Chapter 26
PIP
The pottery studio door creaks as I push it open. Inside, the air smells damp and earthy.
It's quieter than usual—just the occasional scrape of a potter’s wheel and the soft murmurs of a few artists absorbed in their work.
Aunt Vivian sits tucked in her usual alcove, her face lighting up the moment she spots me. “Darling, I saw it in Vanessa Sinclair’s column. You visited my tree!”
She stops her wheel and rushes over, phone in hand, showing me a screenshot.
It’s an image of Snickers and me standing in front of the old oak tree. His face is turned toward me, his gaze soft, almost tender.
“Oh my,” I murmur, heat rising to my face. We look like the most believable in-love couple you’ll ever see.
“Looks like you’ve snared yourself a billionaire,” she says matter-of-factly.
“As if I wanted one! Especially him!”
“What’s wrong with him?” She tilts the phone to get a closer look, studying the image. “He has a nice presence. And his jawline! Strong. Decisive. I like him for you, Pollyanna.”
“Aunt Vivian, no.” I laugh through a groan, pulling out a chair near her workbench.
“I told you, it’s a PR stunt. I’m just a well-paid actress in this charade.
And as for hooking up with ‘Sheldon Woodward III,’ billionaire or not, it’s a no-go.
He might look like Prince Charming in photos, but he drives me insane.
He’s smug, opinionated, and…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Infuriating.”
“Ah, but still on your mind,” Aunt Vivian notes, raising an eyebrow. “Come, let’s have some tea.”
A few minutes later, Aunt Vivian sets a steaming cup in front of me. I wrap my hands around it, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. The familiar rhythm of the studio works its magic—clay spinning, soft conversation, the muted clink of tools. I finally relax.
“The best part of today was seeing where you and Uncle Peter carved your initials in the tree. And the second-best part was visiting the pet adoption center.”
Her face softens at the mention of the tree. “Tell me about the adoption center.”
“There were so many dogs to choose from—large, small, adorable, ferocious…”
“Ha!” she says. “Don’t tell me you chose a ferocious one! That’s just like you, Pip, thinking you can tame the untamable.”
An image of Snickers flashes across my mind.
Heat rises to my cheeks again.
I shift in my seat, focusing on the present.
“Piglet isn’t ferocious or untamable. He’s just… ornery.”
“Who is Piglet?”
“A supercilious French Bulldog. Thinks he owns the world and everyone and everything in it.”
“Seems like an odd choice for a young bride,” Aunt Vivian teases.
“Yes. He’s snarky as hell. Snickers hated him at first sight.”
“Why’s that?”
I smile. “Probably because they’re so much alike.”
We both laugh.
“So, where’s this Piglet now?”
“With Snickers. Then I’ll take him home with me after tonight’s restaurant event.”
Her gaze sharpens. “And what happens to Piglet when this media buzz is over?”
Aunt Vivian’s question lingers in the air.
For the first time, I consider Piglet’s fate.
I’ve been so caught up in playing the faux fiancée that I forgot about the little life I’ve entangled in this performance.
She looks intently at me, awaiting my answer.
“It’s only been a few hours, and I’m already madly in love with the little fellow,” I say softly as I rise. “I better get on with my day.”
“I’m glad you were able to see the tree, Pip,” she says, walking me to the door. “I visit that tree as often as I can with my carving tools. I like to make sure the image remains sharp.”
Tears form in my aunt’s eyes. She doesn’t need to explain herself further.
That tree, those initials, and the symbol—all of it—is tied to Uncle Peter, the love of her life.
“Where are you and this Snickers going on your date tonight?”
I sigh. “Chez Henri.”
Her eyebrows lift. “What’s this? Sighing at the prospect of dining in Manhattan’s famous celebrity chef restaurant?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t mean it like that.
“I’ve always wanted to visit Chez Henri as a guest. But tonight, Snickers and I are playing sous chefs while Kit and the paparazzi capture us cooking.”
Aunt Vivian laughs. “Do they know you can’t cook?”
“No! But it wouldn’t matter. They won’t use any of the food we prepare anyway. And if they do, it would only be Snickers and me eating it.”
“Poisoning your to-be husband on your first dinner date, are you?” Aunt Vivian teases.
“He’s not my?—”
“I know, I know,” Aunt Vivian says, opening the door. “You’ll survive. Goodbye, darling!”