, smart, compatible, hot—”
“It’s not him,” I interjected. “I’m just not in the head space to date right now, not with everything that’s going on.”
The scrutiny in which Olivia was staring at me made me feel exposed. It felt like she knew exactly what was going on. That somehow she was aware I’d gotten legally married that morning.
Bailey’s gaze softened for a moment. “Is it about the stalker? You can say if it is.”
I shook my head, maybe too quickly. “No, it’s just… everything. The busiest time of year for the shop, your guys’ weddings coming up, and not being able to live at home. It’s just not a good time.”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded, as if giving me permission to be a workaholic. “That’s valid. But Russell had a really good time. He gave glowing feedback and wants to see you again.”
“Russell, who’s Russell?” Bailey asked, eager for more details.
Olivia supplied it with the triumphant air of someone revealing the murderer in the last chapter of a mystery novel. “Russell Clarke.”
“The hockey player?” Bailey exclaimed.
“Yes,” Olivia confirmed.
“He’s…hot!”
“Unicorn client,” Olivia reiterated.
“I’m just not in the right headspace. Thanks for your help, Olivia, really, and thank Trevor, too, you guys did an amazing job. I thought I’d be able to compartmentalize but I can’t, I’m sorry. Just send me an invoice—”
“This is not about money. I’ve known you since I was eight. I started my period at your house. I’m not charging you, but this guy is a good guy. They don’t grow on trees, believe me.”
I glanced down at my desk and then at the computer. “I really need to catch up on some paperwork. With picking the girls up from school, I’ve been getting behind.”
I began typing, pulling up bills and invoices that I was actually behind on, not so subtly indicating this conversation was over.
I caught a glimpse of Olivia and Bailey exchanging a glance, but then they both stood up and left.
. As soon as they exited the room I slid the ring off my finger and put it back inside my purse.
That was a close one. Lying about being a doctor’s appointment was one thing, coming up with an excuse for why I was rocking a three carat diamond solitaire ring on my left hand would have a level of deceit expertise even I did not possess.
Which meant no more impromptu ring try on sessions. No matter how badly I wanted to. Which, strangely, even now, I did. The damn thing was calling to me. I might as well change my name to Gollum and call it My Precious.