“That wasn’t part of the act. Not all of it, anyway.” I blow out my cheeks. “I fell for her. I slept with her. She knew everything about me. I gave her a whole file of my life, my history, my fears. I even told her about Andy. And then I found out that she wasn’t who I thought she was.”
A tear slides down my cheek and I wipe it away, hoping no one noticed. I hate that I’m getting emotional over Blair. I hate that in the short amount of time we spent together, I somehow let her in.
"I hired a stranger to pretend to love me and then I actually started to believe it was real. What does that say about me? I'm the wedding planner who doesn't believe in love, and I fell for a fantasy anyway. I’m pathetic."
"You’re not pathetic, Liv. Yes, it’s a weird thing to do and I’m not sure how I feel about you lying to me and bringing a total stranger to my wedding but…." Emma sighs. “Why did you lie? Why did you tell me you had a girlfriend named Sailor? I mean, if you’re cooking up a fake girlfriend, at least give her a normal name.” She lets out a chuckle, releasing some of the tension between us.
“It’s a long story. We can talk when you’re back but not right now. Anyway, I just want you to know that I’m really, really sorry.”
"Look, I'm not going to pretend this doesn't hurt," Emma says. “I’ll call you when we’re back and we can talk more, okay?” She pauses. “But Liv? I love you. And I want you to be happy. Actually happy, not just busy enough to avoid being sad."
"I love you too, and I’ll be fine. Enjoy your honeymoon and stop worrying about me."
"Can't promise that. You're my sister."
We hang up and I sit there, staring at my dark laptop screen. At least the truth is out now. Maybe that means I can put it behind me and stop thinking about Blair. Because I don’t want to think about her ever again.
36
BLAIR
"Blair, honey..." Mom shakes her head, cradling her teacup. "You went along with the charade just because you were bored?"
We're sitting on the back porch in rocking chairs. The setting sun slants across Mom's vegetable garden, illuminating rows of tomato plants heavy with fruit and pepper bushes that are still producing despite the season. Beyond the garden, the pasture stretches toward the tree line—a mix of oak and maple hinting at autumn colors. It's still warm, the kind of Indian summer day where the air feels thick and golden.
Mom made us tea after I finished telling her everything. "There's nothing a good cup of tea can't fix," she said, a phrase she picked up from Mrs. Patterson, the British au pair who lived with us for three years when Danny was younger. Mrs. Patterson believed tea was the solution to every crisis, from scraped knees to existential dread, and apparently the philosophy stuck with Mom.
"I know it’s ridiculous." I take a sip of my Earl Grey with milk and sugar, watching steam rise from the cup. "I really liked her,Mom. And now she wants nothing to do with me anymore." I let out a hollow laugh. "Though Danny says I should keep trying."
"Maybe he's right.”
"Maybe." I set my cup down on the small table between us. Through the open workshop door, I hear the buzz of John's table saw—he's been working on a new bookshelf for Danny's room all afternoon. Danny is upstairs, finally asleep after another movie marathon wore him out. I'm grateful for this moment alone with Mom, for the chance to talk without an audience.
"I just want you to be happy, sweetheart," Mom says. "I'm so proud of everything you've accomplished—the company you built, the success you achieved. But money doesn't buy happiness, cliché as that sounds. I think this situation with Liv is just highlighting something deeper. Everyone needs focus in their lives to make them feel fulfilled. Love is just the cherry on top."
I nod, staring out at the garden. She's got a point.
"I've been thinking about that," I say, ready to change the subject because dwelling on my romantic failures isn't getting me anywhere. "About what comes next, I mean. I think I'd like to buy an old building and restore it."
Mom's eyebrows rise with interest. "What kind of building?"
"I'm not sure yet. Something historic, something with bones that deserves to be saved." I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "I need a huge project, Mom. Something tangible. I'm done with cybersecurity, done with staring at screens. I want to create something that people can actually see and touch, and I have the funds to do it."
Mom smiles. "That sounds amazing. You always loved helping me restore furniture when you were younger. Making old and tired things beautiful again. Do you remember that secretary desk we found at that estate sale in Hendersonville?"
"The one that was covered in about twelve layers of paint?" I grin at the memory. "We spent days stripping it down."
"And you were so patient with it. You were only fourteen, but you understood that restoration can't be rushed." Mom turns to me. "Maybe it's something we could do together?"
I blink, surprised. "Together? But you already run a big business."
"I've employed good people," she says with a wave of her hand. "The managers know what they're doing, and honestly, I've been looking for something new to sink my teeth into. The shops practically run themselves at this point." She leans back in her chair, considering. "Are you thinking New York?"
"Yes. It's my home now. And Mom, there are so many derelict buildings there—places that used to be landmarks, buildings with incredible architecture just sitting there, wilting away."
The word choice makes her smile. "Wilting. Like they're living things."
"They are, in a way." I think about the buildings I sometimes pass that make me stop and stare. "There's an old theater in the Lower East Side—the Royale. It's been abandoned for decades, but you can still see the Art Deco details on the facade, these beautiful geometric patterns in the stonework. And there's an old textile factory in Brooklyn, right on the waterfront. Must be twelve stories at least, with these massive arched windows."
