Chapter 11
Holland
Maggie is the cutest person I know. Maybe I’m biased because she’s my little sister, but I’ve always thought she’s adorable. She doesn’t appreciate when I tell her this, now that she’s older, but I tell her anyway.
My smile blooms freely when I get off the ferry the next morning and find her waiting for me, a giant insulated tumbler of what I’m sure is Diet Coke clutched in her hand. She’s leaning back against her little Toyota Corolla, her other hand shielding her eyes against the sun. She’s got on jeans today, even though she’s usually a t-shirt and joggers girl.
“Nine is too early to be anywhere,” she says when I reach her.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, throwing my arms around her and squeezing extra hard. She lets out a little oomph and then laughs, hugging me back.
I breathe her in for a minute, the faint scent of shampoo in her honey-blonde hair, the smell of the lotion she uses every day because her hands and elbows are perpetually dry.
She feels like home.
“It’s so good to see you,” I tell her, my voice muffled by her hair. “You look so cute.” I step back and hold her at arms’ length. “Look at your freckles, Mags!”
“They’re multiplying,” she says with a scowl that wrinkles her button nose. It’s an expression that looks a lot like the one I give Phoenix. “Because of the sun. And I’m not cute. I’m twenty.”
“Just because you’re twenty doesn’t mean you’re less cute,” I say with a smile. “How was the drive?”
“It was fine,” she says with a careless roll of her shoulders. “You know I’m not really a morning person, but I have my caffeine.” She holds it out to me. “Want any?”
“Yes, actually,” I say, taking the giant thermos from her. I take a few drinks and then pass it back. “Okay, let’s go. I’m under strict orders from Nana to bring you over this afternoon. I figure we can do the dress this morning and then go over there, and you can still make the evening ferry back.” I glance at her as I head around to the passenger side. “Does that work for you?”
“Yep!” she says. She pins me with a look. “So hop in and then start talking.”
“I will!” I say. “I will.” I wave my phone at her as I open the door. “Let me just pull up directions to the dress shop first. There are two of them around here.”
It feels amazing to be back in a car; I love Sunset Harbor, but all the walking and biking and golf carts took some getting used to. I find the directions to the first place once I’m in my seat, and then I close the door.
“Basically,” I say once Maggie is in, “I’m marrying Phoenix.”
Her hand freezes in the process of turning the key in the ignition, and her head whips toward me. “Phoenix?” she says, her blue eyes wide. “ Trev’s Phoenix?”
He’s not just Trev’s Phoenix. It’s the first thought that pops into my mind, but I don’t say it. Maggie would misunderstand. So I clear my throat instead, looking pointedly down at my hands in my lap. “Yep. Trev’s Phoenix. ”
I thought a lot last night about how much to tell Maggie. I don’t want to lie to her or keep things from her. But I don’t want her to worry needlessly, either. So sometime around one in the morning, I decided on the abridged truth.
“I could use some extra cash,” I say, “and Phoenix needs someone to marry him.” Thankfully the glossed-over truth doesn’t come out high-pitched, which is what usually gives me away. “You remember he’s part of Butterfield, right?”
“Yeah.” Maggie pulls out of her parking spot.
I nod. “His grandmother recently changed things so that if he wants to inherit, he needs to be married. So I’m going to marry him, just for a few months, because his grandma doesn’t have long left. He’ll pay me—a salary, basically. Once he’s inherited and she’s passed, we’ll separate.”
“You make it sound like you’re both waiting around for an old woman to die,” Maggie says, keeping her eyes in front of her. She flicks the turn signal, and a little click-click, click-click fills the car.
“I know,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “And as awful as it sounds, I actually think that’s kind of what’s going on. You know him; he’s not cruel.” Because whatever else Phoenix might be—rude, offensive, sometimes even mean—he’s not cruel.
“Right.”
“But it sounds like there’s no love lost between his grandma and the rest of the family,” I go on. “Or between Phoenix and the rest of them, either.”
“Wow,” she says in a low voice. “So you’re doing the whole thing, then? Wedding dress, walk down the aisle?”
“Not quite,” I say. “We’re taking wedding photos, because he thinks his family is going to be suspicious that this is a fake marriage.”
“Which…it is,” Maggie points out .
“Yeah, it is.” I nod. “I mean, we’re legally getting married. But it will be at the Town Hall, and it’s not going to last.”
“Okay,” she says, her eyes narrowed as she thinks. “I think I’m following. But you and Phoenix aren’t—you guys don’t?—”
“No,” I say quickly. “No. We don’t get along. At all. But he doesn’t have a lot of options, and the extra money for me won’t hurt.”
“Wow,” she says again. She shoots me a look and then gives her attention back to the road. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No,” I admit. “Not completely. But weighing the pros and cons, this course of action seems to be in my favor.”
“All right,” she says with a little shrug. Then she smiles. “In that case, let’s get you a wedding dress. You’ll be the most beautiful fake bride in the world.”
Something eases inside of me at her acceptance, a tension I hadn’t realized was there. “I don’t know about most beautiful , but I’d like to at least look put together. Turn right at the next light,” I add.
“You’ll look more than put together,” she says. “You’ll be gorgeous. You’re going to knock Phoenix’s socks off.”
“Oh, no—no no no,” I say to her. “No. Phoenix’s socks will stay on. We were very clear about that. Everyone’s socks will remain on. Besides,” I go on, scrunching up my nose, “Phoenix is?—”
“Hot,” she cuts me off. She turns into the large parking lot of our first bridal shop. “Phoenix is hot. He’s dreamy. He looks better in a suit than anyone I know.” She finds a spot to park and pulls in neatly; then she looks at me, her eyes sparkling. “Do you think you guys might?—”
“No,” I say again, more firmly. “Definitely not. Whatever you’re going to say, the answer is no. ”
She pulls the keys out of the ignition and then gives me another little scowl, just like when I complimented her freckles. “Fine,” she says. “But I’m going to hold out hope.”
“You do that,” I say, patting her on the arm. “Just know that you’re wasting your time.”
The inside of the bridal shop is immediately overwhelming; the door hasn’t even closed all the way behind us before a little thread of panic shoots through me. Everything is either white or light blue, and there’s nothing simple about the decor; I see lace and sparkles and fanciness all around.
The idea of getting married in a white sundress suddenly sounds ten times more appealing. Would that fly with Phoenix?
But Maggie must be able to sense how I’m feeling, because she puts one firm hand on my back and pushes me forward, further into the shop.
A smiling woman hurries over and greets us, enthusiasm positively dripping from her; I have to force my answering smile. She introduces herself as Marie and then asks what she can help with, and I stare at her for a good two seconds before I’m able to say anything.
“I’m getting married, Marie,” I say. The words are still bizarre to me. “So I need a wedding dress. And I guess some shoes too, if you sell those.”
Marie looks at me like Of course we sell wedding shoes, who do you think we are? Then she smiles again and whisks us further into the belly of the wedding beast, around several little displays topped with accessories, through racks and racks and racks of white lace and tulle and chiffon, past several brides trying on dresses in front of mirrors, and finally to a back corner of the shop.
“We don’t have any appointments scheduled right now,” she says, beaming as she gestures to two poofy chairs in front of a large, three-paneled mirror like the ones we just passed. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll pull some for you to try on.”
“Simple,” I say immediately, glancing at the tulle ballgown a woman at the next mirror is wearing. It’s lovely, but it’s not my style. “Simple. And—classy, I guess.”
Marie nods, tapping one long finger against her chin as she thinks. Then she nods again, and her blunt bob doesn’t sway an inch. I think it must be hairsprayed solid. “Elegant and timeless; I love it. What about shape? Do you have any ideas there?”
“Not really,” I admit. I settle into one of the chairs, and Maggie sits in the other. “Maybe just not a lot of volume.”
And to her credit, Marie is great at her job. The first two dresses I try on aren’t my favorites—too much tulle on one, a slit I don’t like on the other—but the third…
“Holland,” Maggie says, her hands on her cheeks as she smiles at me in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous. ”
She’s right; dress number three is gorgeous.
It’s long and flowing, with a v-neck, fluttering chiffon sleeves, and a plunging back. There’s light beading on the bust, but that’s it; the rest is unadorned.
Simple but not boring; sexy but not cheap. It’s perfect. And the woman staring back at me in the mirror looks like a bride . An actual, real-life bride.
“Maggie,” I whisper as Marie looks rapturously on. “I’m getting married. ”
“I know,” she says, her eyes wide, her smile tremulous. “You’re getting married. How weird is that?”
For a second I debate with myself: Is this a dress I want to wear for a wedding that isn’t real? Do I want to waste this gorgeous gown on a man who’s not actually going to be a true, loving husband ?
But my questions are brief. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever wear another wedding dress after this. I hope to get married for real someday, but who knows?
So I stand up a little straighter. “Marie,” I say to the woman. “I think this is the one.”
Marie claps her hands loudly and shows every single one of her pearly whites as she smiles.
After giving in and allowing Maggie to buy me a set of jewelry—which she refuses to let me look at until the day of the photos—we head back to Sunset Harbor to see Nana Lu.
We look absurd carrying everything on the ferry. I’ve got the hanging bag with the dress draped over my arm so no one can see the name of the bridal shop emblazoned on the front—thankfully it’s opaque—and we’ve transferred the shoes and jewelry into an old duffle from Maggie’s trunk so no one will see the bridal shop logo there either.
“Remember,” I say once we’ve dropped the enormous bags of shoes, jewelry, and dress back at the house, “not a word about this. Nana’s heart would stop if she thought Phoenix and I were actually getting married.”
“She would be so happy,” Maggie says wistfully, and I let my breath gust out of me.
“She would. So don’t say anything.”
It’s a little past noon when we get to Seaside Oasis, where the receptionist informs us that Nana’s probably still eating lunch down in the cafeteria. We find her there, hunched over a meal of some sort of pasta dish with green beans and jello. She sets down her fork with trembling hands as soon as she sees us.
“My Maggie Moo,” she says, trying to scoot her chair back.
We hurry the rest of the way to her before she can stand.
“Stay sitting, Nana,” Maggie says quickly, wrapping her arms around Nana’s thin frame and hugging her. “We’ll join you and you can finish eating, okay?”
“It’s this pasta today,” Nana mumbles when Maggie has let her go. She picks up her fork and pokes at the meal. “They overdo the noodles.”
“So it’s easier to chew,” Maggie says, sitting in the chair to Nana’s left.
“Hi, Nana,” I say, swooping down and kissing her soft, age-spotted cheek.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says. She looks back and forth between us once I’ve settled on her right, her smile as wide as I’ve ever seen it. “Both my granddaughters,” she says happily. “Isn’t this a treat. How have you been, Maggie Moo?”
No one has called Maggie that since she was about eight, but Nana always will.
“I’ve been good,” Maggie says, patting Nana’s hand and smiling. “My classes are fine, and I’ve got really good professors.”
Nana Lu blinks owlishly at Maggie from behind her round glasses. “It’s summer, sweetheart. Do you do school in the summer now?”
Maggie bobs her head. “I’m doing the summer term this year. It’s more condensed, so I have one class four days a week instead of two, and the other class I have five days a week.”
“Is that too much?” Nana says, glancing at me and then back at Maggie. “A girl should have time for fun, shouldn’t she?”
“I still have lots of fun,” Maggie says, waving her hand. “I hang out with my friends and that kind of thing.”
“Oh, good,” Nana says with a wobbly nod. “Good. You should play sometimes. And what about you, sweetie?” she says, looking at me now. “Did you buy your new shoes?”
I swallow my guilt and smile. “I bought some new shoes just today,” I say. “Maggie came with me. They’re very pretty.”
Nana Lu positively beams.
It takes some prodding to get Nana to eat now that she’s distracted, so we sit with her and remind her to keep taking bites until all her food is gone. My mother doesn’t take after her much, but both she and Nana are picky eaters.
Nana Lu, thankfully, is much warmer than my mother—soft and friendly rather than standoffish and detached. My mom cares, and she loves, but she doesn’t do it openly, and she doesn’t express herself well, if at all. She’s always been that way, even before Trev died.
These moments with Nana, then, are like a warm hug. She wants to know every detail about our lives, and she’s overflowing with love and affection. The afternoon flies by, the three of us laughing and chatting in Nana’s room, until it’s time to get Maggie back to the ferry.
“I’ll come see you again soon,” she promises, giving Nana a hug.
“Oh, yes,” Nana says, patting Maggie’s back. “Please do.”
“I heard a rumor that Presley James has been spotted around here, so I’ll bring some binoculars for spying.”
I turn to her, frowning. “Presley James? The actress?”
“Yep,” Maggie says.
“She’s such a cute girl,” Nana says.
“Around here? Like, on the island?” That’s ridiculous. A giant movie star would never come to Sunset Harbor.
“It’s just what I heard,” Maggie says. “Come on, Nana.”
We tuck her into her bed and turn on Jeopardy—her favorite—and then I press one last kiss to her fluffy hair.
“Bye, Nana,” I say, and with another wave, we leave.
By the time I get home after seeing Maggie off, it’s evening, and I’m exhausted. I would love nothing more than to curl up in bed with a book. But I check my email first, and sure enough, the contract is ready and waiting for me to sign. I read it through, not once but twice, and then, after staring at the signature line for a solid two minutes, I sign it digitally.
The first payment from Phoenix hits my account the next morning.