Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Juliet makes a rolling gesture with her hands. “So you got married, and then…”
A tingle runs down my spine as I picture this morning in the hotel room. A smile takes me hostage. “And then my temporary husband gave me the best sex of my life.”
She squeals.
“Well…we had an extra hour. What else were we to do?” I ask, ever so innocently.
“I’m finally getting a pancake-breakfast-worthy update,” she says, gathering my hands in hers. “Details.”
I tell her about the wedding, then how we upgraded our clothes, then the music, then the room.
Juliet holds up a stop-sign hand. “I do want to hear about all the in-room services, but first…you rented a dress? And he got a suit?”
It’s like she’s caught me in the act of…something. “We did. Why are you asking like that?”
She hums as if it’s obvious. “Because it meant something to you.”
“Well, I did marry him. It didn’t mean nothing.”
“I know. But it sounds like it meant more than you expected. More than a marriage of convenience.”
I want to deny it, but instead I give a one-shouldered shrug. “Look, you know I like him. I always have. It just doesn’t mean everything.”
She hums again, doubtful this time. “Doesn’t sound like it means nothing either.”
I remember the way Gage looked at me as I walked down the aisle—like I was a mystery he wanted to uncover—then relent. “You’re right. It meant something. But it can’t mean what your big, squishy heart wants it to mean.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. Tell me about the magic D then.”
I give her a few more details, finishing with, “He’s just…he’s great, Juliet. He’s truly great. I’ve never met anyone like Gage. But it’s just an arrangement, and I can’t get caught up in it.”
Words to live by. Words I’d better not ever forget.
“It’s a wonderful arrangement though.”
“I suppose it is. But it’s also surreal. And a little terrifying. Because now I have to deal with what’s next.”
“And what’s that?”
I gulp. “Gage and I talked about it in the car. But I should probably tell Amanda first,” I say, and all at once, my sex high wears off. Reality slams into me. “I just got married to ward off a threat to my livelihood, and I’m also trying to raise my sister to be a good person who doesn’t lie. What does this say to her about how I solve problems?”
Juliet grabs my arm, squeezing it like she’s trying to impart all her boldness into me. “That you’re a mama bear.”
I frown. “Juliet. You can’t believe that.”
She squares her shoulders. “I can and I do. You’re busting your cute little butt for your sister every day. You’re finding new ways to take care of your family. You’re fighting and working it. Do not dismiss that.”
My throat catches. “Really?” I need this so badly—someone’s reassurance that I’m doing this right. Or at least, not wrong.
“Yes, you may be unconventional in your methods, but your heart, friend?” she says, then points importantly to the door. “It’s beating for that girl in there.”
As if on cue, my chest swells with emotions. “I have no choice. I must hug you right now.”
She widens her arms. “Incoming hug.”
We embrace, and buoyed by her strength, I go inside. Girl pop is blasting from Amanda’s phone in greeting as I prepare to tackle the start of what’s next.
But first, Amanda and Sawyer are facing off on Juliet’s couch while a black-and-white cat paces, watching them like an official in a tennis game. Amanda slaps a palm down on the couch cushion. “Zendaya doesn’t have a last name, bro!”
“So I was right then,” Sawyer insists, “when I gave her first name.”
“She’s not Zendaya Smith,” Amanda argues.
“But she is Zendaya. I got that part right. The rest is details,” he says, ever the businessman, trying to talk his way out of a situation and looking the part, too, in a crisp tailored shirt, even on a Sunday.
“How do you not know who Zendaya is?” Amanda continues.
“How does she not have a last name?”
“That woman from your generation doesn’t. You guys have all those celebrities with no last names. Madonna and…you know.”
Juliet clears her throat. “Hello, Madonna is our mama’s generation.”
“Yes, kiddo,” I add, backing up my friend and my generation.
“It’s all the same. It’s old,” Amanda insists.
“Fine, fine. Don’t give me credit for Zendaya Smith. I will still destroy you,” Sawyer warns, but ten minutes later, he’s schooled by my sister. She lifts her arms in victory. “I am the trivia queen,” she says, then glances at me, then my shiny gold ring. “So the outfit of the day is married, I see?”
I gulp, hoping Juliet is right. “It is.”
Before dinner that night, Gage calls, and I can hear the pride in his voice, a man who’s solved a problem. “I have a proposal for you,” he says, as I turn the heat down on a pan of sauteed broccoli and carrots.