“Rock me like a hurricane,” Hildy gasped, when he cracked open the lid.
“Blimey,” Jean chimed in, forgetting she was no longer Irish.
Libby had never seen a diamond that size in real life. You could gouge someone’s eye out in hand-to-hand combat. Which was a totally normal thing to think when a person was about to propose.
“My darling Lillibet, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?” Mr. L raised the back of his hand, wrist bent.
Does he want me to kiss it? Is the ring for him?Libby was lost, thoughts iced over by the most intense secondhand embarrassment she’d ever experienced.
“Aren’t they already married?” Uncle Richard stage-whispered.
Libby shook her head. “No.” On all counts.
“You’re not?” At the note of confusion in Jefferson’s voice, she forced herself to look at him.
“He wanted to marry me for a green card—like I said.” Sort of. “But I wasn’t going to actually do it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. L stood up. “Then why did you sign this?” He pulled the prenup from an inside pocket, brandishing it like a smoking gun.
“I wanted a little more time.” A taste of what might have been, even though Libby knew it wouldn’t last. They probably thought she was talking about money, and all the luxe lifestyle trappings it could buy, but what Libby really envied was the sense of possibility.Thatwas what she’d tried (pathetically, naively, catastrophically) to borrow from Lillibet: the illusion of being a person who could have it all—a great job and a greater guy. It was like blowing your tiny reserves of cash on a night out instead of saving for the future. When you were never going to get everything you wanted, might as well grab what you could before it disappeared.
“For what?” Uncle Richard demanded. “Is this one of those bling rings?”
Hildy threw her head back. “How many times do I have to tell you the whole world is not conspiring to steal your stuff?
“We—I didn’t want to ruin everything,” Libby said, hating how weak she sounded.
“When did you sign that?” Jefferson asked.
“A day or two ago,” Libby replied, unsure why that detail mattered.
“After I got here?”
She nodded, and saw the flash of hurt in his eyes before he looked away.
“I still don’t understand who was fooling who,” Hildy’s uncle muttered, clearly fed up with all of them.
“Maybe we should talk about this over breakfast?” Libby suggested. “And more champagne.” Gallons of it.
“Why, so you can poison us?” Uncle Richard scoffed, before turning to his niece. “I don’t trust this person you’ve taken up with, Hildy. She’s married, she’s not married, she’s gettingmarried, she isn’t—the story keeps changing. It shows a lack of commitment.”
“You’re one to talk,” his niece retorted, not quite under her breath.
“He’s right.” Libby felt like she’d been playing an endless game of hide-and-seek, the kind where you get so tired of waiting for the ax to fall, you stand up and give yourself away.Here I am. You can tag me now.
“I have been lying. About some things. A lot of things,” Libby amended. “This is not my house, for example. Since that is not my husband.”
Mr. L struck a pose, hand under his chin.
“Wait, hold up.” Hildy made a stop sign with her palm. “The house part,” she clarified, when Mr. L started to interject. “Not him.”
“It was part of the act. Pretending to be Lillibet.”
“Oh my god.” Hildy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is she dead?
“What?” Libby glanced at Jean, who shrugged.
“Did you kill her and steal her identity?” Hildy pressed.
