Page 70 of Catch and Release Groom

That inspired her to hastily thumb out the automatic answer she’d wanted to give and hit send.

Imogen:It’d be easier to explain over the phone. Unless that’s weird???

Did a shared week at a lakeside resort even equate to that level of friendship? She wasn’t sure but knew if anyone would be willing to forgo social norms, it’d be Margot.

Relief tumbled through her when the phone rang instead of pinged, and she hovered a finger over the accept button. “Wow, they upped the ante by requesting video.”

Imogen answered, a pinch desperate to talk to anyone who knew Easton. Well, met him, anyway.

Any possible connection that might prolong it from fizzling all the way out.

Because then it’d truly be over.

Constance’s tawny-and-ash curls and about half of Margot’s face filled the screen, and Imogen put on the cheeriest smile she could. “Hey, you two!”

They grinned and waved and debated the best place to set her—or the phone, as it were.

After a few shaky seconds, she ended up propped on the coffee table, while the actual newlyweds settled on their couch in Seattle alongside their two animals: a noisy chihuahua that refused to stay still, and a long-haired cat with yellow eyes that was definitely plotting the tiny dog’s demise.

It was sothemthat tears clogged Imogen’s throat. No, it might not be possible to learn everything about someone within a week of meeting them, yet she knew who Margot and Constance were at their core, the same way she did Easton.

Talking about him would hurt, but she also craved confirmation he’d been real and it’d happened. Since there wasn’t any delicate way to start, she launched into the truth about her and Easton. From calling off her wedding to Brett a month beforehand to forging ahead with their honeymoon trip solo and in the name of self-discovery—only for every event to require two and revolve around matrimony.

“So we struck a deal. Easton would pretend to be my new husband if I attended his ex’s wedding. I should’ve realized that meant he wasn’t over her, and that he’d end up choosing her over me…”

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Constance said with an insistent shake of her head. “We were there. We saw the chemistry between you two.”

Margot took her wife’s hand and patted it soothingly. “We did. We also couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at you.”

“Sí.His gaze, it tracks you everywhere you go.”

Imogen affected a casual shrug, although her feelings on the matter being anything but. “It was all fake.”

It’s been five days. If he’d changed his mind, you would’ve known by now.

Both women cocked their heads, their uniform expressions calling bullshit. Her illogical heart had whispered the same as she’d read a quaint recap of “Grace Harper’s lavish small-town wedding.”

Never one to subscribe to the ignorance-is-bliss adage, late one night, after a glass or three of wine, she’d input “Grace Harper’s wedding” into a search engine. Nothing relevant appeared until she’d added “Uncertainty,” and wasn’t that just a fun twist of irony?

“It’s impossible for people to fake it that well,” Margot said. “I’d know. I kept faking my way through marriage after marriage, until I realized it wasn’t the men; it was that they weren’t women. As bold as I am about every other part of who I am, I was afraid my family wouldn’t accept me—and sadly, there are a few members I don’t speak to anymore because they refuse to.”

Constance wrapped Margot in a snug side hug. “If I could take away the sting, mi amor, I would.”

Margot sniffed and locked eyes with Imogen through the screen. “When it comes down to it, love—the real, forever kind of love—is worth it. Whatever it takes.”

They bobbed their heads in agreement, grinning at each other, their quarreling pets, and Imogen.

“I agree,” she said thickly, fighting the tightness in her throat. “It’s why I’m now one hundred percent sure I made the right choice by calling off my wedding. But when it comes to Easton…”

With a swear and a long exhale to calm her scrolling, she finally spotted the groom’s name. Uncertainty’s local paper referred to him as “Atlanta via Hollyweird Actor, Hunter Blair.”

As she’d reminded the reckless swell of optimism, just because Grace married someone else didn’t mean Easton hadn’t tried to talk her out of it. Nor did it negate that on that day, he’d chosen his ex, loud and clear.

“Obviously, there was a strong attraction,” Imogen continued, staying the course so she wouldn’t cry, “but that was all it was. What you saw wasn’t love, just lust.” Her voice wavered, betraying it’d been more for her, but she doubted that was a news flash.

“Sorry, but you’re dead wrong,” Margot said, and Constance placed a gentling hand on her wife’s shoulder as if reminding her that Imogen was fragile right now, and she really freaking was.

“Do you honestly think we don’t know the difference?” Constance asked. “Thatyoudon’t know the difference?”

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