With my hand still inside my purse, my fingertips search for my marriage contract. Confusion flutters through my mind when I don’t find it.Shit. Did I misplace it? Why do I always keep losing things?I need the razor-sharp edge of the paper to sting me. To remind me that I’m a traitor. A liar. A deceiver.
This isn’t just about the pearls. My great-grandmother just shared a sacred chapter of her history with me. And in return, I’ve given her nothing but lies.
My marriage to Lincoln is fake. It’s a business deal meant to swindle this poor woman out of her money. The whole thing is an absolute farce.
I can’t go through with this any longer. I just…can’t.
“Can I make a confession?” I ask tentatively.
She shrugs a shoulder. “You can try. We’ll see how it turns out.”
I laugh.
I laugh and I laugh and I laugh.
Because this is a side of Josephine I’ve never seen before. The funny side. The sensitive side. Thehumanside.
And I can tell that she needed this moment of bonding as much as I did. Because when was the last time she was able to speak this openly? When was the last time she had someone (who isn’t on her payroll) sit and listen? When was the last time one of her great-grandchildren showed up at her door without looking for a handout?
I can’t snatch this moment away from her. Even if it’s built on a lie.
She sits across from me, eyeballing me with anticipation as she waits for my big confession. I can’t bring myself to tell the truth.
“The soup is awful,” I blurt out instead.
She barks out a sound of disbelief.
“It’s awful, Great-Grandma. Awful.”
“It isnot,” she huffs defensively, but I see the way her eyes are alight with amusement.
“It very much is,” I insist.
“How rude!” she says, barely restraining her laughter as she slams her crumpled napkin on the tabletop. “You are a guest in my house and you insult the meal I offered you?”
I shrug, rounding the table to help her out of her seat. “Next time, I’m bringing pizza.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she gasps, horrified as she loops her arm through mine.
I nod. “Pepperoni.”
“Julissa, that would not be proper.”
“With three kinds of cheese.”
“Absolutely preposterous.”
“Mmm…With Italian sausages,” I continue. “And banana peppers.”
“What on earth are banana peppers?”
“You’ll see.” I grin in her face.
We stare at each other. It’s a stand off.
“Fine.” She huffs. “I’ll make you a deal.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
