Page 29 of Beauty and the Beach

She feels like home.

“It’s so good to see you,” I tell her, my voice muffled by her hair. “You look so cute.” I step back and hold her at arms’ length. “Look at your freckles, Mags!”

“They’re multiplying,” she says with a scowl thatwrinkles her button nose. It’s an expression that looks a lot like the one I give Phoenix. “Because of the sun. And I’m not cute. I’m twenty.”

“Just because you’re twenty doesn’t mean you’re less cute,” I say with a smile. “How was the drive?”

“It was fine,” she says with a careless roll of her shoulders. “You know I’m not really a morning person, but I have my caffeine.” She holds it out to me. “Want any?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, taking the giant thermos from her. I take a few drinks and then pass it back. “Okay, let’s go. I’m under strict orders from Nana to bring you over this afternoon. I figure we can do the dress this morning and then go over there, and you can still make the evening ferry back.” I glance at her as I head around to the passenger side. “Does that work for you?”

“Yep!” she says. She pins me with a look. “So hop in and then start talking.”

“I will!” I say. “I will.” I wave my phone at her as I open the door. “Let me just pull up directions to the dress shop first. There are two of them around here.”

It feels amazing to be back in a car; I love Sunset Harbor, but all the walking and biking and golf carts took some getting used to. I find the directions to the first place once I’m in my seat, and then I close the door.

“Basically,” I say once Maggie is in, “I’m marrying Phoenix.”

Her hand freezes in the process of turning the key in the ignition, and her head whips toward me. “Phoenix?” she says, her blue eyes wide. “Trev’sPhoenix?”

He’s not just Trev’s Phoenix.It’s the first thought that pops into my mind, but I don’t say it. Maggie would misunderstand. So I clear my throat instead, looking pointedly down at my hands in my lap. “Yep. Trev’s Phoenix.”

I thought a lot last night about how much to tell Maggie. I don’t want to lie to her or keep things from her. But I don’t want her to worry needlessly, either. So sometime around one in the morning, I decided on the abridged truth.

“I could use some extra cash,” I say, “and Phoenix needs someone to marry him.” Thankfully the glossed-over truth doesn’t come out high-pitched, which is what usually gives me away. “You remember he’s part of Butterfield, right?”

“Yeah.” Maggie pulls out of her parking spot.

I nod. “His grandmother recently changed things so that if he wants to inherit, he needs to be married. So I’m going to marry him, just for a few months, because his grandma doesn’t have long left. He’ll pay me—a salary, basically. Once he’s inherited and she’s passed, we’ll separate.”

“You make it sound like you’re both waiting around for an old woman to die,” Maggie says, keeping her eyes in front of her. She flicks the turn signal, and a littleclick-click, click-clickfills the car.

“I know,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “And as awful as it sounds, I actually think that’s kind of what’s going on. You know him; he’s not cruel.” Because whatever else Phoenix might be—rude, offensive, sometimes even mean—he’s not cruel.

“Right.”

“But it sounds like there’s no love lost between his grandma and the rest of the family,” I go on. “Or between Phoenix and the rest of them, either.”

“Wow,” she says in a low voice. “So you’re doing the whole thing, then? Wedding dress, walk down the aisle?”

“Not quite,” I say. “We’re taking wedding photos, because he thinks his family is going to be suspicious that this is a fake marriage.”

“Which…it is,” Maggie points out.

“Yeah, it is.” I nod. “I mean, we’re legally getting married. But it will be at the Town Hall, and it’s not going to last.”

“Okay,” she says, her eyes narrowed as she thinks. “I think I’m following. But you and Phoenix aren’t—you guys don’t?—”

“No,” I say quickly. “No. We don’t get along. At all. But he doesn’t have a lot of options, and the extra money for me won’t hurt.”

“Wow,” she says again. She shoots me a look and then gives her attention back to the road. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“No,” I admit. “Not completely. But weighing the pros and cons, this course of action seems to be in my favor.”

“All right,” she says with a little shrug. Then she smiles. “In that case, let’s get you a wedding dress. You’ll be the most beautiful fake bride in the world.”

Something eases inside of me at her acceptance, a tension I hadn’t realized was there. “I don’t know aboutmost beautiful, but I’d like to at least look put together. Turn right at the next light,” I add.

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