Chapter 4
AURORA
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay, but Aurora, this is straight out of a romance novel! And he was so cute!”
“Slow way down, Jules.”
“Boo.”
Juliet’s frown is little more than a pout, her brows furrowed as she looks at me from the foot of my bed. India sits next to me, taking up way more than her fair share of room against the headboard.
Juliet reaches one leg out and nudges Indy. “Contribute, please,” she says.
“What I say depends on how Aurora feels,” India says with a shrug. Then she looks at me, her red hair pulled into a braid over one shoulder. “What kind of vibes does this Roman Drake give off?”
“Seconded. First impression thoughts, please. He was fancy in the holding cell,” Jules says.
“He’s still fancy,” I admit. “And—” I break off, thinking back to our office meeting. “He smirks a lot. Or grins. Whatever.”
“What did he think of Barf?” Juliet says, leaning forward and propping her elbows on her knees.
I can’t stop my little smile at this. “He doesn’t seem to think highly of him.”
“Good,” India says with a snort, and Jules nods vigorously.
“Yeah,” she says. “Good.” She pauses. “So he definitely heard all the stuff from the holding cell?”
“Yeah,” I say heavily. “He definitely heard, and he remembers.” I pause. “You guys haven’t told anyone about that, right?”
“I haven’t,” India says with a shrug, “and Felix jokes, but he won’t either.”
“Luca had very stern words for me,” Jules says, “but I appeased his concerns by promising it would never happen again.”
“Which it won’t,” I say, arching my brow at her.
“I know,” she grumbles, looking sulky. “Even if Barf continues being the absolute worst—”
“I’m sure he’ll go about his business,” India cuts her off, glancing at me. “Right? He and Mindy are doing their thing now. He’s obnoxious, but he’s not out to get you or anything.”
“No,” I admit. “He’s harmless.” Then I clear my throat. “Let’s talk about something else, please. Update me on your men. Are they behaving themselves?”
“Luca behaves himself always,” Juliet says. “I’m teaching him how to let down his hair a bit.” She pauses and giggles. “Still, there’s something about that expression he makes when he’s trying not to smile…” She trails off dreamily, her eyes sparkling with some far-away happiness.
“All right,” I say, because if I let Juliet get started talking about why she loves Luca, she’ll go on all night. “India,” I say, nudging her, “please take over.”
But when I look at India, I’m surprised to find her face changing, her lips twitching, her cheeks flushing with color. “Well…” she hedges, and I straighten up immediately.
“Well?” Juliet says quickly, all signs of Luca Fever disappearing.
“Yeah,” I say. “Well?”
Indy clears her throat. “Okay,” she says, and when she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, there’s an expression on her face I don’t usually see—excitement, anticipation, but shyness, too.
India isn’t like Juliet. She doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve. Still, based on what I see now, I can guess what she’s going to say.
“About that,” she goes on, her hands in her lap. She bites her lip, trying to suppress a smile, but it breaks free easily. “We’re actually…going to get married.”
Juliet’s shriek does permanent damage to my eardrums, but I barely notice.
It’s been a long time since I’ve smiled like I do now, even laughing at the way India’s cheeks burn red.
She pulls the neck of her t-shirt up over her face until just her eyes peek out, brimming with tears and crinkled with happiness.
Jules scrambles up the bed and flings her arms around Indy, just as I do the same, wrapping them both in the tightest hug I can manage. Soon we’re all laughing, half crying, too, and a rare flash of giddy, unbridled joy rises in my chest.
And it’s this, this right here, that makes me sure—I can’t justify wishing for romantic love when I have my family next to me.
The most precious people in my life, the ones who understand me and know me and love me for who I am.
To them I’m never a burden. I’m never too much, too intense, too anything.
I can’t say the same of the men I’ve known.
I’ve had exactly one-and-a-half boyfriends—because I don’t think Barf can be considered a full-time boyfriend—and although things went okay in the beginning, both of them broke things off or went elsewhere when they got tired of me.
When they realized I was never playing hard to get, never using games to lure them in.
This is just how I am. I like men who can make me laugh, because I don’t do it often, for whatever reason. I’m more serious than I am laid back. And no man will ever come before my family.
Tyler was the first guy I ever really fell for—Tyler Dickinson, a guy I met fresh out of college when I returned to Lucky. We had a cleaning and organizing business for a while, something I absolutely loved.
Tyler was lighthearted but knew when to take things seriously.
He was funny. He let me do my thing and be myself, and we worked well together.
But then my dad had a heart attack, and I guess I changed.
I was anxious and stressed and turned more toward my family, trying to be the anchor they needed when we were all scared. I was steady for them, calm and secure.
Tyler got the side of me that was struggling, whether it was fair to him or not. In the end, he wasn’t ready for that. It was too much, more work than he was willing to put in.
It happens sometimes. We weren’t married.
It was perfectly okay for him to bow out.
But it did hurt, more than I ever showed anyone, and it was depressing, too.
With the end of the relationship came the end of our little business.
And I couldn’t help but wonder…if a man who claimed to love me couldn’t handle the parts of me that were breaking, who would?
Bart, on the other hand, didn’t love me. I never expected him to. I was the sample scoop of ice cream he tried before going with a different flavor. It just would have been nice if he put down one spoon before picking up another.
“Okay, so tell us,” Juliet says, pulling me back to the present.
Her words are muffled until we all lean back a little, which is great because I’ve been inhaling India’s hair and struggling to breathe.
“He hasn’t actually proposed, has he?” Her voice grows stern.
“India, if you’ve been hiding a ring around here, I swear—”
But India laughs, an incredible sound because of how genuine it is.
She shakes her head, her red hair glinting orange and gold in the dim light of my bedside lamp.
“He hasn’t proposed. We’ve just decided it’s what we want to do,” she says.
Her cheeks are still pink as she goes on, tugging up the slipping shoulder of her oversized shirt.
“It’s springtime now, and I know it’s soon, but we’re thinking maybe in the fall.
Before it snows. Summer is too soon, but we don’t want to wait until next year if we don’t have to. ”
Jules squeals again, even as my mind starts working through details. She’ll need a venue, of course, which is where they should start, because those places can book months or even years in advance, depending on the location.
“Are you going to use a wedding planner?” I say, right as Juliet says, “What about a dress? Do you have any ideas?”
My lips twitch, because these questions are very on-brand for both of us.
“I have no idea,” Indy admits. “About any of it.”
“You need to nail down a venue,” I say. Then I ask, “Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”
“Not yet. We just decided this weekend, even though we’ve always sort of talked vaguely about our future. But…” She shrugs. “We’ve been dating for almost two years. It’s time.”
“So this fall?” Jules says.
India nods. “Hopefully. Something small. Outside if possible, we’re thinking. That’s as far as we’ve gotten.”
“You’re going to move out,” Juliet says, slumping a little. She fiddles with the hem of her satin pajamas as India speaks.
“Yeah,” she says softly, and she sounds wistful too. “I will.”
We all fall silent, and although none of us say it out loud, I know we’re all thinking the same thing.
This is the end of an era. I knew it was, but hearing that India’s already moving in that direction just makes it more real. Something uncomfortable lodges in the back of my throat, and I swallow.
“I want more details, but I need to go to sleep,” I say. Then, eyeing my sisters and their sleepy expressions, I add, “So do both of you.”
“Boo,” Juliet says, but she’s already lifting herself from the bed. “I want to interrogate India on all her wedding plans.”
“Wait until she actually has wedding plans,” I say, and Indy nods.
“Yes,” she says. “That. I know nothing.”
“I don’t understand how you haven’t had your wedding planned out since you were twelve,” Jules says, and India follows as they head toward the door. “I’ve known what my wedding dress would look like since I got my first crush.”
I snort at this. “There’s no way your first crush was at twelve,” I say. “Try eight.”
Juliet gives a dainty shrug as she disappears through the door. “Apples and oranges,” she calls.
“Goodnight,” I say loudly, and their responses reach me from the hall, followed by the sound of their bedroom door closing.
I let my body slump into the pillows propped against my headboard, a heavy sigh escaping me.
I’m happy for India. Thrilled, in fact, and genuinely, too. She and Felix are perfect for each other, and most importantly, he adores her. We all love him, and it doesn’t hurt that he and Cyrus were best friends before he ever got together with Indy.
Still, as my bleary eyes dart around my spotless bedroom, they catch on my desk.
Maybe it could use a good wipe down before I sleep after all.
When I get up the next morning and go downstairs, my body feels heavier than usual. I don’t know why. But I drag myself through my morning routine until I get to my breakfast, popping a few pieces of bread into the toaster.
Jules arrives in the kitchen a moment or two after I do, announcing her presence by the click of heels. “Morning!” she says, and I look over my shoulder at her. “I’m glad I caught you. We didn’t get the mail yesterday, so I brought it in this morning. There’s something for you.”
She’s clearly been up for a while, because she’s already dressed with a black ribbon tied in her curled hair. Now she points at the table, where my eyes find a messy stack of envelopes and newspapers.
“What is it?” I say, looking back at her. “A bill? Or a bank statement?”
“It’s not from anywhere I recognize,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe one of those prequalification things or a credit card company? I don’t know.”
I groan at this as my toast pops up. I manage to get both pieces onto a plate, touching them as little as possible while they cool down, and then I move to the table and settle myself in a chair. I blow absently on the toast as I shuffle through the pile of mail until I find it.
And Juliet is right—the envelope is foreign enough that when I see it, I know this is the one she was talking about. I frown and peer at the return address, but it’s a generic company name I don’t recognize.
It’s dumb, the way my pulse picks up and a tingle of foreboding zips down my spine. But something deep inside me wants to throw this envelope away without opening it, for no discernible reason.
I slit it open instead, one nail down the side, and slide out the folded paper from within. It’s just mail, and I’m being absurd.
So I open the letter and read it—slowly at first, and then faster as my gaze is dragged helplessly along. The skipping pulse that was stupid and overreactive before grows more justified with every word, and a sense of panic begins to rise in my chest as I read.
When I reach the bottom of the page, my jaw is hanging open, my heart is pounding, and rage is simmering in my gut.
“No way,” I say in disbelief, the words croaking out of me. With my fingers clenched and suddenly sweaty on the letter, I read it again, just to see if I imagined everything the first time.
I didn’t.
“Aurora?”
It’s Juliet, sounding concerned, but I barely hear her. I slump back in my chair at the table as my mind races.
Collections. The letter is from a collections agency.
And according to them, I owe money. A lot of money.