How to Ruin a Wedding(60)

While Olive and I finish up the last of the donuts, Anders walks in from a short call.

“Aunt Bethany is staying by the farm, you’re sleeping here,” he tells Olive, then me, with an explanation. “It’s a couple of hours away, and her astigmatism is bad at night. She’ll be back in the morning.”

Olive makes a victorious sound, then grips my arm. “Let’s watch all the Marvel movies.”

“Let’s,” Anders says, grabbing Olive’s shoulders and pushing her in the direction of the hall, “take a shower before anything else.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was in the ocean. The salt water already disinfected me.”

“A creative approach,” Anders says, “but not good enough. Shower.”

Olive shakes a thumb down in Anders’s face, the preteen equivalent of the middle finger, and I have to smother my laugh until she’s out of the room.

Anders stands there, puzzled. “Did she just flip me off?”

The laugh escapes me. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I used to be her favorite person.” He grabs my hand, which is still holding half a donut, brings it to his mouth and takes a bite.

I use the edge of my thumb to wipe stray frosting from his lip. “I’m sure you’re still at least in the top ten.”

He barks out a laugh. “At least.” He moves around me, trapping me by laying his hands on the counter by my hips. “You all set for tomorrow? Need anything from me?”

I shake my head. “All good, don’t you worry. Unless you have insider information of what to expect from the bridal party.”

He grimaces. “Keep your purse by you. One of them, Jennifer, is a kleptomaniac.”

“Excuse me?” I blink. “Maybe I shouldn’t assume this, but I figured Valerie’s friends would be, I guess, in a similar financial situation as she?”

He nods. “You’d be correct, but that did not stop Jennifer from stealing one of my Rolexes and Aunt Bethany’s pearl earrings.”

“One” of my Rolexes is a hefty reminder of our vastly different tax brackets, and I try not to flinch. No matter what I pretend, I’m not really a part of this life. Maybe my life’s puzzle piece fits perfectly beside Anders’s, but we’re in different shades, presenting different pictures.

“And she keeps her around because?”

“She’s actually a really nice person,” he promises. “Just, use a bag with a zipper.”

“Noted,” I say, though if she saw what little I have, she’d probably deposit a couple of dollars into my purse.

“Hey”—Olive appears beside us, narrows her gaze between us—“are you guys in a fight?”

“Huh?” I say, as Anders asks, “What makes you say that?”

She looks to me. “All your stuff is in the guest room and in the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Anders looks to me, wide eyed, for help.

“Of course not,” I assure her. “That’s all my sister’s. She came to visit.” An easy thing to say since, technically, most of the clothes are hand-me-downs.

“Really?” Olive says, looking around as if Taina will suddenly appear. “I didn’t know that, where is she?”

“Out with her husband,” I lie. “She came to stay for a bit, now they’re having a little TLC away. She’ll get her things when they’re back.”

“I want to meet your sister,” Olive says, as Anders grabs her shoulders again and starts pushing her to the hall. “Let me meet your sister.”

Unable to say another lie, I give her a thumbs-up as Anders takes her away. When they leave, I begin to clean up, my stomach starting a slow descent.

Olive is such a cute kid, and it’s clear she likes me. And I do her. It’s a lie that they’ll meet, but I know if she has any affection for me, she’d adore Taina. It would be cute to see them interact, but it seems I keep forgetting my time here comes with an expiration date.

“Lucinda,” Anders says, in a tone that says it’s not the first time he called my name.

“Sorry.” I put down the glass I just dried. “I think I need a shower. Can I use yours?”

“Of course.”

I move to his room and feel his presence shadowing me as I go. When I enter, there’s a light scent of lavender.

“Thank you for cleaning the sheets,” Anders says, as if the scent reminds him to. “You absolutely didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I say, heading to his attached bath, “but I like to clean. Helps me clear my mind.”

As I open the door, he grips the edge of it. “And what are you clearing your mind of?”

You, obviously.

Instead of voicing the thoughts, I gently shove him away. “If I don’t get this layer of grime off my skin in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to puke.”

He nods, then reveals my vanilla-scented bodywash from behind him like a magician. “I snagged this when Olive was searching through the drawers. Figured you wouldn’t want to smell like sandalwood.”

“Sandalwood and mango,” I say, then immediately burn when he cocks his head as I admit not only do I like the way he smells, I know exactly what he smells like. “Okay, thanks, bye.” I snatch the wash and shut the door in his face.