Ah, that makes sense now.
I take off, but curiosity grips me when I get in the car. Before I leave, I need to see this pic. Want to see the evidence that he sees. I toggle over to social and hunt for it. I find it on Caroline’s feed, and there are a ton of comments already, including one from Jameson. I ignore that, in particular, andfocus on the pic. It’s me looking like I’m blowing Remy a kiss and Caroline’s words:Look at my brilliant, amazing sister, living her best life.
And hell, if that doesn’t feel like an endorsement of my plans too. I’d like that best life to include me.
49
ASK ME ANYTHING
REMY
Already, Caroline’s broken the heel on her satin pump. I fixed it since superglue was already stocked in my bridal emergency kit. She’s lost the barrette hair clip. I tracked it down in her car, under the spare tire kit.
The tasks keep me from worrying too much about my life.
Right now, I’m focused on the makeup artist, who arrived early. She’s applying Caroline’s Fresh Face foundation here in the bridal suite at The Luxe hotel in the Presidio, with a breathtaking view of the Pacific.
The main videographer’s here too, naturally, capturing the makeup application for the live stream. So is Fallon, with her hair cinched back in a tight ponytail. She’s dressed in peach today, like the camera crew, and it’s weird to see her in that color. She’s only ever worn black, but she said she wanted her team to blend into the champagne roses so it’d be like they were not even here. “NEH,” she’d said.
I won’t mindthatpart of the wedding being over at all. No more acronyms. No more Fallon, skulking around.
But one more day, I keep telling myself. The pressure will end tomorrow.
With her tablet in hand, Fallon reviews what’s next on the live stream with Caroline. “Our research shows your viewers are connecting with the MOH, so we’ll follow her as she checks on the seating and the floral setup in a few,” she says, the direction itself recorded live, all part of Caroline’s efforts to show authentic behind-the-scenes content.
“Of course they love her.” Caroline beams, clearly proud of me. “My sister’s incredible.”
“Remy put this all together like that,” my mother chimes in with a snap of her fingers, facing the lens. She’s polished and put together in a mauve mother-of-the-bride dress that shows off her toned arms, because of course she has toned arms.
I wave a dismissive hand, not wanting or needing the praise, especially on camera. “I just want it to go well for you,” I say to my sister.
“And it will. Because we planned for it. Everything is set up perfectly in the waterfront ballroom," my mother says as the makeup artist sweeps highlighter over Caroline’s cheekbones. “Just like we wanted.”
Perfect. That word pokes at me. A reminder of how often I try to be perfect. But I have to be okay with just being me, however that looks, Elena would say.
Elena, who I need to tell about my fake boyfriend.
But I can’t focus on me now. Tomorrow is for me. “I’ll do the floral review shortly. I already checked the flowers in the reception room as well as the seating arrangements. Everything there is great too,” I say, then lean closer to Caroline. “I also peeked in on the live stream on my phone when they were in the groom’s suite, and the guys look good.”
I didn’t even see Jameson trying to horn in on the shot with a bottle of beer in hand, and that was a nice surprise.
“I can’t wait to be married to Parker,” Caroline says, with a rare sort of girlish vulnerability in her voice that’s lovely tohear. She turns to the videographer next, looking the lens dead-on as she talks to her audience. “And my sister is the reason everything is coming together. She’s helped me with every detail. She is a badass babe who lives life on her terms, just like I tell you all that you should do. Live the life you’ve imagined.” She turns back to me. “Remy, are you living the life you imagined?”
Oh. I didn’t know she was going to toss that question to me on the live stream, but I do my best to catch it.
“Answer honestly,” Caroline continues, then turns to the camera again. “You can always tell my sister is bluffing if she blushes.”
“Like beet red,” Mom says, playfully ganging up on me.
My face isn’t blushing at all when I say, “Can confirm.”
It’s true enough.
Iamfinally chasing the job I can imagine myself in. But there’s that little matter of the lie of my romance, and the reason for it. I glance away from the camera, lest my cheeks pinken from the thoughts of the falsehood I’m fabricating for them.
I run a finger along the smooth metal surface of the watch Lake gave me—a reminder that appearances can become real. It settles my nerves.
I turn back to my sister, my mother, and Fallon, scanning their faces for any evidence that they saw through me.
