19. Felicity

felicity

. . .

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Excuse me?”

“Your engagement. It’s all a lie.” She snapped her fingers twice. “Keep up.”

I forced myself to laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“I will admit you two put on a pretty good show at the reunion, but it never sat right with me—maybe you’d have made a cute couple back in high school, but a guy like Hutton is out of your league now.”

“Well, I’m wearing a ring that says otherwise.” I held my hand out, hoping she wouldn’t see how my fingers trembled.

“Yes, I know all about the ring and the dress and the...” She brought her hand up like a blade and spoke on one side of her fingers, like a stage whisper. “Kink.”

I sucked in my breath. “What?”

“I was there, at the coffee shop last Saturday morning. I came in after you were already there and sat in the booth right behind you, but you were so preoccupied with your story that you didn’t even notice me. I do find it odd that you’d have sex with someone you’re not even really dating.”

“You were at Plum & Honey? Sitting behind me?”

She nodded, her eyes dancing. “I heard you say all kinds of interesting things.”

I closed my eyes as the breath left my body, realizing too late it was a dead giveaway that everything she’d heard was true. “You’re crazy.”

“I have notes, in case your memory is faulty. I didn’t want to forget a single word, so I wrote down what I was hearing.” She picked up her phone from the bar and read, “‘Things aren’t like that with us. This isn’t a real relationship or a real engagement. It’s something I made up, remember?’” She looked up at me. “Does that ring a bell?”

I couldn’t find words to answer.

“Oh, there’s also this. ‘I know it might look real on the outside, but that’s just because we’re having a good time. It’s one hundred percent fake. We are not together.’” She set her phone down and picked up her wine glass. “I also heard the part about the safe word and the bloody nose—so good! I mean, really, this story has everything, humor, sex, deception...” She sipped her wine. “I was thoroughly entertained.”

My pulse was racing. “Mimi, I have to go to work. I don’t know what your problem is, but?—”

She laughed. “I don’t have a problem, Felicity. You do.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m going to make sure this story gets out, and then what will your perfect family think? It’s obvious to me only one sister knows you’re scamming everyone.”

“We’re not scamming anyone,” I snapped. “This is none of your business.”

“Oh really? Because I was chatting with your mom at her coffee shop before I left on Saturday, and it was obvious she doesn’t know you’re a liar. She was just so happy.”

“Leave my family out of this,” I said through my teeth.

“And Hutton’s family too. I happened to run into his mother at her shop last week, and she was simply beside herself about your upcoming nuptials. She couldn’t say enough sweet things about you.” She picked up her wine for a sip.

I was seething. Nostrils flaring. I wanted to strangle her with her perfect blowout.

“I was also thinking,” she said, swirling what was left of her wine, “how terrible it would be for Hutton if this got out. I know he’s testifying this week down in D.C. The last thing he’d want people saying about him is that he’s crooked and shady.”

It was like a punch in the stomach. I could handle people talking shit about me, but I would not tolerate anyone implying Hutton was dishonest. If this story broke, it would cause his anxiety to skyrocket. He would imagine people calling him a con artist. Whispering behind their hands. Looking at him strangely. He’d probably suffer panic attacks, maybe even be unable to answer questions.

And it would be my fault. Not only for telling people we were engaged in the first place, but for talking about it being fake in a public place.

“Why are you doing this, Mimi?” I shook my head. “I don’t get it.”

She sat up taller on her stool, her expression imperious. “I’m doing this because I don’t think it’s right that people can just lie and get away with it.”

“So you’re doing this in the name of truth?”

“Exactly.”

“Bullshit!” I was so loud that several people at the counter looked over at me. I lowered my voice only slightly. “You’re doing this because you’re jealous.”

Mimi shrank back, her jaw dropping. She touched her chest. “Jealous? Moi ?”

“Yes.” Fired up, I gave her my meanest stare. “You. Are. Jealous.”

She laughed, but it was one hundred percent fake. “What would I have to be jealous about?”

“I don’t know. My ring? Hutton’s money? The attention we’re getting? Or maybe,” I went on, remembering the way Thornton kept looking around and checking his watch at the reunion, “maybe it’s my relationship with Hutton. The way we look at each other. Respect each other. How close we are.”

“That won’t last, you know,” she said frostily. “Thornton used to look at me that way, the way Hutton looks at you. It goes away. The business trips get longer. The rumors about other girls will start. His clothes will smell like cheap perfume. His lies will get more clumsy, until he won’t even bother to lie anymore.”

I shook my head. “We’re different.”

“Anyway.” She blinked back tears, the first crack in her armor I’d ever seen. “People deserve to know the truth. But I’m not totally heartless. I’m giving you a chance to offer your side of the story. Explain why you faked an engagement.” She tilted her head. “Was it about money? Was he paying you to make him seem more normal? There are all those rumors about him being weird and anti-social. Then there are the things Zlatka said about him wanting to be cruel to her in the bedroom. Tie her up and boss her around.”

Unwilling to give her the satisfaction of getting a rise out of me, I shook my head. “I have no comment.”

“You don’t want to defend yourself?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You lied to me!”

“Okay, fine!” I tossed a hand up. “You want an explanation? Here it is. I was sick and tired of you making me feel small. You did it all through high school and I vowed that I was not going to let you do it again. So when you stood there at the reunion cutting me down to size, instead of telling you to fuck off like I should have, I made up the lie about being engaged to Hutton to save face.”

“You did it for me?” She actually looked pleased.

“I did it to take you down a notch,” I clarified.

“Oh.” She looked less thrilled.

“I did it for girls like me who never had the guts to stand up for themselves in high school,” I went on. “I did it because it’s not okay to treat people like you’re better than they are just because you have really great hair. And then I snuck off to a coat closet and called Hutton, begging him to come rescue me, even though he hated high school, hates parties, and dreads being in public.”

“And he showed up?” She looked incredulous.

“Yes. He showed up. That’s what friends like us do for each other.”

“God. Thornton would never have done that for me. I had to drag him to that reunion, and he complained the whole time, even though I’d done so much work to put on a nice event. He doesn’t appreciate me.” Mimi pouted. “It’s almost not even worth the money.”

I rolled my eyes. “So find someone else.”

“Easy for you to say.” She scowled. “Everyone likes you. Everyone thinks you’re so clever and talented and sweet. Even in high school, no one ever said a bad word about you.”

“Mimi, give me a break. You were the most popular girl in school.”

She shook her head. “They were scared of me. It’s not the same as being liked.”

“They were scared because you were mean. Why don’t you try being kind?”

“Then I wouldn’t be respected.” She shrugged. “But I’ll give it some thought. I’ve been working on self-love.”

I held up my hands. “Look, I don’t have time to argue about this. What can I do to persuade you not to leak this story?”

“Nothing. I promised Thornton’s sister a big story. She runs dirty-little-scoop-dot-com and she hates me, so I need this to butter her up. She’s always in Thornton’s ear saying shit about me.”

“Can’t you give her another scoop?”

“Do you have one?” she asked hopefully.

I chewed my lip. “No.”

“Then I have to use you. Sorry.” She started to get off the stool.

“Wait a minute.” I put my hand on her arm. “Can you at least wait until after the weekend to tell her?”

Mimi thought for a minute. “I guess. What’s in it for me?”

I exhaled through my nostrils. “I’ll give you my side. Complete insider scoop.”

One of her brows peaked. “Including the part about the kink?”

“No. But I’ll spill everything else.” At least this way, I could control the narrative. I’d make sure Hutton was spared any embarrassment, and I’d take full responsibility. I’d make him out to be a friend who’d come to my aide.

“When can it run?”

“Monday.” That way the party would be over too. I felt horrible about it, but I didn’t see a way to come clean in time for Mrs. French to call it off—there was only one day in between the hearing and the party. Maybe I could offer to cover the cost once all was said and done. That would make me feel better.

“Fine,” said Mimi. “But you have to give me your side of the story this week.”

“You’ll get it no sooner than Sunday. I don’t trust you.”

Mimi looked offended. “I’m not a monster, Felicity. I’m just a woman looking out for herself.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You know, Mimi, there’s something other than self-love I think you need to work on,” I told her. “It’s called empathy.”

As horrifying as the conversation with Mimi had been, I couldn’t help being sort of proud of myself for finally standing up to her. It felt good to call her out on her mean-girl behavior, even if I had to admit that I’d lied to out-Mimi her.

My first instinct was to tell Hutton about it, but then I remembered this morning—our first fight? The beginning of the end? The end of the beginning? Where were we now?

During my shift, I made up my mind that I would not tell him about the bullshit with Mimi before the hearing. He needed to be at his best over the next couple days, and the tension between us was stressful enough.

What would happen tonight when I got home? We hadn’t spoken all day, and he was leaving first thing in the morning. Would he be asleep? Would he be awake and want to talk? Would he apologize for being insensitive earlier, or would he stubbornly refuse to see why I didn’t like his idea?

When I arrived, I discovered that he’d already gone to bed, leaving just one light on for me in the living room. His roller bag was already by the front door, and his laptop case was beside it.

I locked the front door and went into the dark, silent bedroom. Quietly as possible, I undressed, pulled on a T-shirt, and went into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me. I switched on the light and saw Hutton’s leather toiletry bag on the vanity, and beside it were the last few things he’d use tomorrow and then pack up.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and rubbed moisturizer into my skin—that’s when I thought of something I could do for Hutton that might make him a little less anxious.

It was a small thing, but hopefully it would help.

When I was ready for bed, I turned off the bathroom light, entered the bedroom, and slid beneath the sheets. Hutton’s breathing was deep and even, and I made sure not to disturb him.

But it struck me that this was the first night I’d been here that we hadn’t reached for each other in the dark.

Rolling away from him, I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears and curled into a ball.

When I woke up, he was gone.