Page 73 of Perfectly Wedded

“He was there. At the gala,” I start slowly.

“Was his little girlfriend there too?” Jaz is still furious at Anthony for dropping me and running straight into the arms of one of his skaters. “I would’ve loved to have seen his face when he saw you with Vale. Anthony and Vale couldn’t be more different.”

“He was shocked to find out we were a couple,” I say.Even though Vale made it up.Our relationship started out as a ruse, then continued that way into our marriage. Saying it out loud sounds ludicrous, but I try.

“It’s how everything began,” I say, fumbling for words. “They were engaged. And Vale suggested we one-up them.”

“By getting married?” Her eyebrows fly up.

“No, engaged.” It’s hard to explain the sequence of events now. It all happened so fast. Pretending we were engaged, then deciding to elope. In hindsight, it seemed like the answer to my problems—the breakup, the relapse—all solved with a quick trip to the altar. “It wasn’t because of Anthony that we married. There’s more to it.” That part is true at least.

“Love, right?” Her response is so automatic, it pains me.

I hesitate. Right now, I wish I could go back to Vegas, rewind the clock and call Jaz before I made this enormous, life-changing decision. But part of me was afraid she’d talk me out of going through with it, explaining all the ways it could go off the rails, like a checklist of how to ruin your life by eloping with your best friend.You’re not good at sticking with things. Can you really be different now?

Yes, I can.I know that now.

But I also feel a pinch of regret: I should’ve told Jaz and not waited. I should’ve braced myself for her pushing back on my insecurities. In the end, I still would’ve married Vale. That was the right thing to do because underneath the excuses, I love him.

But I can’t undo what’s already done. I can only choose to tell her the truth now. “Well, about that...”

Jaz’s phone buzzes from her beach bag. She glances at the screen, her brow furrowing.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“It’s Dad. Wondering where I am.”

“Dad? Why would he ask where you are, unless...”

She stares at his message. “He’s in Sully’s Beach. At our house. And Leo just answered the door.”

“Uh-oh. Why is he there?”

She shrugs. “Because he couldn’t find anyone better to hang out with would be my guess. I’m telling him we’re on vacation.” She types a text, then laughs. “I bet Leo gave him a warm welcome.”

“More like growled at him to get off our property,” I add.

I blink and wonder if I should let her resolve this with Dad first.Why didn’t Dad text me?

Probably because he knows how much Jaz holds against him. How she’s always hated his lies and never forgiven him for walking away from our family after the truth came out.

Her phone beeps. She studies the text, then shakes her head. “He says he wants to get together when we get back.” She tosses her phone back in her bag.

“Aren’t you going to answer him?”

“No. You know he hides the truth. Makes promises he can’t keep. I can’t stand when people lie to me. Especially family.”

Something twists inside me, wrenching me.

Before Mom died, Dad promised he’d always put us first. That he’d be there for us. For a long time, he was. He remarried, and things were good for years, until that one day, when we found out Dad was cheating. When Jaz walked in on him kissing someone who wasn’t our stepmom, it broke something in her. She couldn’t trust Dad after that, and it altered her ability to forgive anyone who lied to her, no matter the reason. After that,whenever Dad made a promise, then didn’t show up, it felt like he was reopening a scab.

“What if he’s there when we get back?” I ask.

“That’s not like Dad,” she says, turning back to her magazine. “He’ll be gone. Some people never change.” She flips a page, her knee propping up the magazine, her eyes flicking over the stylized images of a stranger’s home remodel. A family poses on a porch—a picture of joy in the perfect home. It’s so uncomplicated, and at the same time so out of reach, it’s laughable.

“What was it you were saying about you and Vale?” she asks, never looking away from the page.

“Nothing,” I murmur, the guilt clawing at my throat. I can’t have her look at me the way she does when she talks about Dad.

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