“I saw that your follower count exploded.”
“So did my DMs. Clearly getting engaged to a public figure helps your influencer status. I’m suddenly inundated with requests to collaborate.”
“That’s so exciting!”
“I have a bunch of new messages in my Dearly Beloved inbox too,” I told her, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I haven’t even looked at them yet. Anyway, I have to go, but I’ll see you here at four. Feel free to bring Dex and the girls if you want.”
“Will all of Hutton’s family be there too?”
“No. We saw them for brunch this morning. It’s just the MacAllisters tonight.”
“Pretty soon, your name won’t be MacAllister anymore. You’ll be Felicity French! If you change your name, I mean.” Then she sighed. “I’d like to be Winnie Matthews someday. You’re so lucky.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
We hung up and I sat there for a moment, unable to help the smile that crept onto my lips.
Felicity French sounded fucking awesome.
While Hutton worked out, I ran over to the reunion venue to pick up the platters I’d left there last night, and then home to pack. I was glad—for selfish reasons—that the house was empty. I wasn’t ready to answer detailed questions yet.
Dragging my suitcase out from under the bed, I emptied some dresser drawers into it, added a few things from my closet and a couple pairs of shoes, then shoved my makeup bag, hair products, and some random other toiletries into an overnight bag. It wasn’t everything, but it would get me through one month. After slinging my laptop case over my shoulder, I lugged everything downstairs.
But as I was struggling to get out the front door, I encountered Millie on the porch.
She stuck her hands on her hips. “Running away?”
It felt like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “I was going to call you.”
“And say what?”
“Um, that I’m engaged to Hutton?” It came out as a question and Millie burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” I demanded.
“You’re not really engaged to Hutton,” she said, shaking her head. “There is no way you’ve been secretly dating him for a month. I talk to you every day. I see you all the time. I just asked you about him yesterday. Now tell me the truth.”
I shifted my weight nervously from foot to foot. “The truth is . . . complicated.”
“Good thing I’m smart.”
“And it’s a long story.”
“Good thing I’ve got time.”
Unable to look her in the eye, I glanced around. It had stopped raining, and the sun was bright. Puddles were evaporating. Sidewalks were drying out. Birds tweeted. An airplane droned overhead.
Millie began tapping her foot.
“The thing is . . .” I hedged, and for possibly the first time in my life, I couldn’t find any random thing to blurt. Maybe because I knew my big sister wouldn’t accept the usual deflection. Exhaling, I gave up. “The thing is, I opened my big mouth at the reunion last night when Mimi Pepper-Peabody-soon-to-be-Van Pelt cornered me and made me feel bad about myself, and I said I was engaged to Hutton.”
Millie’s jaw dropped. “Oh, shit.”
“Then I hid in a coat closet and begged him to come to the reunion and pretend it was true.”
“And he did?”
I nodded. “He showed up in a suit and tie just like I asked and stood there while I said a bunch of ridiculous things to Mimi and her fiancé about our wedding, including the fact that it’s taking place at Cloverleigh Farms at the end of August.”
“I know. I read about it on dirty-little-scoop-dot-com.”
“You read that tabloid crap?”
She shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m addicted to celebrity gossip.”
I fidgeted, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know how it all got out so quickly. It was just supposed to be a fun game for the night, a way to get back at Mimi for being such a twat-waffle. I told her not to say anything.”
“Well, it’s out there now. Somehow it—” Millie stopped. “Wait, did you say Van Pelt? Is that Mimi’s fiancé’s last name?”
“Yeah. He has a funny name.” I thought for a second. “Thornton! Thornton Van Pelt.”
“That’s how it got out,” Millie said. “The Van Pelts own a media conglomerate—websites, cable networks, newspapers, social media, online tabloids. I bet they own Dirty Little Scoop. Basically, you told the worst possible people your secret.”