Page 100 of Threaded Lies

“It’s a necessary evil.”

“Ah. Right.” She glances around herself before meeting my eyes again and just staring.

What has Rowan told her? Does she know about us? About Chad? There is a chess piece being moved right now and for the first time in my life, it’s not me moving it.

“Is there something you wanted to say, Miss Vandenberg?” I ask.

“Why would you ask that?”

My smile is half-hearted. “Call it a hunch.”

“Rowan has a wedding dress fitting this weekend,” she says absently.

“Rowan is an employee. What she does in her free time isn’t any of my business.” My stomach pitches at the thought. “You tell me like I care.”

Her smile is a slow crawl on those red-painted lips of hers. “I tell you because I’m a best friend convinced my best friend is making the wrong decision for all the right reasons.” She lifts her eyebrows.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Knight. You can figure it out.” A hand squeezing my arm. “Now, you’ll excuse me. I need to go talk to a client I see over there. It was nice to finally get to meet you face-to-face.”

And with that, she walks off, leaving me staring in her wake, and more than fucking grateful that Chad is on the golf course somewhere, far out of reach.

Wedding fucking dress.

Because the need to punch something is real.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Rowan

I’m going to hyperventilate.

I walk back and forth outside the bridal boutique, trying to calm the nerves that own me.

This is fake. A pretend wedding as a means to an end for my inheritance … but that doesn’t make the feeling of claustrophobia clawing its way up my throat any less strangling.

I should call it off right now. It’s a long shot if I still think I can find anything to invalidate Gran’s addendum. It’s an even longer shot that Henry Williams is going to cave to Chad’s continued requests to lose the addendum despite the fact that Chad says he’s making progress.

It’s all a crapshoot that just got more than fucking real as I stand before the high-end boutique and question my sanity.

I have a strong stomach for most things. I can weather storms. I have put up with the patriarchy in this goddamn town in order to reach my goals.

But this … this feels like a bridge too far.

Sorry, Gran. I don’t think I can do this.

Just as I turn to escape, I hear my name. “Rowan?”

I startle at the sound of Chad’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

He glances toward the window at my back where no doubt our moms are watching this interaction before he leans in to press a kiss on my lips. I’m so disjointed having to be here that I don’t even react to it.

“They called me,” he murmurs. “Apparently you were freaking out and they thought you needed me to calm you down. I’m not staying though.”

I nod, weirdly comforted to have someone here that knows the truth about what’s really going on here. “This is all out of hand. Our mothers have lost their minds. They’re talking about custom wines and drone shows versus fireworks. About shipping in Maine lobster because it’s lavish and how many dress changes I’m going to have when I don’t want to have any. Henry needs to come the fuck through or I. Can’t. Do. This.”

Tears burn in my eyes and I know that they have nothing to do with any of these things and everything to do with the fact that I feel like my hand is being forced in a situation I wouldn’t wish on anyone.