“What?” she yelps.
She sits up and scrambles to find the light. I lie perfectly still and await her interrogation.
The lamp switches on and I squint. My sister hovers over me, her eyes narrowed, too, as she tries to figure out whether I’m just screwing with her.
“Will you lie back down?” I ask. “You’re letting cool air into the bed, and I’m already cold.”
“Shut up. What do you mean you’re marrying Holden?”
I shrug. “I mean he asked me to be his wife, and I said yes.”
She rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. “I feel like I just missed a chunk of your life. This doesn’t make any sense.” She drops her hands. “Have I been in a coma or something?”
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s really not as complicated as you’re thinking it is. He needs a wife to get a job, and I’m available and willing. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
The words sound so matter-of-fact. It’s so cut-and-dried, so impersonal, when I say it out loud. Like he just asked me to house-sit or something.
“I . . . He wants to marry you for a job?” She rubs her eyes. “What do you get out of it?”
“Well . . .”
“Besides the benefits of having a man like that in your bed.”
I press against the mattress and sit up. “The idea of having Holden in my bed has no room in this conversation. Or any conversation. We’re talking about marriage as a business proposition. Because that’s what this would be. A business transaction. Not a romantic interlude. He’s made that clear. I’ve made that crystal clear.”
I think.
Liv completely and utterly ignores everything I just said. She takes in a deep breath, wide awake now, and giggles.
“You little minx,” she squeals. “I knew there was fire between you, but—”
“No. Stop it. It’s not like that.”
Her smile slips. “Then what’s it like? Because if I’m marrying anyone, I better get to sleep with him.”
I pull my robe away from my neck. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
“But you will, right?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame.”
“That’s smart,” I insist. “You aren’t supposed to mix business and pleasure.”
She grins wickedly. “I bet that man would be a whole lot of pleasure.”
Images of him in his gray sweatpants come back to haunt me. My stomach tightens as I recall how his ass filled out the back and how his thighs looked tight and muscled as he walked into Tank’s.
“Not the point,” I say, plucking my brain out of that thirst trap. “The point is that we’re getting married because it’ll help us both out of a bind. He doesn’t want me as a wife-wife, which is fine, because I don’t want him as a husband-husband either.”
She settles back against the headboard. “Okay. Fine. Again—what do you get out of it?”
“He’s paying the property taxes.”
After squirming around, I sit up and lean against the leather-wrapped headboard beside her. She gives me a moment of peace and doesn’t poke.
“Should we just say screw this and go make brownie batter and eat it with a spoon?” she asks.
“Nah. I’m not hungry.”
“I figured.”
I look at her. She reminds me of my mother with her pointed nose and the mole on the underside of her chin. “I need you to tell me this is okay. Be my big sister and boss me around. Force your opinion on me.”
She presses her lips together. “First, answer this: You know Jobe and I would help you, right? We could get the money. And we’d be happy to.”
I force a swallow. “I know. But I’m not putting you guys in debt because of my choices. I’m a big girl. The Honey House is my baby. It’s my responsibility, and you both help out so much already.”
She lets her head fall to the side until it touches mine. “The Honey House might be in your name, but you know it’s like home to Jobe and me, too, Soph. We want to help.”
“I know. But I want to make this happen on my own. It’s important to me. And there’s a part of me that feels like having Holden help me out kind of takes that away from me a little bit, but another part says it’s the same thing, really, as getting a loan. Which I really don’t want to do, because Gramma would roll over in her grave.” I pause. “And Candace at the bank is the last thing I want to face since she told everyone Chad left me to start with.”
“Yeah. Good point.”
We sit, heads touching, for a long time. I watch the shadows from the wax burner dance on the walls and listen to Liv’s breathing.
“You know, you should probably use a mouthwash when you get married. Your breath stinks in the middle of the night,” I tease.
She huffs and lifts her head off mine. “You are such a brat. I should just breathe all over you for waking me up.” She knocks my shoulder with hers before settling back against the headboard. “You know that I’ll back you in whatever you do. You’re a smart girl, and if this is what you think works for you, then you do it balls-out.”