Page 212 of Vows We Never Made
What the hell would Jane Austen do with this?
There’s only one answer.
“The books can wait,” I say. “Let’s go hunt him down.”
Margot nods and takes a deep, deliberate breath. “Okay, thank God. Okay, I’ll call the local police department. Just to give them a heads-up before anything gets out of hand like someone getting their face punched in.”
“Cooper Daley,” Mom says slowly, her forehead wrinkling. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He’s gotten pretty big in real estate around here, Mom,” I tell her. “He was an intern for Leonidas once, kinda screwed them over. Then he said he wanted to make nice with Ethan. They were planning some big ski lodge project up north. But now I wonder, maybe he was just looking for an excuse to sue and get free land?”
Yes, my voice is bitter.
I hate that I was the one who delivered the apology that started this mess.
My clueless assbelievedhim when he came crawling up to me and said how sorry he was.
And I backed him up after Ethan insisted he was a viper.
It’s not my fault, no, but there’s still a guilty sting.
If I hadn’t played messenger, Ethan might’ve never taken him up on the deal. And now the entire company might suffer, the inheritance that should still be his. I mean, if he ever comes to his senses and finds a way around the whole fake marriage problem.
He won’t be torn up and crazy forever, right?
Ugh.
My stomach knots.
Mom leans against the side of the car, chewing her bottom lip as she thinks. Then she digs out her phone.
“I’m going to need some help making sure those boxes are secure,” I say. “Mom, what are you—”
“Cooper Daley. This Cooper?” she asks, holding up her phone.
I squint at the picture on the screen.
There’s a pretty, fit blonde woman, front and center, and the man holding her is—
Holy crap.
Cooper.
Is that his wife? Ethan mentioned one.
Frowning, I lean closer, scanning every detail. It must be Cooper and his wife, I decide.
She’s gorgeous and regal in that picture-perfect way rich people have, decked out in a high honey ponytail and just enough makeup to mask any flaws.
She could’ve played a cheerleader in a movie. Her smile is bright, her head tilted, and one hand is braced over Cooper’s on her waist. It’s a cute couple’s picture that looks like it was taken by a professional photographer.
“That’s him, I’m pretty sure. Where’d you find it?”
“Luna Daley,” Mom says quietly. “His wife. I know her. She comes to my yoga class when they’re in town.”
“Small world.” I stare at her blankly. “But what are you saying, Mom? Did Luna know Cooper’s evil plans?”
“No, not quite.” She sticks her phone back in her bag and looks up, still frowning. “I’m just saying, everyone in yoga has heard of Cooper Daley.”
