Page 53 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

“Hmm.” That’s all I dare say, and I’m not proud that I do it in a voice higher than usual. But I’m hoping Jeannie will say more so I know why Georgia wasn’t up-front with me.

“Gotta run. We’ll talk later!” Jeannie says and ends the call without giving me any more information.

I stare at Georgia’s lock screen. I’m tempted to try to unlock it. I could probably figure out her passcode, then see if there are any texts from Jeannie or Ike about getting me to sign the contract.

But I think better of it. I’m upset Georgia didn’t tell me the entire truth about our legal obligations to pretend we’re in love, but knowing her the way I do, the reasons are clear. She was willing to sacrifice the show so I could be with Carly. Which makes Carly’s betrayal cut even deeper.

Of course, Carly didn’t know the stakes when she demanded I keep things purely professional on screen with Georgia. And it wasn’t an unreasonable demand, but she also backed it up with a suggestion she could be on the show too.

She did know the stakes when she started seeing Laker Brad behind my back. She knew it would end our relationship if I found out. There’d be no going back. I told her when we first started dating that I don’t cheat, and I don’t forgive cheaters. Love is built on trust.

But what she felt for me wasn’t love. With a little distance, I realize what Britta and Georgia knew all along.

The only thing Carly saw in me was an opportunity. First because of the potential windfall that may come my way because of the show, and then as a way for her to get on the show too. Who knows? Maybe all along she was cheating on Laker Brad with me, not the other way around.

Stacking what Georgia was ready to give up for me against the few concessions Carly was willing to make for our relationship makes Georgia’s sacrifices look even bigger. I sit up, my head spinning from the hangover and the emotion washing over me. I’m overwhelmed by Georgia’s generosity and friendship. At the same time, I’m pounded with waves of shame and regret.

How could I have misjudged Carly so badly? More importantly, how could I think I was in love with her? And how long will those feelings of love linger, prodding me to check my phone to see if she’s called? Or stalk her Instagram for pictures of her and Laker Brad?

Maybe Georgia was right all along, and I mistook my longing for what Adam and Evie have as real feelings for Carly. Or worse, I thought she could fill the empty space that grows bigger with each day Mom slips further away.

That doesn’t feel quite right. Definitely part of it, but apart from being a much-needed distraction from what’s happening with Mom, Carly and I had a lot of fun together. She’s a good listener, and her encouragement made me feel like I could do anything. And there’s no denying she’s stunningly beautiful. But…

Those are all things I can say about Georgia, too. In fact, theyarethings I’ve said about Georgia.

Her bedroom door opens, and I toss her phone back on the table and grab mine. I didn’t charge it last night, so it’s at one percent, but there’s a text from Carly. Before I can open the message, though, my phone dies.

“Hey,” Georgia mumbles, rubbing her head as she walks past the sofa toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. Do you have a charger I can borrow? My phone died.” I lean my elbows on my knees and rub my eyes to keep from staring at Georgia. Her hair is piled on top of her head, a few curls hanging down. They frame her face, making her eyes look bigger and brighter, even though she looks even more hung over than I feel.

And I hate that I’m anxious to charge my phone so I can see what Carly wrote.

“Yep. In the bedroom. Will you plug my phone in too?” She sticks a pod into her Keurig and shuts it but doesn’t turn it on. “I need something better than this. Do you think Britta would deliver? There’s no way I can drag myself there.”

“Maybe. But then we’d have to explain why I’m here this early in the morning.”

“It’s almost ten.”

“Really?” I glance at my wrist, like a watch might magically appear there. “I’m wearing the same clothes I did yesterday. So there’s that.”

I pick up our phones and walk toward Georgia’s bedroom. I’ve been here a few times since the renovation, and every time I forget for a few minutes that this used to be Grandma Rose’s house. Then I see the needlepoint thing Grandma Rose always had hanging in the same place it hangs now. I stop in front of it, studying it, even though I’ve seen and read it a thousand times before.

It’s round, still in the hoop it’s always been in. The brown fabric is faded, as is the colorful thread used to make a top border of a fireplace, lamp, basket of yarn, and a cat. If that weren’t Scandinavian enough, underneath the border is the wordhyggein big block letters. Below that,Danishwith some other designs, and then the definition of the word hygge.(HOO-gah) a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment and well-being.

I’ve always loved this thing—embroidery, or whatever it’s called. Hygge has been a part of my vocabulary for as long as I can remember. Long before it started getting popular in the last few years.

But for the first time, I realize hygge doesn’t just happen in a place. It happens with people too. I felt it with my grandparents, my mom—before she got sick—and Grandma Rose. They’re all gone—Mom in her mind—but the feeling of hygge isn’t.

I have it whenever I’m with Georgia.

That’s the place I’m most comfortable and content. With Georgia.

The realization stuns me as much as the realization Carly was cheating on me. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal the way that did.

But it does.

Except this time, it’s my heart doing the betraying, telling me I have feelings more than friendship for Georgia,

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