She doesn’t need to tell me. I know about Ben’s anger. It’s why I let him control me the way he used to do. Until he setme free, which is something he is clearly not willing to do with Penelope.
"Yes, he probably will be," I agree. "But that's better than ending up in jail."
We sit there in silence for a while, and I can feel Penelope working through her options in her head. The tears have stopped now, and her scent is shifting into something that smells like resignation mixed with a tiny bit of hope.
"I'm still going to marry him," she says finally. "But I'm going to figure out a different way to handle the money situation."
"Good," I say, and I mean it. "That's the right decision."
"Will you help me sort out the problems of this wedding?" Penelope asks suddenly, and the question catches me off guard. "I know it's a lot to ask, and you have every reason to refuse. But I need help, and you're the only wedding planner in town."
Every rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea. That I should not be helping Penelope plan her wedding to my ex. That I should tell her no and let her figure it out on her own.
But I also know that if I refuse, she's going to panic and probably go back to her original plan. I also know that the more I can stay involved with this wedding, the more I can make sure nothing illegal actually happens.
"I'll help you," I say, and I can feel the exact moment that my anxiety spikes in response to my own decision. "But we're doing this the right way. No fraud. No manipulation. No schemes. Just a simple wedding that's honest and legal."
"Thank you," Penelope says, and she sounds genuinely grateful. "You're saving my life."
The words should make me feel good, but they don’t, and I don’t know why.
We spend the next hour going through basic wedding planning stuff. She wants something modern but elegant forflowers. Not traditional because she's not a traditional person. Peonies and roses mixed with interesting greenery. Not just ferns.
For food, she wants seafood as the main option, but I remember Ben hates seafood. Or maybe things have changed, and he loves it the same way he loves her. She wants cocktails strong enough to make people forget how small the guest list is. An open bar all night because if nobody else is going to show up, at least the staff can drink.
The wedding should be small and intimate. Who's going to come at this point anyway? The rejection from the RSVP list has apparently broken something in her.
As we're going through all of this, Penelope leans back on the bed and sighs. "I'm going to need to figure out how to pay for all of this," she says quietly. "The venue, the flowers, the food. Everything costs so much."
"How are you planning to pay for it?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.
"Once the will comes through, I can pay you back for everything." She realizes what she's said immediately. Her face goes pale, scent spiking with panic. "I mean, I can pay all my debts back. I'm expecting money from my grandmother's estate. Once she passes, I'll have money for everyone. The bakery, the florist, the restaurant."
So her grandmother is actually dying. That part seems true. But the plan to access Ben's family money through marriage is still very much in play. Or maybe she's shifted gears to a different kind of fraud, taking advances on expected inheritance that might not materialize.
"That's not how this works," I say carefully. "You can't spend money you don't have based on assumptions about an estate. That's not a plan. That's fantasy."
"I know," Penelope says miserably. "But what else can I do? Ben's family won't help me. My grandmother's medication costs too much. I'm stuck."
I'm sitting in my hotel room with my ex's fiancée, who I recently discovered is planning fraud, and I'm starting to feel sorry for her. Which is probably the worst decision I've ever made, but here we are.
"Let me help you," I say, not entirely sure what I'm offering until the words are out. "Help you plan the wedding and figure out the finances. I can talk to vendors. Negotiate prices. Make sure what you're spending is realistic."
"You'd do that?" She sounds shocked. "Even after everything?"
"I'd do it because I don't want to see you destroy your life," I say honestly. I want her to make good choices. To help her grandmother without committing crimes. To be the kind of person who deserves happiness instead of always looking over her shoulder.
"Okay," Penelope says. "Let's do this. Let's plan this wedding the right way."
The next day, I'm standing outside Mercy's Bakery with Penelope, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. We're supposed to order flowers, but Penelope insisted on starting with the bakery. Face her debts head on.
Mercy is behind the counter when we walk in. Her expression shifts from welcoming to wary the moment she sees who's with me.
"Sharon," Mercy says warmly. "Good to see you. And Penelope. What can I do for you two?"
"I'm here to settle my debt," Penelope says, nervousness clear in her voice. "I know I owe you money. I'm here to make that right."
Mercy crosses her arms. “You owe me two hundred and fifty dollars plus interest. That brings it to about two hundred and seventy-five.”
