Page 82 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
I let her out in the backyard and go to the bathroom myself. The house is quiet, Rory’s not home.
I let Princess in and walk through the den back into the kitchen. Then I stop. I retrace my steps, backing up until I can see the corner of the den where Bartholomeow’s litter box should be sitting.
It’s not there.
I take a brisk walk through the house now, more awake than before. “Barty?” I call out. He typically hides in the mornings, more of a night owl cat than a morning cat. But all his stuff is gone.
I text Rory.
My Queen
Where’s Barty?
She doesn’t respond right away so I put my phone down and feed Princess, making breakfast for myself, too.
Soon a car door slams and Rory stomps up to the back door.
I put my spoon down. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she returns, hands in her pockets. Rory bites her lip.
“Where’s Barty?” My heartbeat has picked up, a feeling of dread hitting my gut. My gut is dramatic as hell.
I hope.
“I took him back to Grandma’s. We had a talk yesterday and . . . well.” Her eyes are down on her shoes. “I’m sorry.” She finally looks up at me and her eyes are bright.
“Why?”
She takes her hands out of her pocket and looks down at the ring on her finger. It catches the light, and she runs the finger of her opposite hand over it, around the band before gripping it and pulling it off.
“I never should have said yes to your proposal. It was reckless and stupid, and now Grandma’s found out about our lie and she’s pissed. She’s also . . . she’s moving to Boston.”
Rory holds the ring out toward me. I don’t take it.
She steps forward and sets the ring on the kitchen island between us. My stomach drops as she says, “I’m going with her.”
Her hands go back in her pockets and we both stare at the ring. I move toward her, but she holds up her hand. “Don’t. I just . . . I promised her that she had to give it six months, and those six months are nearly up, and now I have to move with her. And this way”—she gestures toward the ring—“you can do that thing with your friends to buy the ski place.”
“I’d rather have you than this diamond ring. I’d rather have you than the lodge.”
Rory breaks, her eyes flashing with pent-up emotions. It’s not the ideal response, I’ll admit. “Don’t say that!” she shouts at me, throwing her hands to the side. “Grandma is the only family I have. She loves me, albeit in her own way, and I lied to her.”
Rory takes a deep, shuddering breath. “So now I’m going to go pack my things. I don’t know when Grandma’s going to be able to move, but at least my stuff will be all in one place and I don’t have to—” She cuts herself off.
She doesn’t have to what? Be with me?
There’s a honk from the driveway. Shit. It’s Kit coming to pick me up for a cleaning job. I groan out loud, squeezing my eyes shut. When I open them again, Rory’s gone, and I can hear her packing her things up in the guest room.
Princess whines and I look out the window at Kit in the driveway. He waves.
“Gimme two,” I say, holding up two fingers. He nods.
I dart to my room and throw some jeans on. This is a regular cleaning job, not a washboard one, so I shout at Rory, hopping on one leg and then the other. “Let’s talk about this.”
“If you figure out how to teleport to Boston to see me, sure.”
“We can do long distance. It’s like . . . three hours away.”
