Page 42 of Just My Fake Husband

She has friends here. They seem nice. I peek my head around the doorway and see their faces. Skye’s back is to me but those faced my direction seem so much like Skye. The bright, bespectacled eyes, the sense of humor and warmth. She’s never had a tribe before.

There is no way of knowing if this will actually turn out okay.

She gives up a cackle, dropping her head back. The others laugh, too.

A flash of a thought brands my brain, of Skye sinking in quicksand, of her fingertips brushing mine out of reach as she sinks lower and lower until I can’t see her anymore. Until she’s long gone, swallowed whole.

Why is it thatIcan’t breathe?

Maybe I’m the one sinking.

Surprisingly, I slept like the dead last night. Like I was in a colorless, vacuous tomb. It’s a good thing I didn’t lie awake, tossing and turning because I need to be in a very particular frame of mind.

It’s my wedding day, y’all!

I get up and get ready for work, biting the inside of my cheek as Skye throws a royal fit when the movers take her boxes of stuff. It doesn’t click for her until Jana drives us over to Caring Souls to show her that they did indeed put the boxes in her new room there. Since, legally, she can stay there starting today, I left her there.

I bawl my eyes out as Jana takes me to work and then drives back over to Tollark to her job at Caring Souls. A good, healthy ugly cry. And Jana just lets me, handing me tissues without me needing to ask her.

Also? She says she can keep Lunchie at her place for the time being.

Have I mentioned I have the greatest best friend in the entire Universe?

And guess what? I was on one at work. I probably should have called in sick, but I just can’t add to the lies I’ve already told. IfI wasn’t complaining about every little thing, I was texting Jana and calling the social workers at Caring Souls, checking up on Skye.

They say she’s fine. I’ll decide that when I see her myself this afternoon.

Every time I saw one of the Tates, a brother or one of their wives, I felt guilty thinking,Little do you know I’m almost your sister-in-law.

The plan is for us to text out a photo of us in our wedding attire, holding up the marriage certificate outside the courthouse with the caption, “We’ve eloped!” to our families.

The entire Tate family is going to go ballistic.

Better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. Or something like that.

Gabriel assured me that, no, I can’t just go home and spend my wedding night with Jana watching movies and gorging on M&Ms. We have to be careful with appearances. So we’re going to be hiding out at his house, which is where the movers have taken my stuff—those guys really earned their keep these last couple of days. I’m only bringing the things I’m going to need for now. The rest will be in storage for the duration of this marriage.

Jana picks Skye and me up, takes us back to her place since our house is a cavernous empty hole right now, and we get our gowns on and do our hair and makeup. Skye’s too excited about the wedding to care about all the primping. I get tripped up at my reflection in the mirror. No veil. Just blonde waves with a bejeweled comb. More eyeliner than I usually do. A burgundy lipstick that I love.

Thoughts of my parents make my heart hurt as we drive to the county courthouse in Longdale, but I shove those thoughts out. This isn’t the time. I can’t cry anymore today.

Skye’s so excited about the wedding that she won’t tell me much about her first official day at Caring Souls. I just hope she’snot disappointed in the fact that the wedding is going to be like two minutes long, and about as exciting as a doctor’s well-check appointment.

I carefully remove myself from Jana’s car when we get there, making sure I don’t close any part of my dress in the door. Milo and Gabriel are in the lobby as we walk in. Gabriel’s hands are slung in his pockets, dimples extra dimply as he smiles and ducks his head. He has the audacity to look incredible in his medium-blue suit.

“You’re late,” he says.

“It’s a bride’s privilege,” I counter.

He doesn’t seem too worried about the time. “But you look unreal—in a good

way,” he says. Instead of shying away from his bold gaze, my posture straightens.

“Thank you,” I say. I can’t bring myself to smile, but I hold out my hand and focus on his blue darkly-fringed eyes. He waits a moment before taking my hand, holding it up like I’m royalty.

We hurry up the stairs, which is not easy to do in this dress.

How is he so calm? How dare he be so calm!

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