Page 10 of Bride on the Dotted Line

“Go home,” I tell it as I slam my trunk closed, arms heavy with grocery bags. It’s Saturday afternoon, sunny and chilly in that late-February way, and I’m shivering in my sweatpants. I should love Saturdays. They’re the only day of the week that I don’t have to worry about work meetings, the state of my office, or my clients.

Not being at work makes me itchy, though. And when I had coffee with friends this morning, all they wanted to talk about was you-know-who.

“Are his eyes really that gorgeous?”

“Did he really punch that bouncer at the Monarch Lounge?”

“What does hesmelllike?”

The last question was the one I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I know precisely what Nick smells like. In fact, I can’t seem to get him out of my nose. No matter where I go, I’m smelling rosemary and trees … Still, I took one look at the excitement in my friends’ faces, and I couldn’t tell them.

Who knows why. Something in me wants to keep that detail a secret.

On my fence, the cat stands and stretches, never taking its gaze off me. I glower at it.

“Isn’t Mrs. Martin wondering where you are?”

Mrs. Martin is my landlady. She lives upstairs, and I have no doubt she’s been talking shit about me to her cat. That’s why it’s always around, lurking. It hops down off the fence as I take the three steps down to my basement suite, purring and getting underfoot.

“Shoo,” I tell it as it rubs against my legs. “Before your mother hears you.”

“Oh, is that Sienna?”

My heart sinks. “Thanks a lot.” I set my bags of groceries on the ground and do a slow spin, clutching my keys in my right hand. “Mrs. Martin?”

Footsteps clunk down the porch steps above me. I make a face at the cat, which does the cat version of flipping me off: it curls up on the ground and goes to sleep.

“Sienna.” Mrs. Martin appears next to my car, hands on her hips. She has graying hair, hot pink glasses, and a sour attitude. I like her a lot. “Rent’s due. It’s not exactly apay whenever you wantkind of thing.”

“I know,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. Work has been busy these last few days. I’ll slip it under your door tomorrow afternoon, I promise.”

She purses her lips, clocking my sneakers and oversized sweater. Behind her, the sidewalk is dusted with the last snow of the season, blades of brown grass showing through. “You getting enough sleep?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“And eating enough?”

I’ve had a granola bar, the last of a bag of mini marshmallows, and three slices of deli meat straight from the package today. Not exactly Café de Mario, but I’m surviving. I nod.

“Come on, Henry.” Mrs. Martin bends at the waist and scoops up her cat, which is named Henry, apparently. He settles into her chest and continues napping. “You know, Sienna, when I told your parents you could live here, I promised I wouldn’t let you work yourself into the ground. After what happened?—”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, playing the first few chords ofIrisby The Goo Goo Dolls.

Thank God.

“Sorry, Mrs. Martin!” I say, sticking my key into the lock and picking up my grocery bags.Iriscontinues to play as I rush inside my suite. “Got to take this. Let’s talk more next time.”

Safe with the door closed, I deposit my groceries on the kitchen counter and flick on the light.

My place is tiny and cluttered, but clean. There’s a mountain of gossip magazines covering my desk in the living room, evidence of my week of Nick Harwood research. My laptop is open on the couch, showing a paused video of Nick walking up a downtown street. The uploader titled the video:Nick Harwood Thinks He’s Better Than Everyone! Snob Caught on Camera.

I dust my hands, finally pulling out my ringing phone. The screen lights up with my mom’s face, a smiling picture I took on our trip to meet her family in Ostuni four years ago. Her name flashes at the bottom.Marcella Hayes.

I cast my eyes to the ceiling.

Out of the frying pan,I guess.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, and her present-day face appears on the screen, replacing the Italy picture. She looks much older now, her eyes a nest of wrinkles and stress lines, but she’s still beautiful. Always still beautiful.

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