Page 124 of My Wife
“She’s good at keeping secrets.” Probably. Maybe. I have no idea because I’ve never needed to ask her to keep one.
“It’s a terrible idea.” But he doesn’t say no.
“What about us being best friends?” I ask with a happy little bounce.
He grunts.
“Can we have a secret handshake?”
The corner of his lip twitches. “Can I touch your Bundt?”
I tip my head back in laughter.
Liam moves close, smoothing my hair behind my shoulder. My eyes lift to his. His gaze lands on my lips. He leans in until we’re a breath apart and asks, “Can I do this?
“For practice?”
Instead of answering, he presses his lips to mine. For practice, I’m sure.
We end up practicing a lot—missing out on pancakes, sneaking away to closets, taking long walks in the woods. We kiss so much that I lose track of time until three days go by and I’m in Mrs. Ellis’s master bedroom with sweeping views of the water and a well-appointed dressing room, getting ready to sayI do.
The driveway is full. The dress is on. The smiles are wide.
Is this really happening?
Belinda, Aunt Goldie, Grannie Bell, Grandma Dolly, Ingrid, and a slew of hockey friends somehow orchestrated what’s shaping up to be a beautiful day.
From what I’ve seen, the scenery combined with the décor is nothing short of enchanting. Towering pines, wide oaks strung with fairy lights, and paper birch border what Belinda now calls the wedding barn, previously known as the ice hockey hang-out where we’ll have the reception. Artfully arranged wheelbarrows, tin planters, and hanging baskets of wildflowers add splashes of color. At the water’s edge is a small platform under an arch composed of evergreen swag, flowers, and ribbon which is where we’ll say our vows.
Rows of chairs backed with sprays of cedar, white roses, anemones, and peachy ranunculus and dahlias, wrapped with bows, matching my bouquet, fill in as a live string band plays and birds sing.
High over the lake, sunshine bathes the scene in soft light and everything glows. I have an upside down and inside out déjà vu feeling … I have been in this situation before, dressed in a wedding gown, about to get married. But not like this.
With friends, family, and neighbors bustling around, coming and going, everyone comments on how lovely and happy I look. It could be that I’m not under the threat of a lizard cult curse. But I should be a ball of nerves, because the more I think about how we’re fooling everyone, the deeper the guilt goes.
It’s phony and I need to tell someone that’s not Cara. She was so excited to be my maid of honor, I don’t want to burst her bubble.
Biting my lip, I excuse myself to the laundry room where I stashed my bag. I dial a number I jotted down in my bullet journal when I stopped at a gas station somewhere between California and Nebraska.
An enthusiastic recorded radio voice says, “Hi, you’ve reached KLUT, Central Utah’s number-one station for daytime hits and nighttime chats. If you know the extension you’d like to reach, please dial it now. If not, please listen carefully as our options on the dial do change, but be sure not to turn yours and tune in to KLUT day and night.”
I listen for DJ Melody in the directory and then press the numbers. I hear another recording this time of her inviting callers to leave love notes or call back during her Love Lines After Dark hour. Even with the time difference, I can’t delay what’s about to happen. But I need someone to know.
Drawing a deep breath, I decide to leave an anonymous message, “Hi, Melody. I heard your show right after I was left at the altar. I’m about to get married again. Not to the same guy. But not exactly for love. More like, well,like. I like him. A lot. Okay, maybe more than like. But we have a business arrangement. Kind of. I mean, I think. We’ve kissed. He’s my boss. Saying this out loud, so scattered and vague, makes it sound crazy and maybe it is. I guess I just needed someone to know. I’m sure you’ve heard some wild stories, but thanks for listening.” I click my phone off, conflicted.
I don’t feel relieved nor did I receive a clear sign that I should call off the wedding.
I gaze out the window. Liam, in a tux, stands below with his brother and dad. I’m in the land of giants—tall people, big personalities. Lots of love in this family.
Maybe I don’t belong. But perhaps I could.
Catching me alone by the window as I survey the scene unfolding below, Cara asks, “Are you okay?”
Letting out a breath, I answer, “I was his assistant, then nanny, and now I’ll be his wife. If he shows up.”
“Uh, Jess. We’re looking at him. Waiting. For you.” She takes my hands and squeezes, knowing what happened with Rexlan and likely that I’m feeling as delicate as the lace on my gown.
“But what if he decides he prefers his assistant?” I realize how ridiculous that sounds because I am his assistant.
