And our timeline to solve this just got cut down to seven days.
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.
I think we’re fucked.
Chapter 4
Amanda
“One week,” I say faintly as I unlock the door to the cabin at the edge of Tinsel that I use every time I visit my family. After the cookout, Dane drove us back to Lorelei’s house so I could get my rental car, and then he followed me out here. We won over his cousin, so we’ve agreed that the fake engagement is still on. “One week.And they’re planning an actual wedding.An actual wedding.”
“If they don’t think it’s real, this won’t work. And they’re right. If this were real, itwouldbe the wedding of the century in Tinsel.”
He doesn’t seem aggravated. Just patient with a side of pensive as he follows me inside. We’re both pulling suitcases, and he has a backpack too. Chili trudges along like it’s an insult to his doghood that he’s not sleeping in front of a fan right now.
“My grandma called while we were on our way out here. I lied to her. I mean, it’s the truth that your cousin is setting up a cake, but it’s a lie that we’re getting married.” I will not hyperventilate. I will not hyperventilate. I will not hyperventilate.
I did this to myself.
Now I get to face the consequences.
“Her heart okay this time?” Dane asks.
I sigh. “Now she says she’s getting the flowers. Not because she approves, but because your family would screw them up.”
He sighs too.
“Can we honestly pull this off in a week?” I ask him.
“Are we willing to live with what happens if we don’t try?”
And there’s the kicker.
If our families weren’t feuding, would I still be expected to move home and work in the bakery?
Probably.
But if there wasn’t that pride that went along with running a better business than the Silvers do, would it be easier for Grandma to swallow the idea that the Gingerbread House might not stay in our family forever?
I don’t know.
I don’t want to think about it.
So instead, I think about something possibly worse. “Lorelei’s never going to talk to me again when we break up.”
Dane shakes his head. “Yes, she will.”
I’m not panicking. I’m—okay, yes. I’m panicking.
All the things that could go wrong—“The next step is that weactually get marriedbecause I can’t—I can’t—”
Because I can’t tell my family the truth that I don’t want to give up the life I love in New York to help my mom run the bakery, and I’ll be letting Dane down if I bail on this fake engagement before seeing if we can carry it through to a point that our families attempt to get along.
I feel like I’m seven years old again, pulling a fire alarm at school because I wanted to see what would happen, and then lying to everyone about it being me. Knowing how disappointed my parents would be if they ever found out.
Doing stupid, rash, impulsive things without considering the consequences.
And now look where we are.
