Page 61 of The Fiance Dilemma

“Josie,” he said.

My stomach dropped. Just like when the zipper had snapped.

“There’s a video,” Grandpa explained. “Of your wedding.” I noticed the smartphone in his hand. “To Greg.”

He didn’t need to say more.

I knew exactly what he meant.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As a teenager, I never smuggled alcohol out of Mom’s cabinet. She’d sat me down at some point in my early teens and told me that if I ever felt the need to try or was curious about getting drunk, she’d rather be there with me. That Thanksgiving I tried wine and sipped Grandpa Moe’s bourbon. I liked neither, and I remember thinking that day that some of my friends were crazy for risking getting grounded for something that left such a bad taste on your tongue.

Well, things had certainly changed since then.

At the ripe age of twenty-nine years old, I found myself risking something far worse than being grounded for drinking the only booze in the house: a bottle of rosé. The real stuff, not the placebo wine I gave Grandpa Moe after his stroke. I hadn’t meant to hide it, but when I noticed it had somehow been misplaced after I did The Swap, I decided to keep it in the laundry room, right behind the big bottle of detergent. Because a secret stash, even if accidental, always came in handy.

“Josie?” Grandpa Moe called from his room, bringing me to a halt in the middle of the hallway, rosé behind my back.

“Yes?”

“You still up?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t sleep either,” he admitted.

That ball of lead taking up all the space in my chest doubled in weight. “I know.”

There was a pause, and I knew exactly what he was going to say next. “You sure you’re okay?” Another careful pause. “We can talk. I can make you a grilled cheese.”

My fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle. “I’m okay,” I lied. “Plus, it’s past two in the morning. That’s a little late for grilled cheese.”

Silence followed, long enough that I started moving. But then Grandpa said, “I love you, honey. So you holler if you need me, okay?”

It took me a second to speak through the lump in my throat. “Love you too! Good night.”

Closing the door behind me, I didn’t waste any time plopping down right in the middle of the bed and placing the bottle on my nightstand. I still hadn’t decided if I wanted to open it, but I dragged it a little closer. Just in case.

I settled back against the headboard and blinked at the cream wallpaper in front of me. Then I glanced at the sun I’d painted one day, all these years ago, and never covered because it made me smile.

It didn’t tonight. It made me the opposite, and I didn’t have the heart to dissect why.

I didn’t want to think. I wanted to be blank. To be numb. To turn into an inanimate object without overwhelming emotions. I could be a vase. Hold flowers. Bring joy into a room. Breathe that last wisp of life into something meant to sag and shrivel.

That thought had a dark aftertaste. I didn’t like it, but sagging and shriveling seemed to be in the cards for me after all. A frame from the clip that half the country had seen now waltzed across my mind and I shook my head, shoving it away with a scoff.

I eyed the stack of books that had accidentally piled up at the foot of my bed. A spooky thriller, the autobiography of a pop star that promised all the 2000s goss, and a couple of spicy romance novels I’d been dying to read. None of that called out to me right now. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for getting spooked, gossip was a definite nope, and romance… should be the last of my priorities right now.

My gaze flickered to my dresser. The top drawer, where I’d decided to lock my phone. It had been blowing up with so many messages, so many reminders of all the things I didn’t want to think of, so many people asking if I was okay. I wasn’t, and I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d never done this. Ever. I wasn’t the kind of person who needed to retreat after a blow. Not even after Mom’s passing, and definitely not after I’d run away from any man I was supposed to marry.

In those instances, the people I loved brought me the comfort I needed. But not tonight. Tonight, I didn’t want to see Grandpa’s sadness. Or hear about Adalyn’s and Cameron’s concern. My father’s—and Bobbi’s—disappointment.

I was even struggling to face Matthew. Struggling with the concern and the protectiveness on his face after Grandpa had shown us the video. The absolute but silent refusal to go back to the Lazy Elk after we’d driven here. He’d wanted to stay, I’d seen it in his eyes. I’d seen all of that, all of this, overwhelming him too.

Matthew had waited for me to ask him. I wasn’t a fool, but I’d let him leave. Why stay?

I didn’t want to be checked in on tonight. I wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed. I just felt… ugly. Inside. All wrong. Like I wanted tocrawl out of my skin and hide under my bed until the world outside my door disappeared.

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