by Mia Sosa
My father grimaces and plonks down onto a rattan chair on the back porch. “When did this happen? In Philly, you said nothing was going on between you two.”
“It was LA, Dad, and yeah, I was telling you the truth then.”
“So, in that short time you two started dating?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, listen, it’s not what you think.” I’ve always been honest with my parents, and I don’t want to start lying to them now. Still, I’d need a set of flowcharts to explain why and how we got to this point. I decide to give them the abridged version. “All right, here’s the deal. When we first got here, Ashley and I were pretending to be a couple, for reasons that aren’t important. Then something happened, or maybe it’s been happening for a while and I’m just now admitting it to myself.” I shake my head, trying to sort it out in my own mind. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. We’re together now, and I’m happy.”
My father massages his chest as he studies me. “Do you think that’s wise? What does Carter say?”
“He doesn’t know yet. We figured it wouldn’t make sense to spring this on him today. But I’m not worried about Carter’s reaction. He and I are solid, and my dating his sister isn’t going to change that.”
Our decision not to tell him isn’t motivated by a concern that he’ll be upset about it. Nevertheless, he’ll wonder how and when it happened, and given my long-standing insistence on separating my personal and work lives, he’ll be surprised by my choice to date his sister. That’s a conversation for another time and place, right? And a trace of doubt on my part is to be expected. I press my lips together and shove my hands in my pockets. Am I lying to myself? To my parents?
My mother is still confused. “Wait, wait, wait.” She rests two fingers on her temple as she paces. “So let me get this straight. Before you came to Connecticut, you and Ashley worked out a plan to fake your relationship?”
“Right.”
“And this entire weekend, you’ve been pretending to date?”
“Yes, but—”
“Excuse me,” Lydia says, her face peeking out from behind the door to the back porch.
My heart crashes to the floor and jumps back up into my chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She tiptoes past us. “I didn’t mean to interrupt such an important conversation, but I need to get to my seat.”
Did she just wink at me?
Lydia skips down the steps like Bambi chasing a butterfly. Over her shoulder, she says, “Hope to chat with all of you after the wedding.”
“Who the heck is that?” my father asks.
“That’s Ashley and Carter’s cousin Lydia.”
And I’ve just given her the ammunition to ruin everything.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashley
TORI’S EXPRESSION TRANSFORMS from nervous anticipation to pure joy when she sees my brother with the wedding officiant by his side. The bride’s strapless A-line dress highlights her shoulders and the definition in her arms, and her curly hair, which she’s pinned back with stunning orchids, frames her glowing face.
Next to her, Pedro is beaming, his smile threatening to outshine the sun, and only a few people know that Tori didn’t want to be walked down the aisle but agreed to do so to appease her parents.
Eva and Bianca are standing to Carter’s right, while Julian and I stand to his left. Although the bride and groom will each have two people by their side when they marry, Julian is the only male, and his singular presence likely reminds many of the guests that Carter rarely lets new people in his circle.
I study Julian as Tori glides down the aisle. He’s a handsome man, whether he’s in a suit and tie or jeans and a T-shirt. But his attire today, the happy medium between business and casual, is Julian at his most tempting. His blue cotton suit accentuates his broad shoulders and trim waist, and his crisp white shirt, open at the collar, treats me to a bite-sized portion of the glorious chest underneath. Get the hormones in check and focus on the wedding, Ashley.
I snap my head front and center. When Tori and Carter reunite, they face each other and hold hands. I can’t help thinking I’m intruding on a private moment, their loving expressions acknowledging the significance of what they’re about to do.
The officiant shares his thoughts on the sanctity of marriage, after which he advises the guests that the couple has decided to recite their own vows.
Carter delivers his first. “When we met on that plane to Aruba, I was pretending in many ways. Pretending that I wasn’t a Hollywood actor. Pretending that I didn’t have insecurities. Pretending that I didn’t need to let anyone else in my life. I was wrong on the first count, and I knew it. But I had more to learn, and thanks to you, I did. You’re the one who made me see that unless I faced my doubts head-on, I’d never be able to love you the way you deserved to be loved . . .”
I glance at Julian and discover he’s staring at me, perhaps sending a message of his own. Right. I get it. I’m hiding, too. I draw in a small breath and return my attention to my brother.
He speaks with conviction, his voice wavering only when the depth of his emotions threatens to overwhelm him. Not to be outdone, Tori speaks eloquently about their friendship, their passion, and their trust. A few guests sniffle in their seats. After a subtle nod from the officiant, Eva and Julian produce the weddings rings, and Tori and Carter exchange them.
“With the power vested in me by the State of Connecticut, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now seal your union with a kiss.”
And do they. Complete with a dramatic dip that leads to dozens of clicks from the photographer’s camera. It’s the kind of kiss that produces happy sighs from the audience and a boisterous “Well, all right” from Grandpa James.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip away from the well-wishers and dash toward the cottage to get my guitar.
“WHERE THE HELL is it?” I mutter to myself as I pull up the comforter. Finding Melanie was easy, but I can’t find my guitar pick anywhere. I usually keep several spares, but I left them on my dresser in California, and Julian wouldn’t have known to look for them.
Think, Ashley, think. Where was I the last time I played? Last night. In the living room. On the couch. When Tori and Eva performed a stirring rendition of “Single Ladies” and begged for me to “give them a beat.” I rush out of the bedroom and smooth my hand over the sofa cushions. “Shit. Nothing.” Maybe someone found it and placed it somewhere else? My gaze bounces around the room and lands on the clutter on the dining room table. I lift a stack of Lydia’s papers, but in my haste, a neighboring stack teeters and falls to the ground before I can catch it. “Dammit.” I drop to my knees and begin to gather the papers—random sheets of paper that don’t appear to have anything to do with marketing—and then I come across a single page in blue with the words Eligibility for Unemployment Insurance Benefits in large bold letters at the top. It’s dated a week ago.
“What are you doing nosing around in my stuff?” Lydia asks from the door.
I quickly straighten the stack and place it back on the table. “Nothing. I was looking for something and knocked over your papers. Sorry. I wasn’t snooping, I promise.” Continuing my search for the missing guitar pick, I lift a few documents as I scan the table. There it is. Wedged under the napkin holder. “Aha. Found it.”
Lydia squints as she continues to watch me in silence.
I ignore her, grab Melanie, and hurry to the door. “Excuse me.”
She’s blocking me and doesn’t budge. “Before you go, why don’t you tell me how things are going with your boyfriend.”
Her mouth is curved into a self-satisfied grin, and there’s amusement in her voice when she stresses the word boyfriend. Whatever. Lydia’s the least of my concerns. My biggest concern is holding it together while I perform in front of a live audience. “Lydia, I don’t have time for this. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a wedding in progress.”
She steps to the side. “Oh, of course. Don’t
let me stop you. But it’ll be interesting to hear what people say when they find out you and Julian are only pretending to date. How pathetic is that, Ashley? Honestly.”
What the hell? How did she find out? With just hours left to this long-ass weekend, I can’t believe Lydia discovered our secret now.
She shakes her head at me as if to say Well? I’m waiting.
And here’s the thing. I could easily concoct an explanation credible enough to confuse Lydia and leave her guessing as to whether it’s true. But I’m so tired of her bullshit, and I’m tired of being anything other than who I am. I set Melanie down. “Okay, Lydia, let me break this down for you in a way you’ll understand. You. Win. You’re right. Julian and I pretended to be dating this weekend. I can’t even remember why I thought it was a good idea, but it had something to do with you. And your mother.”
God, it all sounds absurd now. I could tell her that Julian and I turned a corner in our relationship, that we’re dating for real. I don’t want to stoop to her level, though. “I was silly to think it would make a difference, right? Because you’re just as competitive and immature as you’ve always been. And besides, my value isn’t based on the person I’m dating. So go ahead and tell everyone Julian’s not my boyfriend. And while you’re at it, go ahead and explain to everyone why you’ve been pretending to be busy with work while you’re also mysteriously collecting unemployment benefits.”
Her eyes bulge, and her skin pales. “It’s not what you think—”
“It doesn’t matter, Lydia. Your loss isn’t my gain. But ask yourself why you’ve always taken such pleasure in bringing me down. For years, you’ve used me to gauge how well you’re doing, probably because your mother egged you on. But I’m not your competition, and if there’s anyone you should be angry with about your feelings of inadequacy, it should be her. Leave. Me. Out of it.”
I pick up the case and yank it against me, banging my knee in the process. “Shit.” I storm out the door. I’m shaking, all the pent-up frustration inside me vibrating outward and hopefully leaving my body for good. With any luck, I’ll get back to the reception at an opportune time to gift Tori and Carter with a song. I’ll make a beeline for the dance floor; if I don’t, I’ll surely talk myself out of performing.
Behind me, Lydia calls out, “Ashley, you wouldn’t dare blab about my personal business. I know you.”
I pretend not to hear her. Of course I won’t tell anyone she’s been pretending to be employed this whole time. That’s not my way. But I’m tempted. So tempted. God, everything she said—about the promotion, the company’s need for her help during flag football, and the supposed major project that couldn’t get delayed—all of it was a lie. Who does that?
A voice in my head answers, its tone annoyingly judgmental. You do.
In that moment, I’m forced to face the truth. Lydia has her faults, sure, but so do I. In fact, I’ve been hiding so well and for so long, I don’t know any other way to be. Look how easy it was for me to agree to a fake relationship with Julian. It’s enough to make a grown woman want to slap herself.
Well, not anymore.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Julian
SOMEHOW, I SET aside my concerns about Lydia’s discovery long enough to focus on Carter. My best friend is married.
We give each other a pound. “You did it, man,” I tell him.
He shakes his head, a dazed expression on his face. “Yeah, I’m still stunned the lady in 12D agreed to marry me.”
Given the tumultuous start to their relationship, I’m stunned, too. In any case, he wears their love well, and I’m glad Tori’s the one who broke through his defenses and stole his heart. “Do you need me to make a toast or something? Tori didn’t mention anything during her thirty-minute PowerPoint presentation about the wedding schedule.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “Don’t let her hear you making smart remarks about her penchant for planning. The toast is up to you, though. She didn’t want to pressure you or Eva to make any planned remarks.” He leans in and whispers in my ear. “To be honest, we were both focused on the getting-married part. Everything else is gravy.”
“All right, then. If the mood strikes me, I’ll regale them with tales of your wild teenage years. So much incriminating stuff to share.”
“Have you forgotten that those years were modeled after yours?”
I tilt my head at him and blow out a breath. “Good point. I’ll just wish you a long marriage and call it a day.”
He slaps me on the back and walks me over to the table. “Smart man.”
Brunch is a casual affair, a nod to Carter’s laid-back personality, with everyone invited to eat at a long rectangular table under a tent several feet away from where the ceremony was held. The waitstaff delivers the family-style spread, and the guests dawdle as they try to decide where to sit.
I survey the grounds, searching for Ashley. I’d like to speak to her about Lydia—forewarned is forearmed—but she’s nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, I sit down, trying to work out a way to protect Ashley from Lydia’s barbs. A minute later, I spot Ashley leaving the cottage, and as she travels along the cobblestoned path, her guitar case in hand, Lydia appears at the door, calling out to her. The stony expression on Ash’s face suggests they’ve already exchanged words.
Ashley strides with purpose to the small parquet dance floor, breezing past me with only a glance in my direction, and then she sets her guitar case on the ground. After approaching Tori and Carter’s table, she leans over to whisper in Tori’s ear. The bright smile that graces the bride’s face tells me we’re all in for a treat.
With a fond pat to the body of her guitar, Ashley pulls the instrument out of the case and secures the strap around her shoulder. She taps the microphone and draws back when the feedback rings out like a loud gong. “Hey, everyone. So um . . . for reasons I still don’t understand, Carter and Tori asked me to perform a song for their wedding. And . . .”
She freezes, her eyes blinking furiously.
C’mon, baby, you can do this.
She glances at me, nods ever so slightly, and takes a steadying breath. “Well, you all know Tori by now, and she’s not someone you want to say no to.” That draws a laugh from the guests. “This is ‘I Choose You’ by Sara Bareilles.”
She strums the guitar with confidence, and a few people in the audience straighten in their seats. When she sings the first verse, she tilts her head to the side and closes her eyes, transporting herself somewhere else. The folksy rasp in her voice fits the song, and the lyrics are custom-made for Tori and Carter. That’s it, Ash. Show them who you are. Halfway through the song, she opens her eyes and sways her body to the music, her shoulders and chin lifting as though she’s throwing off a burden that’s been weighing her down. She’s no longer entertaining us; rather, she’s doing what she’s meant to do, and I’ll never forget the dazzling smile she gives us after the last note.
As she secures the guitar in its case, the guests clap long and hard, a few of them shouting, “Bravo!” and “Encore!” Tori rushes over to tackle-hug her. When they separate, Carter folds his sister into a tight embrace and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. Less than a minute later, Ash takes the seat next to mine.
I lean over and whisper into her ear. “You were phenomenal, and I’m proud of you, and I can’t wait to have loud, grumpy sex with you.”
She laughs and shoos me away. “Thank you.”
Knowing the threat that looms, I try to give her a heads-up about Lydia. “I need to speak with you about your cousin—”
Sighing heavily, she flicks her gaze upward. “You and me both.”
Eva, who’s sitting to her left, snags her attention, while everyone else continues to praise her performance as they enjoy the meal. At one point, Grandpa James asks, “Why aren’t you out there on your world tour?”
Ashley’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles at him. “It’s not that simple, PopPop.”
“Nothing ever
is,” he replies.
Ashley’s aunt chimes in. “Music is a tough business. For every successful artist, there are thousands struggling to get their foot in the door.”
There’s always a person in a group who’s an expert on everything. For this gathering, it’s Carol.
“You’d have to be an outstanding talent to make it, and even then, there’s no guarantee,” she continues. She places a hand on Lydia’s. “Better to be practical like my Lydia here. She chose a career that will sustain her over the long term.”
Jesus, the woman sucks the joy out of any situation. I’m renaming her the Happiness Negator.
Ashley’s grandmother scoffs at Carol. “Well, I think my granddaughter’s an outstanding talent, and if she wants to be a megastar, no one’s going to stop her.”
I chance a glance at Lydia and register her clenched jaw. This conversation must be grating to her for at least two reasons. One, she’s not the center of it, and two, Ashley is. She scoots back in her chair and relaxes into it as though she’s getting ready to add to the discussion. Given that she’s wearing a smug grin, I can predict what her contribution will be. If my cloth napkin were longer, I’d reach across this table and use it to wipe that expression off her face. She’s licking her lips, her eyes flickering with amusement as she stares at Ashley. Then she leans forward on the tips of her fingers, as if she preparing to pounce on her—physically, mentally, or maybe both.
I can’t let Lydia hurt Ashley, especially not here, in front of her friends and family—and not when she’s riding the high of her performance. But how do I neutralize Lydia? There’s not much I can say or do that will offset what we did or make her exposure less embarrassing for Ashley.
Lydia chuckles. “Hey, Ashley. A little birdie told me something interesting.”
Ashley, who’s been happily chomping on a piece of bread, raises her head and purses her lips at Lydia.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Ash hears my distress, and her face ices over. She drops the roll onto her plate. “You wouldn’t, Lydia.”
