Page 14 of Fathers of the Bride
“One sec,” he said. “Uh-nineteen thousand three hundred and forty-five dollars.”
That was not going to be enough. Not to mention, we couldn’t use it all. This was the account meant to pay the mortgage and other expenses for Finch Circle. It wouldn’t be wise to deplete it completely.
“Anything on the horizon?” Foolish question, I know. I pretty much always had my eye on incoming checks.
“I’m expecting some royalties and residuals but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Of course, we were going to have to sell the house soon. Miles would hate that. He loved the house. I loved the house, too. But of the two of us, I’d always been the more practical. Miles could take over the mortgage and buy me out, but I seriously doubted he had the income for that.
“Garth, could you find us an attractive home equity loan, and send the application over to me?”
“Oh, you and Mr. Kettering-Lane are thinking of remodeling?”
The way he said that told me that my personal life was spread all over my finances. Remodeling the house would imply we were back together.
“No, of course not. Our daughter is getting married and we have a wedding to pay for.”
“Ah, well how much money are you looking for?”
Even though we’d refinanced many times—for rehabs and paying off debt—we still had a substantial amount of equity since the house had basically quadrupled in value.
“Fifty thousand?”
“That’s a very small wedding,” Garth said, his voice thick with judgement.
“Yes, that’s what my daughter wants.”
“That’s what she wants now. Maybe we should get you a hundred thousand, so we don’t have to do this again. You don’t want to pay double fees. Worst case scenario you’ll have extra cash.”
My stomach clenched—I hated debt. But I reassured myself that we could borrow the money, and in a few months sell the house and there would be a healthy chunk leftover for Miles and me to divide. Or at least healthyish.
On the other hand, Miles might refuse to borrow that much, in which case, he could be the one to tell Kelly we wouldn’t be paying for her wedding. Honestly, that would be the best thing for all of us. Kelly could elope and we could just forget the idea of a wedding entirely.
No. I’ve met Miles. He’s going to want the wedding. And he’s not going to care how we pay for it. But I can dream, can’t I?
As I pulled into the parking lot beneath the Beverly Hills Adjacent condo I shared with Raj, I began to think about the way Kelly had tricked us into seeing each other. My first instinct had been correct. I should have just left the coffeeshop the minute I saw Miles. I mean, he wasn’t horrific—until the very end. Closing his eyes and holding his breath. What was that about?
When I walked into the condo, Raj was sitting at the dining table dipping chips into salsa, holding them up to his lips, and taking a selfie. I knew from experience that he’d be posting the image with the caption, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”
“Where have you been?” he asked, putting down his phone.
“Client.”
That was strange. Why did I lie? All I did was see my ex. And not by choice. I had to be tricked into it. So why didn’t I tell him the truth?
“Which one?”
“Blaze,” I lied again.
Blaze was a middle-aged librarian in the valley whose real name was Melinda Grainger. She’d published a novel with one of the big four publishing houses about a fireman, a lady billionaire and bondage. After reading the first hundred pages of the thousand-page book, I concluded she knew nothing about firemen, billionaires or bondage. And even less about writing.
Unfortunately, the book was a bestseller everywhere, and it was my job to make it—and her—even more successful. Her next book was about the sexual awakening of a young French Muslim girl—also subjects she knew little to nothing about. Her publisher and audience couldn’t wait.
“How is sexy Blaze?” Raj asked. He’d posed withLove’s Savage Flameand boosted sales quite a bit.
“Her next book sounds horrible,” I said, knowing he’d expect me to say that.
“Oh goody. It’ll make a fortune and you can charge her scads of money.”
