Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
She doesn’t answer the question. “Why is his luggage in the living room? Are you two really together?”
I hesitate. Our little charade has gotten awfully complicated. I wanted a date to this wedding as a way to diffuse tension, but that’s not how it’s playing out.
Also? External validation from Tessa is a stupid goal. I should know better.
On the other hand, Eric started this ruse for reasons I don’t completely understand. But I still won’t throw him under the bus. “Tessa, I honestly don’t care what you believe about me and Eric. And I don’t know why you’re so fascinated in the first place.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not even on his social media! His feed is all hockey and travel. So I guess it’s clear where you stand with him.”
I snort because it’s true. “Thanks for pointing that out. Funny thing—I’m not on your socials either, though. Huh.”
She frowns with confusion. But I think I hear a bark of laughter from the other room.
“What are you wearing tonight?” Tessa asks, spinning on her heel and opening my closet door. “Dinner is on the beach.”
Luckily, I haven’t unpacked much yet, so only a few of my things are hanging there for Tessa’s unhelpful inspection. “This is nice,” she says almost grudgingly. My favorite pink cardigan is in her grabby little hand.
“It’s good for windy nights on the beach, and it goes with everything.”
“Sure. If you don’t mind repeating outfits.”
“Repeating outfits?” I say slowly. “You mean… wearing my clothes?”
Tessa, bored with me already, puts the cardigan back into the closet. She crosses to the bedroom door and flings it open. “Guess what, Eric? There’s a cornhole contest at the beach tonight! And a volleyball tournament!”
“Sweet,” he says. “Since my only skill in life is hurling objects at a target.”
She gives him a blistering smile. “I expect nothing but victory from you. See you out there.” Ten seconds later, she’s swept up her inventory of gift baskets and disappeared.
After the door closes with a satisfying click, I plop down on the couch beside my fake boyfriend. “She’s…” I sigh.
“Exhausting? Disturbing? Outrageous, and yet somehow completely predictable?” He takes a sip of his coffee and smiles at me.
The smile makes my stomach do its flippy thing. As usual. “You look like you feel better,” I announce.
“It’s true! I’m almost looking forward to that dinner. I think I saw a menu hit my email?” He grabs his phone off the coffee table and opens an app.
“No squinting at screens,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’ll read it to you.”
We both regret it a minute later, though, after I describe the Chilled Seafood Tower, the Grilled Swordfish with Citrus Butter, and the Sweet Corn Risotto, Asparagus Tips, and Truffle Butter.
“Well, now I’m starving. It’s going to be a long hour,” he says, propping his feet by the gift basket. “Unless you open that thing. Maybe there’s something edible in there?”
“Let’s see.” I grab the basket and untie the top, but I don’t peel away the netting. “Let’s play a game. You put your hand in and grab something. Without looking, tell me what it is.”
“Oh, it’s on.” He gleefully shoves his arm into the basket, and I watch as he bites his lip thoughtfully. “Hmm. Something is…
squishy.”
“Like… hand-made marshmallows? Or maybe fancy French macarons?” I suggest hopefully.
He pulls out the item, revealing a pair of silk sleep masks, each with ostentatious gold embroidery that spells: Fletcher-Randolph Wedding.
“Damn. Try again,” I urge. “There’s got to be something edible in there.”
Eric plunges his hand back into the basket. “This feels promising.”
“Artisanal potato chips? Chocolate-covered almonds? Popcorn with truffle oil?”
He pulls out a box and hands it to me, but when I lift the lid, I find a hangover recovery kit. Premium electrolyte packets, luxury aspirin, and eye drops.
Eric groans.
I shake my head. “Let me try.” I reach in blindly. “Okay, this feels… rectangular and heavy.”
“Monogrammed sterling silver business card holder?”
“Close!” I pull out the leather-bound wedding itinerary. “Just what everyone needs—a schedule that could have been an email, wrapped in the hide of an animal.”
His eyes dance as he shakes the basket in my direction. “One more try. I believe in you.”
I put my hand into the basket and feel my way past something that could only be a pair of socks, and something that feels like a deck of cards. Then I strike gold. “Oh yes,” I say as my fingers close around a circular object. “Unless it’s a hockey puck, it’s a small wheel of cheese.”
“Or soap,” Eric says with a grimace. “Let’s not get excited.”
I pull out the item, and it’s neither cheese nor soap. It’s an embossed pocket mirror, gold-plated, with Theo and Maribel’s intertwined initials on the back.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I mutter, while Eric laughs. “There’s always the Diamond Member goodies.”