Ashley
TORI’S EXPRESSION TRANSFORMS from nervous anticipation to pure joy when she sees my brother with the wedding officiant by his side. The bride’s strapless A-line dress highlights her shoulders and the definition in her arms, and her curly hair, which she’s pinned back with stunning orchids, frames her glowing face.
Next to her, Pedro is beaming, his smile threatening to outshine the sun, and only a few people know that Tori didn’t want to be walked down the aisle but agreed to do so to appease her parents.
Eva and Bianca are standing to Carter’s right, while Julian and I stand to his left. Although the bride and groom will each have two people by their side when they marry, Julian is the only male, and his singular presence likely reminds many of the guests that Carter rarely lets new people in his circle.
I study Julian as Tori glides down the aisle. He’s a handsome man, whether he’s in a suit and tie or jeans and a T-shirt. But his attire today, the happy medium between business and casual, is Julian at his most tempting. His blue cotton suit accentuates his broad shoulders and trim waist, and his crisp white shirt, open at the collar, treats me to a bite-sized portion of the glorious chest underneath. Get the hormones in check and focus on the wedding, Ashley.
I snap my head front and center. When Tori and Carter reunite, they face each other and hold hands. I can’t help thinking I’m intruding on a private moment, their loving expressions acknowledging the significance of what they’re about to do.
The officiant shares his thoughts on the sanctity of marriage, after which he advises the guests that the couple has decided to recite their own vows.
Carter delivers his first. “When we met on that plane to Aruba, I was pretending in many ways. Pretending that I wasn’t a Hollywood actor. Pretending that I didn’t have insecurities. Pretending that I didn’t need to let anyone else in my life. I was wrong on the first count, and I knew it. But I had more to learn, and thanks to you, I did. You’re the one who made me see that unless I faced my doubts head-on, I’d never be able to love you the way you deserved to be loved . . .”
I glance at Julian and discover he’s staring at me, perhaps sending a message of his own. Right. I get it. I’m hiding, too. I draw in a small breath and return my attention to my brother.
He speaks with conviction, his voice wavering only when the depth of his emotions threatens to overwhelm him. Not to be outdone, Tori speaks eloquently about their friendship, their passion, and their trust. A few guests sniffle in their seats. After a subtle nod from the officiant, Eva and Julian produce the weddings rings, and Tori and Carter exchange them.
“With the power vested in me by the State of Connecticut, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now seal your union with a kiss.”
And do they. Complete with a dramatic dip that leads to dozens of clicks from the photographer’s camera. It’s the kind of kiss that produces happy sighs from the audience and a boisterous “Well, all right” from Grandpa James.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip away from the well-wishers and dash toward the cottage to get my guitar.
“WHERE THE HELL is it?” I mutter to myself as I pull up the comforter. Finding Melanie was easy, but I can’t find my guitar pick anywhere. I usually keep several spares, but I left them on my dresser in California, and Julian wouldn’t have known to look for them.
Think, Ashley, think. Where was I the last time I played? Last night. In the living room. On the couch. When Tori and Eva performed a stirring rendition of “Single Ladies” and begged for me to “give them a beat.” I rush out of the bedroom and smooth my hand over the sofa cushions. “Shit. Nothing.” Maybe someone found it and placed it somewhere else? My gaze bounces around the room and lands on the clutter on the dining room table. I lift a stack of Lydia’s papers, but in my haste, a neighboring stack teeters and falls to the ground before I can catch it. “Dammit.” I drop to my knees and begin to gather the papers—random sheets of paper that don’t appear to have anything to do with marketing—and then I come across a single page in blue with the words Eligibility for Unemployment Insurance Benefits in large bold letters at the top. It’s dated a week ago.
“What are you doing nosing around in my stuff?” Lydia asks from the door.
I quickly straighten the stack and place it back on the table. “Nothing. I was looking for something and knocked over your papers. Sorry. I wasn’t snooping, I promise.” Continuing my search for the missing guitar pick, I lift a few documents as I scan the table. There it is. Wedged under the napkin holder. “Aha. Found it.”
Lydia squints as she continues to watch me in silence.
I ignore her, grab Melanie, and hurry to the door. “Excuse me.”
She’s blocking me and doesn’t budge. “Before you go, why don’t you tell me how things are going with your boyfriend.”
Her mouth is curved into a self-satisfied grin, and there’s amusement in her voice when she stresses the word boyfriend. Whatever. Lydia’s the least of my concerns. My biggest concern is holding it together while I perform in front of a live audience. “Lydia, I don’t have time for this. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a wedding in progress.”
She steps to the side. “Oh, of course. Don’t let me stop you. But it’ll be interesting to hear what people say when they find out you and Julian are only pretending to date. How pathetic is that, Ashley? Honestly.”
What the hell? How did she find out? With just hours left to this long-ass weekend, I can’t believe Lydia discovered our secret now.
She shakes her head at me as if to say Well? I’m waiting.
And here’s the thing. I could easily concoct an explanation credible enough to confuse Lydia and leave her guessing as to whether it’s true. But I’m so tired of her bullshit, and I’m tired of being anything other than who I am. I set Melanie down. “Okay, Lydia, let me break this down for you in a way you’ll understand. You. Win. You’re right. Julian and I pretended to be dating this weekend. I can’t even remember why I thought it was a good idea, but it had something to do with you. And your mother.”
God, it all sounds absurd now. I could tell her that Julian and I turned a corner in our relationship, that we’re dating for real. I don’t want to stoop to her level, though. “I was silly to think it would make a difference, right? Because you’re just as competitive and immature as you’ve always been. And besides, my value isn’t based on the person I’m dating. So go ahead and tell everyone Julian’s not my boyfriend. And while you’re at it, go ahead and explain to everyone why you’ve been pretending to be busy with work while you’re also mysteriously collecting unemployment benefits.”
Her eyes bulge, and her skin pales. “It’s not what you think—”
“It doesn’t matter, Lydia. Your loss isn’t my gain. But ask yourself why you’ve always taken such pleasure in bringing me down. For years, you’ve used me to gauge how well you’re doing, probably because your mother egged you on. But I’m not your competition, and if there’s anyone you should be angry with about your feelings of inadequacy, it should be her. Leave. Me. Out of it.”
I pick up the case and yank it against me, banging my knee in the process. “Shit.” I storm out the door. I’m shaking, all the pent-up frustration inside me vibrating outward and hopefully leaving my body for good. With any luck, I’ll get back to the reception at an opportune time to gift Tori and Carter with a song. I’ll make a beeline for the dance floor; if I don’t, I’ll surely talk myself out of performing.
Behind me, Lydia calls out, “Ashley, you wouldn’t dare blab about my personal business. I know you.”
I pretend not to hear her. Of course I won’t tell anyone she’s been pretending to be employed this whole time. That’s not my way. But I’m tempted. So tempted. God, everything she said—about the promotion, the company’s need for her help during flag football, and the supposed major project that couldn’t get delayed—all of it was a lie. Who does that?
A voice in my head answers, its tone annoyingly judgmental. You do.
In that moment, I’m forced to face the truth. Lydia has her faults, sure, but so do I. In fact, I’ve been hiding so well and for so long, I don’t know any other way to be. Look how easy it was for me to agree to a fake relationship with Julian. It’s enough to make a grown woman want to slap herself.
Well, not anymore.