Page 26 of The Fiancée Farce
She brushed past Lucy, leaving her coffee on the counter.
“Gemma.” Lucy’s fingers banded Gemma’s wrist like a shackle. “I’m only looking out for you. You know that, right? Everything I do, it’s... it’s for you, Gemma.”
Gemma swallowed down the retort that she didn’t need anyone looking out for her. She hadn’t asked for it. She didn’t want it. She wasn’t as stupid as she looked. She could take care of herself, watch her own back. She had been taking care of herself for over half her life. She’d gotten damn good at it.
But Lucy didn’t deserve her anger. Not now. Not for this. Gemma knew better than to shoot the messenger, especially when the messenger’s motives were pure.
She looked over her shoulder, pasting on a smile. “Thanks, Luce. I appreciate it.”
But Gemma could take it from here.
Chapter Six
“Tansy Elizabeth Adams!” Samina, Tansy’s best friend since childhood, shrieked through the phone. “When I asked you what you’ve been up to I was expecting you to tell me you took up crochet or—or found a new show to binge. Not that you were freakingengaged.”
Tansy eyed the tangled skein of yarn on the floor, misappropriated by her thieving kitties. On the television,MissScarlet and the Dukewas queued up, just waiting for her to hitplay. In the last month, she’d already burned through all ofDownton AbbeyandPeaky Blinders, watching the most violent scenes through her fingers.
She wrinkled her nose. Was shereallythat predictable?
“I know you, Tansy,” Samina said. For a split second, Tansy second-guessed whether she’d spoken her worries out loud. “Which is why this is massively wigging me out.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” she demurred. Deflected. Same difference.
“Not a big deal? Hon, I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone, let alone that it was serious. Wedding-bells serious.” Samina paused. “To be honest, I’m feeling sort of hurt that I didn’t warrant a heads-up.”
There was a sudden thickness in her throat that made it hard to swallow, let alone speak. Tansy scrubbed her fingers over her mouth and sighed. “It’s not like that, Sam. It’s—it’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” Samina repeated, voice flat. “Well, congrats. I guess I’ll be on the lookout for my wedding invite. Assuming I’m invited.”
Tansy cringed. “Well—”
“Jesus, Tans,” Samina whispered. “Did I do something to piss you off or—”
“No.” Even though Samina couldn’t see her, Tansy shook her head, vehement. “It’s not you, it’s...” She trailed off, unsure of what to say that didn’t sound utterly trite.It’s not you, it’s me.OrIt’s not you, it really is complicated. “We’re not making a big deal out of it. We’re just going to go to the courthouse or something.” She swallowed hard. “Elope, you know?”
“Okay, now Iknowthere’s something wrong,” Samina said. “You’re going to elope?You?Honey, that’s so not like you. You’ve been dreaming of your wedding day since... well, I don’t know when. At least as long as I’ve known you.”
Which was to say, forever. Samina’s aunt and uncle owned the café on the lower level of the bookstore. The stacks were Samina and Tansy's first playground, they’d gone to elementary school together, told each other everything. Even when Samina had moved to California, her mother’s job uprooting them to San Francisco, they’d been diligent about staying in touch, first with email and phone calls, later with texts and Skype, before reuniting in college, then parting again when Samina got a job that took her to Arizona. Scottsdale was where she now resided with her husband, twin boys, and a dachshund named Maisie.
“I mean it, Tansy. You had a Pinterest board for your wedding before Pinterest was even a thing.”
Tansy smiled. “I think they call that a scrapbook.”
“Smartass. You did. You had a scrapbook with pictures cut out from wedding magazines and we found that craft book that taught us how to make roses out of paper. We fashioned bouquets from the yellow pages, remember? And I was supposed to be your maid of honor. Like you were mine. We had a pact.”
Her eyes prickled, and her throat ached something fierce when she tried to swallow. She pressed the heel of her hand into her breastbone and tried to massage away a decades-old ache. She forced a laugh, needing to change the subject. To stop thinking about all the things that could’ve—should’ve—been. “I was also supposed to marry your brother so that you and I could be sisters. We saw how that worked out.”
“Amir’s still single, you know,” Samina teased. “I think you might be the one that got away.”
“Oh God.” She palmed her face and groaned. “Don’t even joke, Sam.”
Samina cackled loudly.
She and Samina’s older brother had gone on a handful of dates shortly after she’d graduated from college. Sweet and guileless, with gorgeous brown eyes, a rumbling laugh, and gentle hands, Amir couldn’t have been more different from someone like Tucker. Because they had known each other for years, Tansy had experienced none of the debilitating nerves that usually plagued her before a date. Amir had been perfect.
On paper.
Maybe it wasbecausethey’d known each other forever, or maybe it was something else entirely, but kissing him had been . . . fine. Anything more had been awkward. As in, she’d barely been able to get aroused and he’d finished in four minutes and they hadn’t been able to look each other in the eye afterward. Needless to say, thathad been their last date. And despite Samina being Amir’s brother, Tansy had told her about it, leaving out the goriest details that no sibling needed to know. Because that’s what best friends did.
