Page 77 of How to Ruin a Wedding

And most of all, Anders.

It’s a disservice to him, not focusing correctly, doing what he hired me to do. Because we are employer and client. I need to get my head on straight. I can’t afford to slip up here. Because I care and I want Valerie to be with someone perfect for her.

Because I care about myself and my life, and I need the money for Save a Paw, and I need the money to move for Taina’s marriage, I need this to go well.

No more distractions. No more flirting with Anders outside of the facade. No stolen touches, no wandering glances, nothing romantic, no messy lines.

Maybe I skipped over these boundaries for Olive, but I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop myself from watching out for her. It’s the caretaker in me. And she’s so sweet and smart. So bright eyed and curious and endearing.

And I hate bullies.

But that’s the last time. That’s where I draw the line.

From now on, it’s about the job, and the job alone.

I take a fortifying breath and let myself in. I kick off my shoes beside Anders’s and pause.

How nice would it be to always see them beside each other like this?

I turn around, walk out, then step back in.

There. Fresh start. Startingnow.

When I walk through the hall that spits me out to the kitchen, Anders is there cutting up an avocado. I don’t make a sound with my bare feet, but he looks up as soon as I step in.

“You’re back,” he says, pushing a plate toward me as I join him.

“Smells good in here,” I comment.

“Hopefully it tastes as good too,” he says, dropping slices of avocado on a plate of rice, beans, and tofu. “I read a recipe on how to make Puerto Rican rice and beans. If it’s horrible, then we can order out.”

“Are you kidding me?” I snap. I need to go outside and let myself back in again.

“Um, no?” He does his cute little head-cock thing. “If you don’t want to try, there are plenty of delivery options.”

“I’m not hungry,” I snap again, though my heart threatens to burst from its cage. It’s like it and my brain can’t get on the same page, and the contradicting emotions are going to drive me insane. “I mean, I don’t feel that well.”

“Did I get you sick?” He immediately approaches me, hand on my forehead. “You don’t feel warm. What’s wrong?”

Out of all the things my brain can think of, I say, “I just got my period.”

“Oh.” He blinks, then recovers instantly. “Can I get you anything? I can go to the store.”

“Nope.” I step away from him. “I’m all prepared. I’m just going to shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“Lucinda—”

“Good night!”

I practically fling myself into my room. No, the guest room. Notmy—nothing here ismyanything. It’s something I repeat when I shower, washing the day away, a needed reminder.

It was way too easy to fall for everyone involved in this, but I should have been better at keeping a distance. Of course, I know that my situation is difficult. I am in a very emotional stage of my life, and I have a lot on the line. Can I keep blaming myself for making very human errors?

Yes, but all I can think about is the way Anders says he hates the way I speak about myself—a sentiment now that’s not only helping me be easy on myself, but driving me up the wall that he would be so kind to me.

When I exit the bathroom, Anders is hunched over the bedside table. When he rights himself, he drops the heating pad he plugged in on the side of the bed.

Are you kidding me?