Chapter 2

2

Two months later

April

Georgia Goodwin peeked out from her eye mask at her ringing phone. It was past ten in Chicago which meant it was 5 a.m. in Hawaii, an hour past when her parents rose and shone with the morning sun. If she ignored it, they’d know she’d been sleeping, so she did her quickie AM (usually PM) routine: mask off, finger-rake through her bedhead, rush to the kitchen, bottle of juice from the fridge. Positioning her phone so the detritus from last night’s party was out of frame, she answered the redial that came in twenty seconds later as she sat at the breakfast island.

“Hey there! Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”

Penny Goodwin stared at her with that imperious look that said she wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Darling, are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone.” I’m always alone even when there are a million people here.

“Not recovering from one of your parties?”

“I had a quiet night in,” she lied. “Just me and Cheddar.” She held her cat up for inspection, whereupon the moody orange tabby gave a puny meow and froze, his striped body stock-still until release. “How’s Kauai?”

Stupid question. Kauai was always perfect. Georgia would be there now if only the island was big enough for her and her parents.

“Wonderful. So your father and I need to have a word. Marcus? Georgia’s on the phone.” She sipped her coffee, a small-batch artisanal Kona blend that cost more per pound than Georgia’s rent. “Your father just came back from his run.”

“Hey, GiGi!” Marcus Goodwin took a seat beside her mom on the white sofa and sat back, his arm over the back. His T-shirt bore a V-shaped patch of sweat and his forehead looked clammy.

“So, darling,” her mother said. “We had a chat with Michael Whyte last night and he said the strangest thing.”

Georgia’s pulse picked up. Michael Whyte was one of her parents’ lawyers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Is there something you want to tell us?”

Already? It was inevitable that they would find out, though she’d hoped she could keep it under the radar for a little longer. Yesterday afternoon, she’d heard from Mr. Lyons, the lawyer she’d hired to take care of her problem.

Her accidentally-married-in-Vegas problem.

In their standard follow-up to the filing in the Nevada court, Mr. Lyons’s office had discovered that the paperwork was missing. Originally, he’d advised that they petition for an annulment instead of a divorce because the former didn’t require that one of the parties be a resident in Nevada for six weeks. Intoxication was a perfectly valid ground for annulling a marriage—as it should be—and returning the couple to their non-married state. It would be as if it had never happened.

But the paperwork had to make it to its destination first.

Mr. Lyons was all apologies when he discovered the mistake. He’d immediately couriered over duplicates, which now sat on her nightstand. She would have to send them to the other party and get his signature. Again.

Only now it was complicated by the fact her parents knew.

She had used a lawyer not known to them or any one of their numerous companies or the many foundations they chaired. But they’d still found out because the Eye of Goodwin saw all. Whatever happened now, she couldn’t admit that it had all been a mistake. Her parents would never let her live it down. Just another example of Georgia’s propensity to make the worst choices.

“I didn’t tell you because it happened rather quickly, and we wanted to spend more time together. But you’ll like him. He’s very focused and incredibly good at what he does.” Her parents loved hard-working bootstrappers and professional athletes were some of the most driven people on the planet. “And he can’t wait to meet you. It’s just tricky with his schedule—he’s on the road quite a lot, which I know is rough for a newly-married couple. Between that and?—”

“Married?” Her father spluttered. “Did you say married?”

“Oh, Georgia,” her mother murmured.

Shit. If they weren’t talking about that, then what had they heard? She tried to think of something worse than secretly marrying a professional hockey player in Vegas, but nothing came to mind.

“Tell me it isn’t so, darling. Were you drunk? We can get it annulled.” She gripped her father’s arm. “Let’s conference Michael in.”

“No, Mom! That’s not necessary. I was perfectly sober.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “Are you saying that this was … planned?”

Georgia offered a nervy laugh. “I know you think I’m impetuous but I’m not that bad. Of course it was planned!”

“When did this happen?”

She couldn’t lie. Public records and all. “Two months ago. We’ve been keeping quiet about it so we could try to enjoy married life without all the pressure.”

Her father looked concerned. “You think we’d put pressure on you?”

“Mom’s first thought was how to make it disappear.”

Her mom sucked in a breath. “If you’re not going to share such important news, then how do we know it’s what you want? That it wasn’t another one of your …” She waved a hand to fill in the rest. “I’d like to have given one of my daughters away.”

Another thing she’d ruined for them. Marcus took his wife’s hand in his, comforting her for her loss. At least they had each other.

They would never get to see Dani on her wedding day. Was it possible Georgia had done this on purpose—snatched this precious moment from them precisely just so it could belong to her and her alone? That sounded like the kind of thing the selfish surviving twin might do.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just wanted to enjoy the quiet of being a newlywed.”

Her mother sent a sidelong glance toward her husband. “I remember what that was like. Your father and I ran off to Italy for a month after we married.”

“Sometimes you need a little time away,” her father said. “But there are issues that need to be taken care of. Such as a post-nup because I’m guessing there wasn’t a pre-one.”

“No need. He’s a professional hockey player.”

“A what?” Her mother wrinkled her nose.

“Hockey, Pen,” her dad said.

“Oh, does he know Jared? Mimi St. Vincent’s boy? He won silver at the Olympics in Tokyo.”

“That’s field hockey. Amateur, the sport of gentlemen.” Her father smiled at his wife and winked at Georgia. “I’m guessing he plays ice hockey, which is not for amateurs or gentlemen. Right, GiGi?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Even so, he can’t have as much money as you, darling. Or will have.” Penny tilted her head. “We’ll get a post-nup drawn up—unless of course, you’d rather we created a different kind of contract?”

A divorce contract. One that worked.

The papers to get this squared away, to make that night history, were mere feet away. She’d have to go see him in person this time. Not take the coward’s way out like she did before.

But then her parents would know that it had been very much un planned. Another one of Georgia’s fuck-up-first-fix-it-later mistakes.

“Why would I want a different one drawn up, Mom? Banks and I are very happy.”

No thunderbolt struck her down.

“Banks?” Her mother sounded horrified. “What kind of name is that?”

“Dylan Bankowski, Mom. He plays for the Chicago Rebels.”

“I think we have a box there,” her father said.

Her parents had executive sky boxes everywhere, used for big-shot schmoozing and charity events.

“But you don’t play any sports, Georgia.” Her mother sounded so confused.

“I don’t have to play to appreciate how talented and driven Dylan is. He’s a very … solid kind of person.” No lie detected.

“Sounds like he’s just what you need.” Her father’s tone was skeptical with a side of reserving judgment. He was the more indulgent parent for sure.

Her mom’s smile was wan. “We’ve been worried about you. It’s just, all these parties I’m hearing about and where you’re living … that awful place in Riverbrook. Caroline Wilkins said it’s practically a transient hotel. For bachelors.” Said like it rhymed with “drug addicts.” “We said we’d buy you a condo—there’s one for sale in our building.”

Which came with strings. “I wanted to make my own way for a while.”

After one too many wild escapades, they’d cut her off, but they’d promised to bring her back into the fold if she was a good girl. An impulsive marriage followed by a quickie annulment were not the actions of a good girl.

“But married?”

Her father cut in with a soothing pat on her mother’s arm. “We’ll meet him when we’re back in Chicago. We’re flying back tomorrow, and we’ll be hosting the Humane Society gala on Saturday. Will we see you there, GiGi?”

“Sure will!”

“And we’ll throw a wedding reception soon.” Her mother’s forehead smoothed at the prospect. A party would fix everything. “I’ll have Emily draw up a list of invitees. And you’ll have to tell us who to invite on Darren’s side.”

“It’s Dylan. And sounds good.” She took a calming breath. One problem at a time. “So if you weren’t calling about this, then what was on your mind?”

“Right.” Her father shared a quick glance with her mother. “Michael said you missed the foundation meeting.”

Her parents had tapped her to head a charity foundation dedicated to her sister, who had died from heart failure just over two years ago, a condition she’d had all her life. Philanthropy was a big deal to her family, and with this push, they hoped to kill two birds: memorialize Dani and find something for Georgia to do. All she had to do was say yes and the cash spigot would be turned back on.

“Like I said before, there must be so many more qualified people who could head something like that up.”

“Darling,” her mom said. “Who could be more qualified than you? You and your sister were so close, and this would be a perfect way for you to channel your energy. Dani wouldn’t want to think you’re moping around, missing her.”

Dani would be fine with it, especially as Georgia had other plans that didn’t involve being an ineffectual figurehead. If they would let her do more hands-on work, she’d be all over it. But that kind of digging deep wasn’t a typical Goodwin trait.

“Let me think about it some more.”

With a weary sigh, her mom moved on to an update about Cousin Bea who was about to graduate magna cum laude from Harvard. No more questions about her husband.

How did you meet?

How long have you been together?

Tell us everything!

As relieved as she felt to not have to come up with a less clichéd origin story, Georgia knew the reason for her parents’ disinterest: they didn’t believe this was planned. It was the ultimate game of chicken, waiting for the other side to crack. They expected she’d come to them in a couple of weeks asking for help.

Meanwhile Georgia had to figure out how to convince the man she’d married to stay that way.