Page 5 of Beloved Beauty

Charlene appears behind her, cigarette perched between two fingers, lipstick smeared on the filter. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she drawls, giving Alex a slow once-over. “You sure did good for yourself with this one, Maggie.”

Alex steps forward with the ease of a man raised to respect women no matter how much they test his patience. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Robin, Ms. Charlene,” he says with a polite nod. His smile is practiced—the same one he offers reporters who poke too close to the truth. It’s perfectly charming, perfectly controlled, and nowhere near his eyes.

Robin flutters toward Alex, already playing hostess, already laying it on thick, acting the part of the doting mother of the bride. Her voice lifts with a laugh too sugary to be sincere. “Come in, come in! We’ve been dying to meet you and hear all about the wedding.”

Charlene links her arm through mine as though we’re bosom buddies. “Honey, I want to see that ring. I bet it’s gorgeous.” She grabs my left hand before I can stop her, yanking it up for inspection. “Well, damn. Would you look at that rock?” She whistles low. “Is that thing real?”

Robin leans in, inspecting. “Lord have mercy. That thing looks like what Rose threw off the Titanic.”

Charlene puts on her Dollar Tree reading glasses. “How many carats is that?”

“I don’t know. That’s not what’s important to me,” I say, slipping my hand free from hers.

“Maggie, come help me in the kitchen with that casserole I made. You’re always so good at that kind of thing,” Robin says, all syrup and smiles.

I laugh—because Robin hasn’t served a damn thing in my entire life that didn’t come frozen or from a drive-thru window. But I go, because I know the drill. Whatever she’s about to serve up is not food.

Robin’s arm slides around my shoulders, steering me toward the back of the house with syrupy insistence. “Come on, honey. Let’s have a little chat while Mama keeps your fiancé entertained.”

I glance back just in time to catch Charlene handing Alex a beer, the can already hissing open while a freshly lit Marlboro hangs from the corner of her mouth.

So. Fucking. Embarrassing.

Charlene’s going on about some kind of nonsense and Alex—bless him—is humoring her with a smile you give someone whose last good idea probably happened in the early ‘80s.

Robin’s barely in the kitchen before she spins on me.

“I googled him, Maggie.” She says it casually, but I know what’s coming. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.

I cross my arms and lean against the counter, bracing. “Okay.”

“He’s richer than sin, ain’t he?”

There it is.

Alex and I have never talked numbers, so it’s not a lie. Not that I’d lose sleep lying to her anyway. “I’m not privy to Alex’s finances.”

She barks a laugh, full of disbelief and judgment. “You’re marrying him, honey. You mean to tell me you don’t know how much money that man’s sitting on?”

“I didn’t fall in love with his net worth.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Her voice sharpens. “Men like that don’t marry women like us unless there’s a catch.”

I stiffen, blood pounding in my ears. “Perhaps he’s marrying me because he loves me. Because I’m worth loving.”

Robin’s lips twist. “Well, I doubt that.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “It’s time you started thinking about how this could work for you.”

I look her dead in the eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on.” She waves her hand like I’m being dramatic. “Not now, but after the wedding, you could help your family. We’ve had a rough year.”

There it is. The real ask.

“I don’t have money to give you, Robin. And I don’t have access to his either.”

“But you will after you’re married,” she says, all breezy confidence. “Unless he’s makin’ you sign a prenup. Is he?”

I grit my teeth. “There’s no prenup.”

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