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Sasha

Ihit the brakes, and Griff’s truck rumbles to a stop outside Bijou. Pulling down the visor, I check my makeup in the mirror. Not bad for five hours of sleep and considerable exertion last night.

My stomach does a little dance as I step out of the truck—followed by a twinge of pain from my nether regions. The second time Griffin and I did it last night, I teased him about not having the stamina to go hard.

“I’m just trying to make sure you can walk tomorrow, Angel,” he rasped in my ear.

I tighten my purse against me, forcing myself to get thoughts of Griffin out of my head.

This is not where my mind needs to be right now. I’m here because if I’m going to be living in Quince Valley for the next few months, I don’t want to be solely reliant on Griffin for entertainment or be a freeloader. Most of all, I don’t want to sit at home wondering if, despite the safety Griffin’s business is affording us, Creelman might know where I am. I refuse to live scared. I’m getting on with my life. And that means moving ahead with the three-step plan I devised yesterday at Griffin’s dad’s place.

The doorbell dings as I step inside, inhaling the familiar scent of high-end clothes and the small selection of perfumes at the counter.

“Hello.” A woman who’s not Vivian Lau calls to me from over at the winter coats, which look to have newly arrived.

She’s taller than me by a couple of inches, and she’s my age or maybe a few years older. She’s very pretty, in a girl-next-door way, with her below-shoulder-length dark hair and pink cheeks. A smattering of freckles across her nose.

She reminds me a little of my older sister.

My heart tightens at that. Except for a few texts, I haven’t spoken to Leila since she visited me in London with our parents last year. It was the last time we all pretended to be a family, even though both my brothers were back stateside, dealing with yet another mess Sam was in.

I shove thoughts about my family aside—it’s easier than getting Griffin out of my head.

Then I notice that the woman has a pen tucked behind her ear and a stack of tags in one hand. She works here.

“Oh, hi,” I say. I hope the disappointment doesn’t show on my face. Looks like Vivian found the help she was looking for.

It’s fine. There are a hundred other places I could work around here. Okay, maybe a dozen, and none where I know the ins and outs of the business like this one.

The woman smiles warmly. She looks so nice, and it’s not her fault Vivian didn’t wait for me. It’s entirely mine. “Is there anything I can help you look for?” she asks.

“I’m just looking,” I say. “But thank you.”

“No problem.” She hesitates. Then she says, “It’s my second day on the job, if I’m being honest, so I might not be able to answer all your questions, but Vivian—”

“Ms. Kelly, is it now?” Vivian’s voice cuts across the room like a high note on a violin. An electric violin, if there is such a thing. I didn’t see her back there.

“Wow. News travels fast,” I say. I’m not doing any legal name-changing, but that’s what I’m going by for as long as we’re fake-married. As strange as it feels, it’s nice not to have to pretend I don’t have a last name.

“Your sister-in-law was in here yesterday,” Vivian says by way of explanation. “She chose an absolutelygaucheblouse for your ceremony.”

A phone rings shrilly then, and Vivian huffs, turning to grab it.

“I’m sorry.” The woman’s eyes are wide when I look back at her. “I thought the blouse was lovely.”

“It was,” I laugh. “And Vivian didn’t hate it enough to not carry it in the store.”

The woman laughs, too. “Good point. And congratulations.”

“Thank you.” I smile, feeling a warmth I shouldn’t spread over me. I try to douse it with the constantit-isn’t-realmantra. “Don’t worry about Vivian, by the way,” I say. “I’ve been told she’s like this with everyone.”

“I’m beginning to see that. By the end of the day yesterday, I honestly had no idea why she hired me. I was stunned when she told me to come back today.”

I smile. “I’m sure you’re doing great.”

I suddenly realize how desperate I am to make new friends. Nora’s not due back from London until Christmas, and I would love to talk to someone not related to my fake husband—not that I don’t love Griffin’s sisters.

I thrust out my hand. “Sasha…Kelly.”