Faking It with the Frenemy

“You wish you had that brat with her, don’t you?” Geneva keeps on screeching at Wyatt, ignoring me.

I feel my face harden as I realize who she means by “brat.” I can’t see Vi right now, not with every adult standing up to watch the shit hitting the fan, but I hope she’s too distracted with her friends to hear it. Better yet, she found the bathroom I couldn’t and isn’t around to witness this horror show.

Wyatt glares at her. “Shut up, Geneva.”

“That useless thing ruined my figure. I’ll never be able to un-stretch my belly. But I got the best man I could, and you still had to wreck everything! I can’t go through with this now because everyone saw what happened in that room, and who’s going to pay for all…this?” Tears in her eyes, she gestures at the venue—from the guests to the flowers to the cake.

For the briefest moment, I feel almost sorry for her, for sinking so low that she thought marrying a man who cheats on her on their wedding day would be okay as long as people didn’t know about it.

Wyatt looks terrible…murderous. He might actually throttle her if it wasn’t for all the witnesses. He takes a step toward her, but then stops and turns. I turn as well and see Vi. Her face is colorless, and tears are glistening in her wide eyes.

Now I want to murder Geneva.

Praying d

esperately she didn’t hear what her mom said, I run to Vi and put my hands over her ears. I wish I could go back in time and take her away from the scene so she’d miss all the horrible things her mom said. And I’d ignore the noises Churchill was making so he and Geneva got what they deserved—each other.

Sighing softly, I hope that despite the wedding being cancelled, coming to Corn Meadows gives Vi some closure. But even with everything going on, I can’t help coming back to what Geneva said about herpes and the text.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Kim

Wyatt and I take Vi away from the orangery. Our steps are hurried as more yelling and obscenities fly behind us. Vi doesn’t resist, but stumbles along like a rag doll. And that makes my heart ache more than her screaming or throwing a tantrum ever could.

I sit next to her in the back of the car as Wyatt drives to his parents’ home. We don’t say anything. Vi’s lips are pressed tight and she’s blinking hard, as though that will hide the tears gathering in her eyes. I hold her cool, limp hand in mine, unsure what to tell her to make it hurt less. But there are no words to take away the pain she’s feeling.

Wyatt’s parents come out the moment we pull into their driveway. A plaid shirt and worn jeans stretch over his father’s tall and now comfortably rounded body. He has less hair than I remember. His mother is in a long house dress that flows around her like a cloud as she moves hurriedly. Their expressions are tight. Guess they saw the videos. Geneva’s wedding has to be the biggest event of the summer for this town, if not the year.

But as Vi climbs out of the car, they smooth their faces and paste on big smiles.

“You’re here!” Mr. Westland says, picking Vi up.

Mrs. Westland pats Vi on her back, then hugs Wyatt. Finally, she turns to me. “How are you, Kim? We haven’t seen you in ages.”

That about sums it up. If I had it my way, we would’ve never seen each other again, since I wouldn’t be back in Corn Meadows. But I’m grateful she seems to know what to do with Vi. And despite my and Wyatt’s falling out, these folks were always nice to me. I give her a small smile. “Hello, Mrs. Westland. Mr. Westland.”

“Jenna and Pat. You aren’t in high school anymore,” she says. “Come on in. I was just making some lemonade. Want some?” Even though she’s supposedly speaking to me, her gaze is on Vi.

There’s no reaction from Vi, and the light in Jenna’s face dims. But smoothing things out is one of my numerous duties at my job—and I’m damn good at it. “I’d love that. Wouldn’t you, Vi?”

She nods a little, even though she’s still looking down. I should’ve shoved Geneva’s face into the damned cake before leaving.

We all go into the house. Nothing much has changed. The sofa is worn but comfortable. The dining table is huge, the surface slightly scratched from years and years of use. The interior feels homey, and nothing about it indicates the sudden exponential jump in their son’s wealth. I admire and slightly envy that. If it were my mom, she would’ve not only upgraded her home but would’ve made sure to let everyone know about her change in circumstances.

Wyatt and Pat take Vi’s suitcases upstairs, while Vi and I follow Jenna to the kitchen. She pours us fresh lemonade, and Vi sips it quietly. There’s none of her earlier bubbliness, and it upsets me that she’s so miserable. I didn’t think she’d be able to make up with Geneva, but I thought she’d maybe accept how things are with her mom, rather than pining over a mother-daughter relationship she doesn’t have. I used to be like that too, and I wasn’t happy until I accepted that people will never change for me, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise.

Soon Wyatt and Pat join us. Jenna tilts her head at me, and I nod and follow her out to the garden. I’m certain she wants to talk about the ceremony.

“I saw what happened,” she says. “The wedding. It’s all over our Facebook group.”

“Yeah, a bunch of people had their phones out.” The busybodies of Corn Meadows never rest.

“There’s a thread where Geneva started to brag, and everyone posted videos in the comments…” Jenna shrugs.

Figures. That’s totally Geneva. She obviously considered Churchill the ultimate matrimonial prize…until he stuck his stick shift into somebody else when he should’ve been parked at the altar.

“I don’t suppose Geneva controlled herself very well.” Jenna’s tone says she wants me to contradict her, even though she’s certain I won’t.