Chapter 6
SIX
Lottie
Harper and Madeline show up at my apartment that evening with two bottles of wine and a giant bag of M&Ms. An hour later, we’re several glasses in, which is exactly how it tends to go when the three of us get together.
We’ve been talking about Wes for so long he’s practically become the fourth person in the room, only he’s not actually here to defend himself.
Harper is stretched out on the floor in tights and an oversized hoodie, having come over straight from a dance class.
Madeline sits on the couch across from her in cream-colored lounge pants that look like they’re tailored and a matching soft sweater—the effect is somehow both casual and dressed up, a look she pulls off effortlessly.
There are wine glasses scattered across the coffee table, along with a half-eaten plate of crackers and cheese and a near-empty bowl of M&Ms. But the food is forgotten as the conversation heats up.
“Okay, Lottie,” Madeline says, setting her wine glass down. “You need to figure out what you’re going to do about your apartment. Do you really have to move in with Wes tomorrow?”
“How many newlyweds do you know who live in separate homes?” I ask, lifting a brow. “He’s already worried I might be photographed here at the apartment tonight, which is why I have the blinds shut.”
“So covert,” Madeline says, looking thrilled. “It’s like you’re a spy.”
I shake my head. “Or the craziest person on the planet.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Harper says, swirling the last of her wine around in the glass. “You might just be lucky, not crazy. We all agree he’s hot, right? Because I feel like that’s important to establish before we get into how ridiculous this all is.”
Madeline hums thoughtfully. “He is very attractive. They all are. The Winters brothers make it very hard not to notice them. I know from experience.”
Harper snorts. “They’re rich, successful, and hot. Plus, Wes is a pilot, which is objectively unfair. That man is walking sex appeal.”
I let my head fall back against the couch and close my eyes for a second. “I hate that all of that is true.”
“And now,” Madeline says, looking far too pleased with herself, “you’re the lucky girl who gets to be married to him. So… are you going to sleep in the same bed?”
“Mads, no!” I let out an exasperated sigh. “None of this is real, remember? Wes said I’d have my own room.”
“Of course he did,” Harper says immediately, like that somehow confirms everything she thinks she knows about him. “He really has that whole quiet, mysterious thing going on.”
Madeline nods slowly, turning her glass in her hands. “I don’t even know that much about him, which is sort of insane considering how much I’ve been around the family.”
“That’s because he’s always off somewhere,” I say. “Coming and going. He’s an enigma. Like a ghost. A very attractive ghost.”
Harper lets out a laugh. “Okay, but that’s kind of hot.”
“It really is,” Madeline agrees, and I point at her like she’s said something deeply offensive.
“Neither of you are being helpful.”
“Because it’s true,” Harper insists with a shrug. “A bit of mystery is sexy. Wes being impossible to figure out is part of his appeal.”
Madeline nods thoughtfully. “He really doesn’t say much, he’s hardly ever around, and when he is, he’s just… there. Calm, private. Everyone knows who he is, but nobody really knows him.”
I sink lower into the couch, staring at the ceiling for a second. “That’s what’s so irritating.”
Harper tips her head. “The fact that he’s an unknown?”
“Yes,” I say, though that is only part of it. “But I have bigger problems to deal with than that.”
“Like what?” Harper asks.
I let out a slow breath. “I have to meet Cove’s publicist tomorrow morning before Wes flies out somewhere. Apparently, she wants to go over everything, and he said she wants to meet me.”
Harper scrunches her nose up. “That sounds ominous.”
“That’s because it is. And after that, Wes is sending a moving company over to pack up my clothes and personal stuff and take them to his house.”
“What about your furniture?” Madeline asks.
“The furniture stays here,” I say, thinking how weird it is to be explaining the logistics of my fake marriage to my sister and best friend. “All I’m bringing is clothing, toiletries—the basics.”
“In other words, everything that makes this place feel like home gets left behind?” Harper asks, looking concerned.
I nod. “Basically.”
Harper lets out a low whistle. Madeline makes a face.
“Tomorrow I meet with my pretend husband and his publicist, then he goes out of town for two days and I move into a house I’ve never seen by myself.”
Harper leans back on her hands. “That is a wildly crazy sentence.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot.”
Harper lifts her glass. “Well, this should be a disaster.”
I stare at her. “Thank you so much for the emotional support.”
“You’re welcome,” she says easily. “That’s what sisters are for.”
Madeline laughs under her breath. “Okay, but if your furniture stays here, does that mean this apartment is still yours?”
I nod. “I can move back in after the divorce. Or annulment. Whatever catastrophe we choose.” I point to them both. “And all of this is under strict confidence. Seriously. Unless you want to be buried under a mountain of legal trouble, you can’t say a word.”
“You can trust us, Lottie,” Madeline says. “We’re both going to be there for you if you need us.”
“I know. I love you guys,” I say before taking a long sip of my wine, letting it burn warmly down my throat.
“What about Mom and Dad? You don’t want to just tell them the truth about all of this?”
I shake my head. “With everything they have going on with Dad, I really don’t want to add to their stress at the moment.”
“I don’t know how you’ll be able to keep them in the dark,” Madeline says. “What happens when your dad’s medical bills start getting paid?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I have a few days before they fly home next week. I’ll figure it out.”
“We’ll help you come up with a plan.”
Madeline and Harper pull me into a group hug, and for a moment, this whole mess feels almost manageable.
Almost.
Victoria spends the first few minutes of our meeting going over the basics like she’s reading off a checklist she’s already memorized.
She talks about what the press has picked up, what the public response has been.
She rattles off numbers and predictions.
She’s calm about it in a way that is deeply unsettling, like she’s discussing a marketing campaign instead of the fact that I am about to become Wes Winters’s wife.
She looks like she’s in her mid-thirties.
Her bleached blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, every strand perfectly in place.
She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck, tailored slacks, and diamond earrings large enough to catch the light every time she turns her head.
She is beautiful. The kind of woman who knows exactly the effect she has when she walks into a room.
My eyes catch on her hand before I can stop myself. No ring, which means absolutely nothing, but it makes me wonder anyway. Has Wes ever hooked up with her? Do they have a history?
I don’t love that my mind automatically goes there.
I force myself to refocus on what she’s saying.
I try to keep up, try to act like this is all perfectly normal as Wes answers her questions with that same steady, unreadable expression he seems to wear so well.
He doesn’t look rattled. I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve been dropped into someone else’s life and I can’t find the exit.
Victoria finally folds her hands on the table and looks between us. “The problem is, the press is going to start digging and they’re going to want proof. A story like this needs more than a few photos and a vague statement. It needs a paper trail.”
Wes’s brows draw together slightly. “A paper trail?”
“Yes.”
He shifts in his chair. “Why do I think I’m not going to like where this is going?”
Victoria smiles. “Because you’re not. If this is going to work, you’ll need to be actually married.”
I blink at her. “Legally?”
Victoria’s gaze flicks to me, entirely too composed. “Yes. A real wedding, a real marriage. That’s the only way we’re going to be able to pull this off.”
Wes shakes his head. “Victoria, is this really necessary?”
Her expression doesn’t change. “Wes, we are too far into this to be careless now. If you get caught in a lie at this stage, it will be bad for your reputation, and worse for Cove.”
Wes doesn’t respond right away and I’m grateful for the pause because I need a second to gather my thoughts.
His expression is unreadable at first, but then I catch the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw, and I realize he’s just as shocked as I am.
Maybe blindsided is a better word for how I’m feeling right now.
Married.
I had almost wrapped my head around being a pretend bride, but a real one? As in a dress, ceremony, vows, paperwork, the whole thing.
Despite the fact that I plan weddings for a living, I really haven’t put much thought into my own. I’ve just never been the girl who fantasized about my wedding day. Any thoughts I’ve have about getting married have always felt vague and very far away.
This is not that. This is happening right now.
Victoria keeps talking like she hasn’t just rearranged my entire future. “I’ll have my assistant book the courthouse for as soon as Wes gets back to town.”
Wes’s jaw tightens. “And if I don’t like that idea?”
Her brows lift, just a fraction. “Then you risk getting caught in the lie we’ve already spun.”
That makes me look at him. He doesn’t react outwardly, but I can tell he’s not thrilled, which helps me feel slightly less insane. Wes lets out a slow breath and looks at Victoria like he’s trying to come to a decision. “You really think this is the only way?”
Victoria’s mouth curves into something resembling patience.
“I think it is the safest way. And right now, safe is what you need. Now—” she places both hands on the table like she’s ready to move on.
“You’ll need to be seen in public—maybe a dinner date, something low key but intimate.
You need to be photographed looking comfortable together, like this is already second nature for you both.
After that, maybe a group date. Holding hands. Kissing.”
My stomach drops instantly.
“Nothing over the top, just enough to confirm that you’re together.”
I feel like I’m having an out of body experience, listening to this conversation unfold around me. I look from Wes to Victoria, but neither of them seem anywhere as shocked as I feel.
When the meeting finally wraps, Wes offers to walk me out.
We exit the building in silence, my mind racing.
The second we step outside and the cool air hits my face, I close my eyes, trying to take in everything that’s happening.
Wes slows beside me. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“I didn’t know Victoria was going to take it this far. ”
I glance at him, still too tangled up in my thoughts to know what to say. “Wes—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean it. If you don’t want to go through with this, I understand. It’s a lot to ask.”
That almost makes me laugh, it’s such an understatement, but there is nothing funny about any of it.
“I’m not happy,” I admit, folding my arms against the chill.
“I’m not the girl who’s been planning her wedding since she was little, but I also didn’t think I’d be getting married in a courthouse to someone I barely know, without my family there. ”
Wes paces the sidewalk in front of me, jaw tight, looking more restless than I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m going to tell her it’s off,” he says.
“No,” I say immediately.
He stops and looks at me.
“I said I’d do this for you,” I tell him, my voice steadier than I feel.
“And I meant it. I’m doing this for my dad too.
I’d do anything for him,” I add more softly, because there is no point pretending that’s not what this really comes down to.
“Anything. If this is what it takes to help him, then I want to see it through.”
Something in his expression loosens, like he was braced for me to walk away and isn’t sure what to do now that I’ve told him I’m staying.
“Okay,” he says as he drags a hand over the nape of his neck and squeezes, like he’s trying to work out the tension there. “I’m sorry but I have to go. I have a flight in a couple of hours.”
Right. Of course he does. Wes Winters still has an actual life, even if mine has been flipped upside down.
I’ll check in with you later tonight. See how the move went. My housekeeper, Angelina, has stocked the fridge with groceries and pre-made meals for you. If you need anything at all, tell me. Anything. I want to know.”
The way he says it makes it sound like he means it, like he would actually show up with whatever I asked for, no matter how small or ridiculous it was.
“I’ll let you know.”
His gaze lingers on me for a beat, then he nods. “I’ll see you when I get home.”
Home.
The word lands in a strange place inside me, and I do the only thing I can think to do, which is turn away before my face gives anything away. I make it two steps.
“Wait.”
His voice makes me stop in my tracks. Before I can turn around, his hand closes lightly around my wrist, just enough pressure to make me feel it. A shiver runs through me, straight to my heart.
I look up, and when I do, he’s already staring at me. His gray eyes hold mine, steady and unreadable in that way that makes my stomach do something stupid. Wes’s thumb shifts against my wrist, a small, inconsequential motion that somehow feels anything but inconsequential.
“I mean it, Lottie,” he says quietly. “If this gets to be too much, if anything at all feels off, you tell me. You do not have to carry this by yourself.”
My throat tightens before I can stop it because that is more kindness than I expected. More than I know what to do with.
I nod, because that feels safer than speaking right now.
He lets go of my wrist but before I can move, he leans in and presses a light kiss to my cheek.
It’s brief but somehow it still manages to knock the breath right out of me.
When he pulls back, I can only stare at him for a second, stunned stupid by the warmth of it.
He looks just as collected as before, which seems deeply unfair.
He turns and walks away like he hasn’t just left me standing on the sidewalk with my pulse in my throat and the thought that my fake marriage suddenly feels a lot less fake.
How am I supposed to be married to one of the most eligible men in Deep Cove for an entire year?
How am I supposed to spend all that time living with him—in his house, in his space, knowing that I could see him walking around shirtless or, worse, in nothing but boxer briefs—and manage to keep my distance?
I am not built for this. Not even close. If this is my new reality, I am deeply, truly, and completely doomed.