“I . . . He wants to marry you for a job?” She rubs her eyes. “What do you get out of it?”
“Well . . .”
“Besides the benefits of having a man like that in your bed.”
I press against the mattress and sit up. “The idea of having Holden in my bed has no room in this conversation. Or any conversation. We’re talking about marriage as a business proposition. Because that’s what this would be. A business transaction. Not a romantic interlude. He’s made that clear. I’ve made that crystal clear.”
I think.
Liv completely and utterly ignores everything I just said. She takes in a deep breath, wide awake now, and giggles.
“You little minx,” she squeals. “I knew there was fire between you, but—”
“No. Stop it. It’s not like that.”
Her smile slips. “Then what’s it like? Because if I’m marrying anyone, I better get to sleep with him.”
I pull my robe away from my neck. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
“But you will, right?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.”
“That’s smart,” I insist. “You aren’t supposed to mix business and pleasure.”
She grins wickedly. “I bet that man would be a whole lot of pleasure.”
Images of him in his gray sweatpants come back to haunt me. My stomach tightens as I recall how his ass filled out the back and how his thighs looked tight and muscled as he walked into Tank’s.
“Not the point,” I say, plucking my brain out of that thirst trap. “The point is that we’re getting married because it’ll help us both out of a bind. He doesn’t want me as a wife-wife, which is fine, because I don’t want him as a husband-husband either.”
She settles back against the headboard. “Okay. Fine. Again—what do you get out of it?”
“He’s paying the property taxes.”
After squirming around, I sit up and lean against the leather-wrapped headboard beside her. She gives me a moment of peace and doesn’t poke.
“Should we just say screw this and go make brownie batter and eat it with a spoon?” she asks.
“Nah. I’m not hungry.”
“I figured.”
I look at her. She reminds me of my mother with her pointed nose and the mole on the underside of her chin. “I need you to tell me this is okay. Be my big sister and boss me around. Force your opinion on me.”
She presses her lips together. “First, answer this: You know Jobe and I would help you, right? We could get the money. And we’d be happy to.”
I force a swallow. “I know. But I’m not putting you guys in debt because of my choices. I’m a big girl. The Honey House is my baby. It’s my responsibility, and you both help out so much already.”
She lets her head fall to the side until it touches mine. “The Honey House might be in your name, but you know it’s like home to Jobe and me, too, Soph. We want to help.”
“I know. But I want to make this happen on my own. It’s important to me. And there’s a part of me that feels like having Holden help me out kind of takes that away from me a little bit, but another part says it’s the same thing, really, as getting a loan. Which I really don’t want to do, because Gramma would roll over in her grave.” I pause. “And Candace at the bank is the last thing I want to face since she told everyone Chad left me to start with.”
“Yeah. Good point.”
We sit, heads touching, for a long time. I watch the shadows from the wax burner dance on the walls and listen to Liv’s breathing.
“You know, you should probably use a mouthwash when you get married. Your breath stinks in the middle of the night,” I tease.
She huffs and lifts her head off mine. “You are such a brat. I should just breathe all over you for waking me up.” She knocks my shoulder with hers before settling back against the headboard. “You know that I’ll back you in whatever you do. You’re a smart girl, and if this is what you think works for you, then you do it balls-out.”
I wrinkle my nose at the expression but let it go. “Even though my track record proves I pick terrible men?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Because we all get one screwup, and Chad was yours.”
“I’m not sure this could be a screwup. I mean, there’s not a lot that can go wrong.”
Maybe this—maybe Holden—is the answer to my prayers. Maybe Gramma is somewhere, laughing her butt off right now.
“Like you said, what do you have to lose?” she asks. “It’s not like you haven’t been married before. And it’s not like it’s a marriage for real. You can think of it like . . . a very long, serious, expensive date.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
She twists around to face me. “I mean it, Soph. You’ve been so stressed out lately. Chad kind of stole your spark a little. I say you marry Holden and have fun and play it up and enjoy it. Maybe you’ll discover the little pizzazz that you used to have.”
“I had pizzazz?”
“A little.” She winks. “So yeah, find your pizzazz and have some fun. If nothing else, it’ll be a damned good story for your grandkids someday.”
“I will not tell my grandkids this,” I say with a laugh. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m not the one marrying a man. Tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “Do you think I need to tell Jobe?”
“For sure.”
“How do you think he’ll take it?”
She shrugs. “Let’s find out.”
I pull my phone from my robe’s pocket and pull up my brother’s texts. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I begin to type.
Hey, Jobe.
Almost immediately, the three little bubbles dance on the screen to let me know he’s texting.
Jobe: It’s late.
Me: I have some news.
Jobe: ?
Me: I’m getting married tomorrow.
I cringe as I wait for his answer. My stomach flip-flops. Liv places her hand on my shoulder while we watch the screen.
Jobe: How much did I drink tonight?
Me: Ha.
Jobe: Let me guess. The vet.
Me: Good guess.
Liv laughs. “Well, he seems less surprised than me.”
Jobe: You happy?
Me: Yes.
Jobe: Then go for it.
Liv and I look at each other. Her brow is arched toward the ceiling. She looks as confused at Jobe’s reply as I feel.
I don’t know what I was expecting from my brother, but going all in wasn’t it.
My fingers fly across the screen.
Me: That’s it? No warning or threats or outbursts?
Jobe: You know what? I trust your judgment.
Me: Since when?
“Someone must have his phone tonight,” Liv says with a laugh.
Jobe: I believe and live by the idea that someone gets to make their own choices and either reap the rewards or suffer the consequences. Just know I’ve got your back if it doesn’t work out.
Me: You aren’t giving me the warm fuzzies over here, brother.
Jobe: Nope. That’s why you’re at Liv’s. You are at Liv’s, aren’t you?
I look at my sister. We laugh.