How to Ruin a Wedding(73)

“Okay, but—” I hesitate, then push, “What about John? What’s he doing to fix this?”

She stiffens just slightly. “What can he do?”

“I don’t know. Something. He picked the realtor. He pushed for this house. Shouldn’t he be making calls? Talking to lawyers? Taking responsibility?”

Valerie crosses her arms. “He’s devastated, too, okay? He knows it’s bad. I don’t need him to fix it—I just need him not to spiral. He’s not great with stress.”

“That’s not the same as being helpful.”

Her gaze sharpens. “He’s trying. He’s calling around. He’s upset. But he doesn’t have connections like I do. He doesn’t have a rich dad with lawyers on call. It’s different for him.”

I hold back from pushing harder, but I can feel the words trying to claw their way out. Different doesn’t mean he gets to screw up and let you carry the fallout. If there’s already trouble like this before marriage, imagine what could happen after.

Instead, I say, “You made the registry to have other people buy what you need while you try to recover.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “And being poor sucks. No offense.”

“Hard to be offended if it’s true.” I pause. “But seriously. If John’s this bad with money, how are you two planning to handle joint finances?”

Valerie shrugs like it’s too heavy to think about. “Anders warned me he was bad with money. Said every time someone asked for help back in college, John gave them whatever he had. That the rest he lost playing cards.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “And now I’ve just proven to Anders that I’m just as irresponsible. If he finds out, he’ll never let it go.”

If Anders finds out his suspicions were right—that John hasn’t changed, that he’s still reckless with money and now has direct access to Valerie’s—he’ll picture a future of joint accounts, shared debt, and the tears and stress of his sister, and walk into the wilderness never to be seen again.

“So,” Valerie says, like she’s trying to reset the tone, “tonight, when we’re out, you can’t act weird about this. Process it, then remove it from your memory.”

I open my mouth, shut it again. “We’re?” I ask. “Where are we going?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Anders’s birthday party tonight.”

My eyes go wide for a second before I force myself to play it cool.

“Ah.” I slap her arm playfully. “I thought you meant earlier, before that. I’m taking Anders out for a little stroll before the party. Private time. You know, romantic prelude.” I’m rambling. “I thought you were inviting yourself to our pre-date.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right, I don’t need to third-wheel you and my brother.”

“Right.”

She checks her phone. “When’s your date? You should probably head out soon—the party’s in a couple hours.”

“Right, right,” I say, rising. “Let’s get moving, then.”

Valerie grabs my arm before I go. “And remember—this stays between us.”

“I gave you my pinkie,” I say, like that means anything.





24.


Valerie drops me off in front of Anders’s home. Shortly after she drives off, Taina pulls up in her rental car.

“Going to explain what’s going on?” Taina says when I throw myself into the passenger side.

“Yeah, later,” I say, “but now, I need you to dress me up for a party.”

Easily distracted, Taina smiles. “Oh, amazing, you’ll look so good in this black slip-on I just got.”

When we get back to the rental, I hurriedly shower and straighten my hair. When I’m on my last strand, my phone lights up with a call from Anders.

“Finally,” I say into the speaker, “where have you been? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?”

The line is quiet, then, “I was busy.”

Which is at least a more polite response than Oh, you can ignore all my calls and messages, but when I do it, it’s a problem?

“I almost blew it today,” I say. “Valerie brought up your party, and I had no idea.”

“I tried calling you before,” he points out. “I wasn’t sure what else to do. I was going to say you were sick if anyone asked.”

“I already played that card,” I say, slapping a hand over my face. I just admitted that playing sick when he needed me for his family dinner was a lie. Sloppy. “Anyway, missing this is too obvious. I’m getting ready now.”

“Okay.”

I hate how clipped his voice is, and the lack of words he uses instead of speaking to me with drawn-out sentences. And I hate that I hate it.

“I’ll be ready in an hour. I’ll drop the address where I’m staying. Pick me up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I snap, hanging up, ridiculously annoyed, even though I have zero right to be. I’m just a little frazzled. I was taken off guard. And the pressure of the wedding coming up is getting to me.