Page 78 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“It’s not that far from the truth. I hassled you about it enough.”
“You didn’t hassle me. You were just . . . persistent.”
“This is all my fault.” He groaned, his head falling into a waiting hand. “I never would have, in a million years, pictured the trip going like this.”
Going like this? As in him kissing me in a rainforest, sharing all our deepest secrets, and him taking me during a thunderstorm, scraping the skin off his knees to catch me, holding my hand in a hospital?
Sure, there was the We might lose our jobs part, the Cutting myself open and passing out part, and the I might lose my chance at becoming a calligrapher before I’ve really had a chance to begin part.
But knowing what I knew now, I still would have come with him. “I don’t regret this trip,” I said, looking right at him so he could read the truth in my face for himself.
His hand slid away from his eyes. “You don’t?”
I shook my head.
He reached across the middle seat to grab my hand. Then his lips pulled into the slightest smirk. “Maybe you did hit your head when you fainted.”
“Maybe so,” I agreed with a quiet laugh. It would be nice to have something to pin all these emotions on.
“Emily, listen. I know you are worried about losing your job and Madison ruining things with Victoria, but you are going to be fine because I am going to take care of you.” He caught my eye. “Okay?”
At that moment, without a doubt, I knew I could lean fully onto him, and he would hold me up. Just like I knew the sky was blue and Houston traffic was terrible. It was a fact: Beck wouldn’t let me down.
I trusted him.
“Okay,” I said, then rested my head back against the seat, not entertaining a single concern, at least not until we got back to the hotel.
We approached the elevators to our suite just behind Victoria, Reagan, Kat, and Madison. They’d donned spa robes, and each of them had their hair wrapped in towels. I made a mental note to check out all the resort amenities when I got back to our suite. I might be out of commission for more beach days or jungle hikes, but I could still enjoy a facial or a long sit in a salt room. Hell, I could make the salt room even saltier with the tears over my impending job loss.
I was close enough to ask them about their spa day when Madison said, “I mean, it’s creepy. Why would she pretend to be someone else? We should call the police and have them check her basement for the calligrapher you hired.”
Kat snorted. “I can’t believe I was going to hire her for my wedding.”
Beck’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Come on,” he whispered into the shell of my ear. “We’ll get the next one.” He wanted to shield me from their conversation. I let him pull me back a few steps from the elevator.
Then Victoria spoke in that authoritative voice of hers. “We don’t know anything,” she said, sounding a lot like Beck. “Except that she’s been going by a different first name. For all we know, she simply doesn’t like the name Emily and wanted to try something new. Or she’s in the goddamn witness protection program. There are a thousand possibilities. So, let’s not jump to conclusions.”
I could come back from this. I could pluck one of her suggestions and run with it. There could be a plausible explanation. Beck and I could back away now, regroup in our room, and come up with a lie free of holes.
Until whatever story we webbed together got punctured by a slip-up or a discovery, and then we’d have to patch it up with another lie and another. When I’d started lying about who I was, I had planned on it being finite. It had an end date: June 24th, Victoria’s wedding. But now, I wanted a future with Beck, and I didn’t want to stare his sister, someone he was very close to, in the face and be dishonest.
Even if Beck wasn’t involved, I’d gotten to know Victoria better from our sailing trip—this glass-ceiling-shattering badass who also loved a good life hack and New Girl and Camilla Cabello and drinking whiskey straight—and I wanted her to know me better too. Me. The real me.
The elevator dinged open, and I stepped from Beck’s grasp before I knew what I was doing. “Victoria!”
The group whirled around, and I couldn’t help but notice the glee in Madison’s eyes. She looked about ten seconds away from pulling a bag of popcorn from under her robe—like she’d been waiting for this live dumpster fire all day.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for being dishonest with you.”
Victoria padded forward in her fuzzy spa sandals, waiting.
I licked my bottom lip. “Hailey is my sister. She got a wild hair to move to Florida, and she needed someone to finish your wedding.” Victoria’s mouth fell open, so I started talking faster, trying to finish my story before her mind could conjure up some twisted version of the truth or Madison’s words could fill the void. “She’d already done most of the work. And I’ve been practicing calligraphy longer than her anyway. For years longer, actually. She should have just told you the truth. I should have just told you the truth,” I amended. “But you are an Atteridge—a huge client for my sister. And she didn’t want to lose your business or the connections a big event like yours could provide. And we were afraid you’d be angry if she told you her sister was stepping in.”
Victoria just blinked at me for an agonizingly long moment, her bottom lip detaching from the top as she processed my admission. Then her gaze shifted to Beck. “You knew about this?”
Beck stepped forward. “Vic—”
She put out a hand. “How long did you know, Beck? The whole time?”
