“He is a sweetheart,” someone else agreed. “I was so happy when he outgrew that ugly duckling phase. I knew his moment was coming.”
“Are you having a reception? You have to have a reception,” another woman said, wedging a tin of cookies into the crook of my elbow.
“If you do, I’ll bake the cake,” a third woman said. “This is so exciting! Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” I managed from behind an armload of flowers, wine, and assorted treats. “I didn’t realize the news was out.”
That was a delicate way of asking how the hell all these people knew about our under-the-radar marriage and why the information landed this morning, right around the time I was keyed up for another round between the sheets with Noah.
“I heard it from Jaclyn Ramos,” a fourth woman said. “She wasn’t sure if you kids were keeping it quiet or what but then she saw you smooching all over each other last night at the festival.”
Ah, Jaclyn. This hurricane had a name. And, evidently, no concern for privacy.
“That old hen knows everything before anyone else,” another woman said. “Goes to her head too.”
“How long has she worked at Providence City Hall? What is it, thirty, thirty-five years? Of course she knows everything,” someone said. I couldn’t keep track of these people, not with all these flowers in my face. “But I’m sure these two don’t mind her spreading the word.”
Whyever would we mind half the town appearing at our door with the sunrise?
“Why would they?” someone chided. “These two are in love. Just look at them. Everything about them is so charming. That Ferris wheel damn near caught on fire last night. Everyone saw it.”
I laughed but not for the reason any of these people expected. I laughed because they believed whatever they wanted to believe, the same way they had when I came here as a kid. They’d seen a spoiled little rich girl and they’d filled in the blanks as they saw fit. No one cared about knowing me beyond the highlights—famous mother, Swiss boarding school, Prada backpack—unless they wanted to know why I was living with Lollie, why I’d left the boarding school, why I couldn’t simply live with my mother and be like any other family.
Those people didn’t care to know me any more than the ones who read an entire world into the clothes my mother’s personal shopper had sent from Barneys. But they wanted a piece of me just the same.
On the other side of the drive, Noah was trapped between Jim Wheaton and a younger man Gennie had introduced as Mr. Bones a few weeks back. I was only partially convinced that was his real name.
“You married her,” I heard Jim say, his arms banded over his broad chest. “Youmarriedher.”
“And you didn’t tell us,” Mr. Bones said. “You married her and you didn’t mention a word of this.”
“You married her,” Jim repeated.
Noah glanced in my direction then, gave a slight shake of his head at the crowd gathered around us. I shrugged in response.
He arched his brows up as if to saywhat the hell happened?
I rolled my eyes.Fuck if I know.
He gave me a rueful smile.Could be worse, right?
I grinned back.I don’t want to know how.
One of the goats gave a loud bleat and then they all followed suit, calling and hollering back and forth until it was too noisy to continue our conversations. The visitors started backing toward their trucks and four-wheelers, waving their goodbyes. There were hugs and well-wishes, more bottles of wine and champagne, and several not so thinly veiled comments tossed between our visitors about how they were keeping the newlyweds from our time together.
The problem wasn’t that they were taking our time. It was that we’d never find our way back to the quiet bliss of lazing in bed with each other for the first time now that everything was out in the open.
“Time to move out,” Mr. Bones called, motioning the goats forward. “Gotta get these gals up to yoga class.”
“Why are you even here today?” Noah asked him. He motioned to Jim. “Or you? It’sSunday.”
Jim winked. “Let’s just say it’s a special occasion.”
As the group cleared—slowly and with several invitations to join families for dinner sometime soon—Noah and I retreated toward the farmhouse.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked as he waved to Mrs. Castro and her horse.
“It seems we have Jaclyn Ramos to thank.”
