Page 87 of How to Ruin a Wedding

Then, because I’m not sure if he remembers how words work, I add, “Happy birthday.”

He shoves the gift in the bag, then gets out of the car. Seconds later, my side opens up, and he pulls me out with him. “What is this?” he asks.

I frown. “You can throw it out if you want.”

“Not that.” He shoves a rough hand through his hair. “This. Disappearing without telling me. Then showing up again with a gift. You’ve been different. Distant.”

A flash of headlights pours over him as another car pulls up.

“I’m still working on the wedding.” I look at my feet, already sore in these heels. “And I’m making progress, don’t worry. I can give you more updates later.”

“You know I’m not talking about that,” he snaps.

My gaze flickers to his heated one. “You should be, though.”

Then I hear doors slamming shut, footsteps—close, deliberate—approaching fast.

He narrows his eyes. “I’m a reasonable man, Lucinda, but even I have my limits.” He steps closer to me. “If I did something wrong, I’ll apologize, but I’m clueless if you don’t tell me. And if you’re putting distance between us—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” I hold up my hands as the footsteps grow louder.

“You can’t keep avoiding—” Anders starts, and then, without thinking, desperate to stop him before anyone overhears, I fling my arms around him and press my mouth to his. The shock of it steals any response from him other than his body going stiff.

I pull away, my arm snaking around him as a couple approaches us.

“Anders,” the woman says, and my heart sinks to my stomach.

Long blond hair, a perfect pointed nose, and smooth tan skin. Anna, the woman whose wedding I wrecked, and her husband, Lucas, beside her.

She opens her arms for a full hug. He pulls away from me slightly, gives her a half hug, and does the same to Lucas. I was in a half-assed disguise when I saw them and caused enough chaos they shouldn’t recognize me—hopefully—but nerves fill my stomach anyway.

Despite everything, Anders still keeps in touch with them. Weekly catch-ups, the occasional coffee, enough shared history to keep them tethered. So naturally, they know about me. Maybe not everything—but enough. Anna narrows her gaze my way, giving me a once-over. “So, you’re the secret girlfriend,” she says.

“That’s me.”

“Nice to finally meet you.” Lucas holds out a hand, and I match his firm handshake. Unlike his wife, his smile seems harmlessly curious.

“Likewise.”

“You’re different than what I imagined,” Anna says in a small but firm voice.

I cock my head to the side. “What did you imagine?”

“Someone more reserved,” she says, giving me a once-over.

My dress stops midway up my thigh and exposes a lot of shoulder, but is loose-fitting outside the chest area. Her dress is also sleeveless, with a deep plunge, but stops below her thigh.

I’m not sure if it’s a subtle insult, separating us when she knows she was with Anders longer, so I say, “Well”—I give her the same once-over—“looks like Anders has a type.”

Anders snorts, and Lucas wraps an arm around Anna. “Before this gets more awkward, maybe we should all get some liquor in our systems.”

“Great idea.” I tighten my grip on Anders until he puts his arm around me as we walk.

He and Lucas exchange pleasantries while Anna and I keep glancing at each other. Neither of us is giving the other dirty looks, and it’snot like I need to be territorial since Anders isn’t really mine and Anna is married, but there is this tension that travels with us as we move through the indoor entrance of the vineyard.

When people notice Anders, they all cheer and rush over to give their birthday wishes. Some hang back and wave, taking a more patient approach. I try to pull away so he can greet them all properly, but he snakes a hand around my waist, pressing me against him.

Right. There are more eyes on us than ever. If there was ever a time to play up the role of doting girlfriend, it’s now. Especially when we step through the French doors at the back of the building, leading outside to the endless rows of vines, and his favorite people are standing around under hundreds, maybe thousands, of string lights woven throughout thin apple trees that stretch farther than my vision allows.