Her pen paused.
She lifted her eyes.
“Monica? Is this her last name?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She tapped her pen against the paper once.
“I think I’ve heard that name before.”
Then Liam walked in.
He stopped when he saw her.
Susan stood and extended her hand.
“I’m Susan.”
He studied her hand, then looked at me.
“Is she the fake wife?”
Susan never blinked.
“Temporary role,” she said. “Low budget. Emotionally demanding.”
Liam stared another moment before shaking her hand.
“Okay.”
Susan sat again.
“You want to ask me anything?” she said.
He shrugged.
“Can you act like you like my dad?”
She smiled.
“I don’t think that part will be hard.”
Ten years earlier, Monica had told me I could never fix being myself.
Susan had somehow made it sound as though there was never anything broken.
She watched Liam walk away.
“He’s protective of you.”
“He shouldn’t have to be.”
“But he is,” she said softly.
The wedding took place at a country club outside the city, the kind with white stone columns, manicured hedges, and people who decided your worth within five seconds of meeting you.
I nearly turned the truck around in the parking lot.
Susan touched my arm.
“If you leave now, you’ll think about it for years.”
Liam leaned between the front seats.
“Let’s just get it over with.”
So we went inside.
Monica noticed us before we reached the main hall.
She stood near the entrance beside her fiancé and several relatives, already dressed for the ceremony, already wearing that polished smile she used whenever she wanted something. Then she noticed Susan.
Her smile changed.
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