Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Jameson whines, “But I’m your best man.”
“No, you’re officially the worst man,” Caroline corrects coolly.
“And I will gladly see you out myself,” Parker says, standing firm.
Lake raises his hand. “I could toss him out for you. I’d be happy to help.”
Parker smiles again. “Thanks. Why don’t you do that? I need to tend to my bride.”
Lake grabs Jameson by the collar of his dress shirt and drags him down the hall as Caroline turns to Parker and says, “Sweetie, I should’ve told you a long time ago—but your best friend is a jerk. Also, that was the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t do it when he broke my sister’s heart,” she says to him, and they’re so loving, so doting, so clearly in love that it makes my heart soar for them but ache a little more for me.
“But now I need to fix this dress, stat,” Caroline says. “Where’s Margot? Fallon? Someone has to—”
I raise my hand. I do have a solution. “I have a dress for you.”
51
A GOOD CRY
REMY
But I won’t let myself bask in my sister’s delight. Once we slip into the back of a town car with Mom, the cameras off, Fresh Face left behind, I take the next step. It’s one I should have taken a while ago.
“Everything Jameson said was true. It was a fake romance. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, but I wanted everything to go smoothly for the wedding. I didn’t want the Jumbotron dump with Jameson to cause problems. But I was wrong,” I say to them, and this excavation hurts, like someone is scraping out my insides. “In the end I did cause problems. Your dress, and the live stream, and lying to you both. And I’m so sorry. I wish there were something else I could say, but I made a mistake.”
I’d like to say it’s a relief to tell the truth at last. But mostly I’m sad. Disappointed. And heartbroken. I’m tired, too, of always keeping it together.
Across the seat, Caroline reaches for my hand and sets hers on mine, her huge diamond glinting in the sun streaming through the car windows. She tilts her head, her expression unusually gentle. “Why did you feel you had to fake it with me? Because of your ex?”
I wince, heat crawling up my neck. I don’t want to lie again. “It seemed…easier.”
“What do you mean?” She’s soft, so rare for her.
“How could it be easier?” my mother chimes in, confusion in her eyes.
I half want them to be mad. But I’m so grateful they’re not that a sob works its way up my chest. “I wanted to look like I was moving on,” I admit, as my breath hitches, my voice breaking.
“Why didn’t you just say that?” my mother asks, reaching for me too, setting a hand on my arm.
That’s a good question. One I’ve asked myself often enough. I had ample opportunities to tell them it was fake. And I could answer them in a number of truthful ways. I could say I didn’t want the secret to leak out. I didn’t want Jameson to know. That once one person, aside from my best friends, knows everyone will know. Case in point—today.
But deep down, that’s not why I kept the truth hidden. I face my fears head-on. “I wanted you all to think I was fine, to think I had it together. Like you two.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” my mother says, her lower lip quivering. “I hardly feel like I have it together at all.”
I whip my gaze to her, arching a brow. “Come on, you do your brain games. You work out. You’re retired from a successful business. You helped manage this wedding. You have everything together. You even got it all together with Dad,” I say, then turn to my sister. “And you have the ultimate power-woman life. Your show, your employees—even your hair is perfect.”
Caroline shakes her head. “Oh, Remy, I make mistakes every day. I lost my shit on camera a few minutes ago, but that’s just part of life. I’ve learned not to let those things get me down, and I’m sorry I told you to get a plus-one. I’m sorry I didn’t handle this from the beginning by kicking Jameson out,” she says, her eyes pleading with me. “I told you to strike first without thinking what it might turn into. I’m the one at fault. I pressured you to be responsible for my wedding going smoothly. That’s on me.”
Oh god. She’s right. She does own her mistakes, immediately and completely.
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, exonerating her.
“But it is,” she says. “I treated you like a member of my team. I gave you a role to play. I expected key performance indicators. I’m so sorry.”