Page 37 of The Wife Upstairs
By the time I leave the shop, my head is swimming, but I’m pleasantly high, and not just on the two glasses of champagne I sipped while Huntley and I talked.
I’m marrying Eddie Rochester.
I’m going to be his wife, and live in that gorgeous house, and afternoons like this, afternoons not spent walking dogs or waiting tables or driving for Uber or making someone else coffee, aren’t just a temporary reprieve—they’re my future.
“Jane?”
Emily is standing there, paper cup of coffee in hand, her face hidden behind those huge sunglasses.
She glances up toward the striped awning of Irene’s, and her mouth drops open. “Girl.Tell me you were in there for a reason.”
My smile is not even a little bit faked. “Turns out hedidput a ring on it.”
She squeals at that, rushing forward to throw her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that smells like Santal 33.
I smell like it, too, since I stole a bottle from her bathroom just two months ago.
“Let me see, let me see,” she says when we pull apart, flapping her hands toward mine.
Another rush of what feels suspiciously like joy, but is probably just the adrenaline rush of winning.
I haven’t perfected this move yet, the ring display, and I fight the urge to mimic girls I’ve seen on TV, all arched wrist like I’m waiting for her not just to ogle the ring, but to kiss it.
As a result, I feel like I just sort of hold my hand out for inspection, awkward and suddenly very aware of how ridiculous that sparkly emerald looks on my stumpy fingers with their raggedy manicure.
But Emily just sighs. “It’s gorgeous. Andsoyou!”
I raise my hand again, studying the ring myself. “I still can’t get used to it,” I say. “I mean, all of it has been kind of a whirlwind, but the ring makes it feel real, you know?”
I give her a smile.
“I remember feeling like that,” she offers. “The ring definitely cements it.”
Raising her eyebrows, she asks, “Did you pick that one out?”
I shake my head, looking back at the emerald surrounded by its halo of diamonds. “No, Eddie did. It’s bigger than anything I would’ve chosen, but I love emeralds, so I can’t complain.”
She nods. “He has the best taste in jewelry. I always thought—”
Her words break off, and she presses her lips together, and I know there’s a comment about Bea there, caught in her throat. I don’t want Bea’s memory to ruin this moment, so I rush in.
“I was just in there peeking around, we’re not sure when thewedding is going to be yet,” I say lightly, and her shoulders loosen a little.
“Are y’all doing something big?” she asks. “Lots of family?”
Until that moment, it hadn’t really hit me what a wedding with Eddie would look like. I’d been so caught up in the idea of marrying him, of being Mrs. Rochester, that I’d basically skipped the wedding part of things.
But now it’s all I can see, a giant church, Eddie’s side of the church full, his family from Maine all turning up, mine completely empty except for John Rivers sitting there, eating a bowl of cereal.
The image is so grotesque and awful that I literally shake my head to will it away, which apparently looks like an answer to Emily.
“Small, then!” she says, smiling. “I love it. Classy, elegant. Appropriate.”
Eyes on my hand again, and this time, I do rearrange my bags so that they’re covering the ring, and I give her my best bland smile, the one I actually learned from her and Campbell and Caroline McLaren. “Exactly,” I say, all sugar, then I gesture back up the road. “Anyway, I have more errands to run, so—”
“Oh, sure,” Emily says, waving a hand. Her own engagement ring is a princess-cut diamond, at least three carats, and it sparkles in the sunlight. “And my lips are sealed!”
“They don’t have to be,” I reply with a little shrug. “It’s not a secret.”
