“It’s… You like him,” she states. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“I... Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah, I do.”
“Don’t fall for him, Sienna,” she warns.
Tears prick my eyes. “Too late.”
She sighs. “Oh, Sienna.”
I suck in a sharp breath, trying to calm down. “I need to get dressed. They’ll be here soon.”
“Good luck. I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Jem.”
I hang up and hurry to get dressed.
Time to play pretend,I think as I paste on a smile and make my way downstairs.
And try to remember that this is all pretend.
EIGHT
Heath
My front doorbellrings like a starting gun, and every muscle in my shoulders locks tight.
Sienna’s fingers lace with mine, and I glance down at her.
“Ready?” she whispers, blue eyes bright and brave.
“No,” I admit, because lying to her feels wrong in my mouth. “But I’ve got you. I won’t let them be dicks to you.”
She nods once, and I sigh as I open the door.
My family spills into my house in a flurry of designer wool, chilled perfume, and loud opinions. I’m on edge as soon as they step into my home. All I want to do is shove them out, then slam and lock the door.
My mother, Victoria, air-kisses the side of my face and leaves a print of red on my cheek that I instantly scrub off. My father, Charles, scans the foyer like he’s appraising a property and already deciding what to gut. My sister, Elise, sails in last, talking to our cousin, Brandon, about a gallery opening or something else pretentious.
“Darling,” my mother trills, breezing past Sienna without a second look to take in the living room, the view, the stone fireplace. “Spartan, but… it’s cute.”
“It’s perfect,” Sienna corrects softly.
She means it. She always means it. That’s one of a hundred reasons I can’t breathe when she looks at me.
“It’s… rustic,” Elise says, wrinkling her nose as if the word has splinters.
“Wilderness chic. How fitting for our Heath,” Brandon adds, flashing a grin that never meets his eyes.
My father stops in front of the picture window, hands clasped behind his back. “At least the lot is spectacular.”
“Everyone,” I say, squeezing Sienna’s hand once before facing them. “This is Sienna. My fiancée.”
For half a beat, the room is dead silent, all eyes staring at us.
Then…
“Fiancée?” my mother repeats, crisp as ice cracking on the lake. “As in… engagement?”
