Chapter 18

I have you on benefits. Your insurance covers therapy.

– Finnegan

“Pumpkin,” I call as I wander toward her bedroom. Penny and some men I hired are busy outside, setting up the final things for the bonfire, which—last I checked—was an exceedingly tall blaze just far enough from the house to not singe the shingles. People will begin arriving any minute now.

Marcella’s door is open by the time I reach it, and my heart thumps upon witnessing the sight beyond the archway.

She’s standing in front of the floor-length mirror on the wall beside the closet. A cream and brown dress we bought in August hugs her curves. The loose long sleeves billow to her wrists while the skirt flares with each of her slight turns. Unlike her usual modest makeup, tonight she’s wearing an obvious orange and gold dusting of eye shadow that matches her pumpkin necklace.

When she looks at me, I am convinced.

She was made for autumn.

Her skin, hair, and eyes all reflect the brilliance of the season, and I don’t know what I’ll do once I see her bathed in the gleam of firelight.

Tonight might kill me.

But at least I’ll die happy.

“What?” she says, and I remember myself.

Lifting my phone, I say, “One of the playlists you sent me to get hooked up to the audio…”

“What about it?” She wanders to the dresser and gets a hair clip that’s laying beside the engagement ring I gave her after our first date. I’m surprised she didn’t toss the ring in a drawer somewhere out of spite. As it stands, her pillow and blanket are still laid out on the couch in the center of the room.

I clear my throat and try not to stare at the ring. “It’s called Probs Need Therapy ?”

“Every song on it is a total bop. Can confirm.”

Every song on it is a depressing nightmare.

“I’m…sure.” I checked the lyrics of some. I can’t say anything about the tunes right now, but the cry for the tomb was disturbingly apparent. “Are you sure you want me to shuffle these into the music for tonight? Your parents will be here soon.”

“Finn.” Her head lops to the side, and her straight, short hair caresses her neck in such a way I’m left breathless. “They raised me, honey. I think they can handle it.”

“Honey?” I echo.

“That wasn’t an endearment. That was the southern bless your heart intonation. It’s the oh, you poor dear, your parents simply never bequeathed any brain cells to you in the will, did they? ”

I watch her. Longer than I should. The bold makeup is throwing me almost as much as how thick she just laid on her southern accent. Seeing her in this dress outside of the store has me ready to drop to my knees. She’s beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous.

It’s shocking that I wasn’t in love with her at first sight during her interview for the position of my assistant. I guess her plastic airs and strictly professional attitude, on top of her presentation concerning how intricately she would manage my schedule, was too distracting.

“Are you good?” she asks. “ Everyone will be here soon. Teresa will be buzzing guests in for us, but I think we’re supposed to greet them.” She lets a pretty little smile soften her features. “How’s this look for gentlewomanly host ?”

“Lovely.”

“You’d never suspect I’m thinking about sacrificing any of the people I don’t know personally, right?” Her lashes flutter. Angelic.

I offer her my arm. “My dear, you can afford all kinds of therapy now. Your incredible insurance doesn’t even need to cover it. Just use your shiny new card.”

“Finn?” she murmurs, surprisingly tucking her hand at the crook of my elbow. Sweetly gazing up at me, she says, “I’m so glad we stacked the pallets up to six-five.” Stretching, she taps the top of my hair. “A little extra room for the quiff.”

Laughing as I pocket my phone, I shake my head—and, apparently, my quiff . “I’d hardly notice if you burned me alive. It feels like I’m on fire every time I’m with you.”

“All the pain without the charred reward. No brittle bones for my soup.” She pokes me in the arm, loses her good host expression, and scrunches her nose. “I bet you’d be too sinewy. Chewy. Will need to slow cook. Mm, yes. No charring for you. ’Twould be a waste.”

Should I be concerned?

Nah.

This is fine.

Probably.

Once Marcella’s done pretending she’s going to boil me alive until the muscle falls off my bones, we head outside where she splits off to help Penny sample the display of chocolate fountain treats while I get the music started.

To Marcella’s credit, she was absolutely correct. The lyrics leave me worried, but her songs are definitely “bops.”

As I’m debating grabbing a chair by the smaller marshmallow-roasting fire to wait out the influx of guests, the first vehicle pulls up. A tall man wearing glasses steps from the driver’s side while a woman smaller than Marcella with long straight hair exits from the passenger’s. The woman pins me immediately and marches while the man trails along behind her, both hands in his pockets.

“Marshi.”

I recognize the voice instantly. “Brigid. Nice to formally meet you.”

“You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

She’s shorter than I thought she’d be. Her consistent no-nonsense tone even when she’s joking on our Discord calls seems as though it shouldn’t quite fit into such a petite frame. Then again, all Marcella’s anger doesn’t seem like it should fit inside her body, either.

The man catches up, his gaze drifting over the strings of hung fairy lights designating the party area between the pool and the butterfly garden.

Brigid smacks him in the stomach. “This is my husband, Cody. He likes sports, snakes, and when I put my feet against his back in the dead of winter. Become friends.”

She’s gone before I blink, streaking across the lawn toward Marcella, and Penny, who appears to have fifteen marshmallows in her mouth.

I hum. “Well, it feels like I’m in middle school again, being forced to hang out with the kids of my parents’ friends.” I extend my hand. “Finnegan Marsh. Nice to meet you, Cody.”

“Likewise.” He takes my hand, shakes it once, then stuffs his back in his pocket. “I don’t suppose I need to explain that I know nothing about sports and don’t much care for snakes?”

“What about the cold feet?”

Something gentle touches the firm line of Cody’s mouth as his attention homes in on his wife. “A necessary evil.”

As it turns out, Cody likes stars. He met Marcella during an astronomy elective in college. She introduced him to Brigid when her friends came to visit, and the rest was history. He fell hard and fast, so before Brigid could head home, he asked for her number.

They made long-distance work for three years.

Then he moved to be with her.

It’s almost jarring to hear how simple it’s supposed to be. No bribery. No forms. Even if I weren’t in the position I am, I don’t think I could do it.

I like knowing too much about my investments before I take a chance on them. I doubt I’d ever be able to make such a lifelong decision without analyzing the risk before feelings could get involved. I’ve always believed that relationships feel too much like shady business deals.

With people, you never know what you might expect, who you can trust. You either outline your expectations in excruciating detail, thus confining your relationship to terms and conditions, or you prepare to be hurt.

The rare exceptions so far have been my parents…and now Marcella.

Despite our contractual agreement and her position as my assistant, the only terms are that she’s obligated to be herself and treat me as she would treat a significant other. Shunning that law almost entirely, she’s blunt about her needs and her limitations, treating me with the most honesty anyone ever has. I don’t have to guess about whether or not I can trust her even when I have no idea what she’s going to do or say next.

The woman’s a wild card in a flawlessly stacked deck.

As dry and calculative as she is, it’s hard not to fall in love with her.

She…

It hits me halfway through Cody pointing out how Jupiter should be rising in the next few hours.

He’s going on about the visibility of the planets throughout the night and into the morning, but my attention is squarely on Marcella. In her pretty dress. With her glittering makeup catching firelight.

She’s talking with an older couple I assume to be her parents.

She’s eating a marshmallow she just finished roasting.

And I…

I’ve been thinking about her this whole time.

I’ve been thinking about how hard it is not to fall in love with her this whole time.

As though I’m not already head over heels.