Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
My sister, though, deserves the best and always has. “What’s your favorite Christmas memory?” I ask.
Charlotte hums, seeming to give that some thought. “Honestly, it’s that you always were so determined to make it amazing. I just wanted a nice holiday that Dad didn’t ruin,” she admits, then lifts her face and meets mine. “You were good at that. You always made sure I had some incredible homemade gift from you. That way if he was up to his usual shenanigans, I didn’t have to think about it.”
I smile at the sweet side of that bittersweet memory. “It was your favorite time of year. I had to make sure you had the best Christmas.”
“Maybe you were the real Santa Claus,” she says with a wistful sigh. “I still have that book you made me about amazing things that happened in the year I was born. And the jigsaw puzzle that you had made from a picture of the two of us.”
“I hope you didn’t keep those hideous matching Christmas pajamas?” I tease. “We took silly pictures all around the neighborhood in them, everywhere from the gas station to the park.” I laugh as I trip back in time. “We always had fun.” I made sure of it.
“And if they’d have a fight you’d take me to your room and we would read or dress up or play board games,” she says.
My heart aches for those little girls. “And none of that spoiled Christmas for you? Their fights?”
She shakes her head. “Even though they were sometimes arguing, you and I always had the best time, no matter what. That’s why it’s such a special holiday for me. That’s why I want to keep that going.”
“You’re making a brand-new memory. You’re getting married on your favorite day.” My heart swells with emotions, but then a wave of guilt crashes over that organ in my chest. I’m glad she has these fond memories, but I’m still keenly aware of the secret I’m keeping from her. Just like Dad kept secrets. But this is a safe secret. A good secret.
She sets her head on my shoulder. “I almost want to speed up time but I’m still cherishing every second. I’m such a cheeseball, Fable.” She lifts her face and meets my gaze, her eyes imploring. “Tell me I’m the biggest cheeseball ever.”
I snort-laugh. “Like there’s any question about that. You’re such a cheeseball but you’re my cheeseball. And I’m so happy that this wedding is everything you want.”
This conversation right here assuages my worries. I know I’m doing the right thing by keeping my romantic foibles locked up tight. She doesn’t need to worry about this side of me—the one that’s terrible at love. So terrible she needs to fake it.
I take another sip of my hot cocoa, relishing the night air and this unexpected, sweet moment with my little sister. I’m drinking the cocoa down as she says, “And that’s why I think even for a free spirit like you, this new romance seems drastic.”
I spit out all the hot cocoa on the deck in a chocolate splotch. “W-w-what do you mean?”
She tilts her head like she’s saying give me a break. “Fine, I’ll admit you and Wilder are weirdly perfect for each other most of the time, so I didn’t spot it at first. But then there are these moments where you two don’t quite fit. And it happened so quickly—your romance.” She sits up straight, stares at me with a serious gaze. “What’s really going on?”
Guilt crawls up my throat. I had a sneaking suspicion earlier today that she was onto us. It’s so hard to keep a secret from somebody who knows you so well. And if I don’t tell her the truth now, when she’s asking me point-blank, I’m making the lie worse. I don’t like serving up the soft, vulnerable parts of myself—the parts that someone can hurt. But she’s my sister. We love each other.
I swallow past the uncomfortable knot of emotions in my throat. Past the guilt. The shame. And that residual self-loathing over the fact that I’m even in this spot, thanks to Brady dropping his drawers for Iris after turkey time.
I didn’t plan to tell Charlotte the truth this way, or even at all, but I can’t lie anymore. “We’re each other’s plus ones. That’s all,” I admit with some reluctance, using the same term I used with his mom, hoping that softens the blow of my lie.
Plus one sounds nicer than he’s my fake boyfriend. It sounds less like trickery and more like we’re truly helping each other—Wilder and me.
Charlotte isn’t one for dress-up words. “You mean you’re playing pretend. You’re fake dating?”
And let’s call it what it is.
I wince, feeling a little like my insides are being carved up with my own lies. “Yes?”