Chapter 1 #2
“Just fine,” she said, struggling to free her curls from the keyhole closure at the nape of her neck.
Oh brother. She untangled her hair with one hand and dug through her bag for her earrings with the other.
Maybe staying late at the gym to help one of her favorite clients finish that last set of ten burpees had been a questionable choice.
The car jolted to a stop at another red light. Gritting her teeth, she glanced at the digital display on the dashboard. Seven minutes until Kendall’s party. At this rate, she’d be lucky to make it before dessert.
Emma shivered. The sleeveless dress offered all the warmth of tissue paper, and her short suede boots, still stuffed in her bag, weren’t going to help. She should’ve worn the emerald-green pantsuit—her style, her color, and her choice—but no. She’d caved. Again.
The bitter thought lingered as her phone buzzed against the seat beside her.
Emma grabbed it, half expecting the usual check-in from her fiancé, Nathan.
Instead, it was Abbie, one of her best friends from middle school.
Emma tapped the screen to accept the call, then held the phone to her ear. “Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Don’t panic,” Abbie said. “But my bridesmaid’s dress is back-ordered. Until July sixth.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s—”
“Less than a week before your wedding. I know.” Abbie sighed. “I called three other stores, but they all said the same thing.”
The car lurched forward, tires spinning on the snow-slicked street. Emma clutched the overhead handle.
“Emma? You there?”
“Yeah. Listen, um, don’t stress. It’s not a big deal.” Emma forced a laugh. “I’m sure it will all work out.”
Abbie paused. “Really? That’s not what I expected you to say.”
“Well, to be honest, that dress is the least of my worries. I stayed late helping a client hit a personal best. She just got divorced and wants a fresh start. Long story. Anyway, now I’m rushing to a party for Nathan’s sister, Kendall. She made partner at her law firm.”
“That’s nice of you,” Abbie said. “I’m looking forward to meeting Kendall at your shower in June.”
“Yeah, that will be fun.” Emma cradled her faux-diamond earrings in her palm. Frankly, the thought of her Alaska friends meeting her East Coast people made her palms sweat.
“I’m sorry about the dress. I’ll keep you posted,” Abbie said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Emma hesitated. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You don’t sound like you. Oh, hang on.” Abbie muffled the phone, but Emma still heard her welcoming kids as they got in the car. “School’s out. Gotta run.”
“I’ll call you soon,” Emma said. “We need to catch up.”
“True. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She ended the call as a new message popped up.
Nathan
Running late. Save me an appetizer?
She stared at the text. No apology. Just clinical efficiency. Typical.
“Almost there, miss,” the driver said, slowing to turn onto the street leading to the Prescotts’ neighborhood.
“Great.” Emma fastened her earrings, slipped on her boots, then jammed everything else back into her bag.
She used the selfie camera on her phone to check her makeup.
Brushing a stray curl from her face, she practiced making a genuine smile.
The reflection portrayed a woman she barely recognized—Nathan’s polished, sophisticated fiancée.
Fake it till you make it, right?
A few minutes later, the Uber pulled up in front of the Prescott family’s brownstone, its grand facade glowing against the dark, snowy night. She added a generous tip in the app for her ride. After all, she had changed in the back of his vehicle.
“Thank you. Have a great night.” Emma closed the door of the car and draped her heavy bag over her arm.
A gust of wind bit through the flimsy fabric of her dress as the Uber drove away.
She slipped into her secondhand wool coat, then hurried toward the towering double doors.
Her stiletto heels clicked against the salted sidewalk, and snow clung to her curls.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew a ragged breath. Only a couple of hours. Smile, make polite small talk, and celebrate Kendall. No problem.
She tapped the brass knocker, but when no one answered, she went inside. Warm air greeted her, along with muffled sounds of classical music and the hum of lively conversation. A uniformed staff person stationed nearby greeted her with a polite smile.
“Emma, darling.” Sylvia Prescott’s voice floated across the foyer like a silk ribbon, and she glided toward Emma wearing a gorgeous mauve gown that hugged her toned figure.
Her tennis bracelet and matching teardrop earrings sparkled under the light from the chandelier.
The sleek bun at the nape of her neck was so perfect, not a single hair dared to slip out of place.
“We were wondering if the weather had gotten the best of you.” Sylvia’s voice was smooth yet tinged with the kind of warmth that felt forced. Emma caught the subtle once-over her future mother-in-law gave her.
“Sorry I’m late.” Emma shed her coat and resisted the urge to tug down the hem of her dress. “I stayed late to help a favorite client push through a challenging workout.”
“Of course.” Sylvia’s smile faltered as her dark eyes lingered on Emma’s bare legs. “You should’ve worn tights, dear. It’s too cold to go without.”
Emma blinked and glanced down at her bare legs. Tights? She wasn’t five.
Before she could respond, Kendall Prescott appeared at Sylvia’s side, her shoulder-length silky black hair reflecting the light and her aubergine pantsuit flowing as she moved. The deep V-neck and gauzy cape screamed power, and she wore the chic outfit effortlessly.
“Glad you made it,” Kendall said, giving her a quick hug. “Thank you for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Emma hugged her back, then offered a bright smile.
“That’s a fabulous color on you. Oh, wait—” She fumbled in her bag and pulled out a small wrapped box.
It was a charm bracelet from a local designer.
A splurge she couldn’t really afford, but she knew better than to arrive without a gift.
“I brought something for you. Congratulations on making partner. That’s a huge accomplishment. ”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” Kendall added the gift to the pile on the glass console table nearby. “Thank you for thinking of me. We need to—”
“Honestly, these caterers are the worst.” Frowning, Sylvia craned her neck and surveyed the formal living room. “They claim they’re shorthanded this week, but the lack of adequately trained servers is untenable.”
“I’d be glad to help,” Emma said. “What’s wrong?”
Kendall and Sylvia stared at her. An awkward silence stretched between them.
“That’s so kind. Thank you, dear.” Sylvia’s brittle smile accompanied an obligatory pat on Emma’s arm. “You’re wonderful with people, and I know everyone here would love to see you. Put your things in the closet under the stairs, then check with the staff in the kitchen.”
“Of course.” She scooted past Sylvia and Kendall. Where was Nathan? He probably wouldn’t be thrilled that she’d volunteered to sub in and serve appetizers, but nobody wanted Sylvia to be unhappy. And Kendall deserved to have a wonderful party.
Emma spotted him walking into the room. He looked incredible in a dark blue suit with a matching tie and crisp button-down shirt—monochromatic from head to toe.
Grinning, he paused and spoke to a tall blonde woman wearing a trendy black cocktail dress and sky-high red heels.
Courtney? Sydney? One of his classmates from back in med school.
Emma hesitated, but he didn’t notice her, and the weight of Sylvia’s hawkish gaze propelled her into action.
After tucking her coat and bag out of sight in the closet, she went searching for further instructions.
Emma found the caterers in the kitchen, where a frazzled woman handed over a tray of champagne flutes.
The glasses wobbled as Emma adjusted the tray.
She hadn’t done this since college, when waiting tables had been her escape from mean-girl politics.
Now, it felt like she was back in their crosshairs.
She stepped into the living room, where guests in tailored suits and glittering formal gowns circled the room, their laughter and chatter mingling with the string quartet’s live performance.
Emma plastered on her best smile and began circulating.
“Champagne?” she offered to a group of older men huddled near the fireplace. One of them took a glass, barely acknowledging her presence, while the others continued their conversation about hedge funds. She moved on, approaching three women she recognized from the club.
One of the women waved her tray away, but another guest smiled warmly and took a flute. “Thanks, hon. You must be Emma, yes? The personal trainer and fiancée.”
Emma nodded, her smile tightening. “That’s me.”
“Sylvia showed me the wedding invitations,” the third woman said. “They’re stunning. And just four months to go. Are you nervous?”
Before she could answer, Nathan appeared at her side. Relief swept through her.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, you.” He leaned in and kissed her temple, his hand resting low on her back. “You didn’t have to do this.”
She gave a half-hearted laugh. “I offered. Your mom mentioned that the caterers were short-staffed, and I figured…”
Nathan looked at her, his expression softening. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, Emma. Least of all my mother.”
“I know,” she said, shrugging. “But it’s your sister’s big night.”
He took the tray from her and set it on a table nearby. “You’re more than enough. You always are.” He kissed her again, this time letting his lips linger on hers.
Her pulse sped and she pressed her palm on his firm chest.
When he pulled away, his chocolate-brown eyes roamed her face. “As much as I’d like to keep kissing you, I think we’d better find our seats. Come on.”
They made their way to the table, and just as Emma settled into her chair, a familiar voice called out from behind. “I thought that was you.”
Emma turned and blinked. “Mom?”
Her mother, elegant in a silver sheath dress, stepped closer with a glass of champagne in hand. Her brown hair styled in a chignon, her lipstick, and her designer beaded clutch purse were all flawless.
“What are you doing here?” Emma gripped the wooden back of the upholstered chair. “I didn’t know you were invited.”
“Sylvia and I ended up playing in a pickleball tournament together last week. She insisted I attend. Said it would be lovely for the families to connect before the wedding.” Her mother’s smile didn’t quite reach her green eyes. “I thought, why not?”
Emma forced a smile. “Right. Of course.”
Nathan reached over and offered his hand. “Mrs. Wendel. It’s good to see you again.”
Her mother’s face lit up. “Likewise, Nathan. And please, call me Pam.”
Just then, Nathan’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, frowning. “Sorry,” he said. “I need to take this. It’s about a patient. I’ll be right back.”
Emma watched him disappear into the hallway before turning back to her mother. “So…you and Sylvia are friends now?”
Mom chuckled. “Hardly. But we move in the same circles. And I do like to keep up appearances.”
No kidding. Emma sipped her water, hoping the conversation would stall there.
But her mother leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Besides, you and I need to talk.”
Uh-oh. Emma hesitated. “Everything okay?”
“Not really. I didn’t want to tell you this way, but I got another notice from Redemption. I haven’t paid the property taxes on our house.”
Emma’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean? As in you haven’t paid this year’s taxes yet or…”
Her mother sighed. “As in never.”
Emma gasped. “Never? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I didn’t think it would be an issue. But now there’s talk of liens and legal action.” Her mother shrugged, then took another sip of her champagne.
Emma’s stomach twisted. Maybe she should’ve seen this coming. “You couldn’t stand that house. Why have you hung on to the place all these years if you can’t afford the taxes?”
Something unreadable flashed across Mom’s face. “I never said I couldn’t stand that house.”
“Then why did we leave?”
Her mother huffed out a laugh. “After what your father did? And what happened between you and Luke?”
Emma’s breath hitched. Luke. “He didn’t—”
Mom held up her palm. “Don’t, Emma. Don’t romanticize it. Alaska ruined our family. Your father ruined us. And now he’s exactly where he belongs. Thankfully, his parole was denied.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut. The words stung like lemon juice in a paper cut. No point in defending her father’s behavior though. At least not to her mother. Instead, she drew a calming breath, then opened her eyes. “So you just…what? Let the place rot?”
Her mother drained the last of her champagne. “It’s not my fault Redemption is grappling with mud and water damage and flooded houses. Somebody at town hall probably decided they had an axe to grind, and now they’re coming after me for these stupid taxes.”
Emma stared at her, stunned. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m realistic,” her mother said. “And I’m not going back there. Not now. Not ever.”
“Then I’ll go,” Emma said, the words tumbling out before she gave them much consideration. “I’ll reach out to Gavin. He’ll help me figure out what to do.”
“Will he though?” Her mother smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I think you need to just let it go, but if you decide you’re going back, I won’t stand in your way. And I’m not about to cancel my honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?”
“Egypt,” she said, her smile widening as she reached for her cloth napkin. “It’s a bucket-list destination. We’ve waited long enough since the wedding. Richard and I leave next week.”
Richard. Right. Husband number three.
Emma massaged her aching forehead with her fingertips. What was happening? How could she possibly be responsible for that house? She leaned back so the server could set a kale, quinoa, and avocado salad topped with candied walnuts in front of her.
A text message from Nathan popped up on her phone.
Nathan
Sorry had to leave quickly. Patient coded.
“Oh no.” Emma pressed her fingertips to her mouth. No point in texting him back. He wouldn’t read the message anyway.
Mom glanced at her from across the table. “Everything okay, love?”
No. Not at all. Because somehow she’d have to explain to her fiancé that she was headed to Alaska to sell a house.