Page 12 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

ROSE

Thirteen basic facts you should know about your partner!

I scan the list, swiping through it on my phone. We really should’ve talked about this before introducing our relationship to other people.

“What’s your favorite food?” I ask Sierra. We still have a few minutes of the drive left, and I’m not going to waste them.

“Italian food. But real Italian food, with fresh tomatoes and basil and lots of pepper. And yours is Chinese food—specifically the chili garlic tofu from the takeout place a couple blocks from our apartment.”

I side-eye her. “How did you know that?”

“I pay attention. What’s next?”

“Any allergies? I’m allergic to?—”

“Bananas, I know. None for me.”

I’m not even sure my dad knows I’m allergic to bananas. What the fuck?

“Favorite sport? ”

Sierra hums, considering. “Women’s ice hockey. I like to see them fight.” She sounds downright dreamy just thinking about it. “Yours?”

“I don’t really like watching sports, but I like running.” Watching other people do things has never been exciting to me. All it does is make me wonder if I could do it, and if I could do it better.

I scroll down the list and snort. “Favorite flower?”

Sierra is obsessed with the things. I swear it feels like we’re living in a flower shop sometimes. I did put my foot down on only having one vase at a time, but she seems to have forgotten about that over the past couple of weeks.

“It was roses, but you’ve kind of ruined that for me. What with your thorny demeanor and all,” she replies dryly. “But from a semi-fake marriage point of view, that’ll be my answer if anyone asks. Not that anyone is going to ask.”

“I don’t have a favorite flower.”

Sierra pulls into a parking space on the street outside Lisa’s house and turns to face me. “Yeah, no shit.”

We both look up at Lisa’s house. From the outside, it’s perfectly unassuming, all-American. But there’s so much riding on this fucking picnic. Too much. If we can’t convince a group of relative strangers that we’re happily in love, we might as well give up and admit everything to our families.

“You ready for this?” Sierra asks, because she knows as well as I do that she’s not the issue here. I nod, and she unclips her seatbelt. “Then let’s do this— wife ,” she adds, sarcastically, scrambling out of the car before I can protest.

I jog along the sidewalk to catch up. “Don’t call me that,” I grumble as she loops her arm through mine. It feels unnatural, walking up to Lisa’s front door, so close together.

“It’s technically true,” Sierra points out. “And if we’re going to sell this, you might want to look a little less disgusted at the thought of spending time with me.”

She knocks on the door and pastes a perfectly neutral smile on her face as we wait for Lisa to answer. It’s not too over the top, to the point it feels fake, and it doesn’t feel forced. I try my best to emulate it, hoping it doesn’t show how out of my depth I am.

The door swings open and Lisa beams at us. “Rose! I’m so glad you came. And you must be Sierra. It’s great to finally meet you. I’m Lisa.”

Sierra takes her offered hand and shakes it. “You too! Rose talks about you all so much that I swear I feel like I already know you. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

Fuck. She really is a natural liar.

Lisa leads us into the house, through the bright, airy hallway and into the kitchen, where a bunch of my colleagues are standing around with plastic cups in their hands.

The conversation hushes immediately when we walk in, like no one actually believed I’d show.

I would feel worse if I didn’t know myself.

Thankfully, Lisa is in hostess mode, and she introduces everyone without me having to do more than wave and say, “Hello.”

Sierra nudges me gently. “Honey,”—what the fuck?—“the donuts.”

She nods to the paper bag I’m holding. Right. “We brought donuts,” I say, passing the bag to Lisa, awkwardly.

“They’re from our favorite donut place. We go, like, every Saturday morning.

Well, when Rosie can get me out of bed early enough!

I’m not a morning person,” she says with a self-deprecating eye roll.

It’s actually kind of impressive how comfortable she seems in a room full of strangers, lying through her teeth—not about not being a morning person. That part is true.

“We’re not either,” Jenna, one of the other lab techs, pipes up. “There’s this breakfast place downtown, though, and it’s totally worth getting up early for.”

And just like that, the whole group starts talking about their favorite Seattle cafés and restaurants, like Sierra didn’t lead them toward the conversation. It’s fascinating to watch.

And it’s an easy conversation for me to keep up with because, though I might not be the most sociable person in the world, I like coffee and treats.

I’m able to chime in with recommendations and talk about some of the places I’ve been recently without too much of a struggle—and every time I do, Sierra manages to twist what I’ve said into something more couple-y.

“There’s a coffee place by my sister’s house that has amazing brownies,” I say, and she immediately adds, “Oh my god, they’re so good. We went with Rose’s sister and her husband a few weeks ago, and all ordered different flavors so we could do a brownie flight. Amazing!”

As we move to the yard, where Lisa has tables and picnic blankets set up alongside a buffet, the conversation turns to eating while traveling.

“And speaking of traveling, I believe congratulations are in order. Vegas, right?” Collin, one of the senior lab techs, says, smiling at us. At work, Collin scares the shit out of me. Here, standing and lying to his face? Somehow worse.

“Thank you,” I reply, hoping like hell my cheeks aren’t burning as much as they feel like they are.

“It was the perfect weekend,” Sierra adds, squeezing my arm. The cool band of her ring bites into my skin, but it’s clearly intentional, because everyone immediately zeroes in on it.

“Oh wow, that’s gorgeous! Let’s see it up close—yours too, Rose!”

We both hold out our hands, and I try not to cringe as everyone touches mine, turning it here, there, and everywhere, so the diamond on my finger catches the light.

“You have to tell us everything,” Jenna says, leading us to one of the picnic tables. “How did you meet? When did you get engaged? What was the wedding like?”

Sierra leans on the table, resting her head on her hand. “I’m actually Rose’s sister’s assistant, and she introduced us when Rose was looking for a new roommate. We moved in together a few weeks later.”

“Aww, how sweet. Was it love at first sight?”

Sierra chuckles, batting her eyelashes and flashing a bashful smile. Who the fuck is she? “More like love at first fight ,” she says. “We didn’t get along at first, did we, honey?”

I swallow. Deep breaths. If Sierra can do this, I sure as hell can.

“You could say there were some adjustment issues when we first moved in together,” I admit, winding my arm around her shoulders and hoping it looks smooth.

Sierra snuggles into my side, and she smells pretty good.

Like sugared violets. I need to find out what shampoo she uses—there are like twenty empty bottles in the bathroom at home.

“But the more time we spent together, the more we realized how much we have in common,” I continue.

Sierra looks up at me with a sweet smile, but I’ve spent enough time around her to notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Once we noticed that, there was no going back. I knew she was going to be my wife someday.”

“You guys are adorable.” I barely notice who said it. It’s been twenty minutes and I’m already exhausted. Sierra must see it in my eyes, because she looks away and changes the subject.

“Kayleigh, Rose tells me you’re from England? My brother’s partner, Rylan, is from Brighton. Where are you from?”

I sit back and let her take the reins, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to maintain this for the next three months. It doesn’t feel so bad here when Sierra is directing the conversation. Nothing seems to rattle her.

Until Richard, an asshole technician who works in the same lab as me, appears, that is. I hate him. He’s loud and makes jokes that aren’t appropriate for the twenty-first century, let alone a workplace. And I completely forgot to warn Sierra.

“Where are you from, Sierra?” Richard asks. From anyone else, the question would feel like polite small talk. But I can tell Sierra recognizes where this is going without me needing to warn her by her slow intake of breath.

“I was born in Washington, but my dad’s Canadian, so we lived in Toronto for a good part of my childhood,” she replies. She sounds breezy, even if her hold on my waist tightens.

“Right, right. But where are you really from?”

There it is. I open my mouth, but Sierra squeezes my waist, so I bite my tongue.

“Specifically, I was born in Yakima. My parents lived there for a few years before they had me.”

Richard frowns. “Oh, yeah, but I meant?—”

“We all know what you meant, Richard,” I snap before I can stop myself, and several surprised faces turn my way. I take a sharp breath. “Either ask outright, or let it go.”

Sierra looks a little stunned at my outburst, but she recovers quickly. “Rosie can be a little protective of me sometimes. I assume you were wondering about my ethnicity?”

Richard’s face is bright red, and I expect he’s not used to being called on his bullshit—by a woman, no less. “Yes,” he practically mumbles.

“My dad’s second-generation Japanese Canadian.

His parents moved from Nagoya to Calgary in the ’50s.

My mom’s from Washington, but her family is German and Dutch.

” Sierra’s answer sounds rehearsed. How many times has she been asked the same thing, the same way?

I know she loves talking about her heritage, but it has to feel really shitty when people constantly dance around it like that.

And based on the unhappy looks Richard is getting, I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. Lisa clears her throat, dropping onto the bench opposite us.

“Have you visited Japan? I’ve always wanted to go. It looks incredible.”

“It is,” Sierra says, her face lighting up. “We went a few times when I was a kid, but it’s been a while. I’m not big on flying, and it’s a big trip. Still, I’d like to take Rosie someday. I always dreamed of getting to take my wife to visit the places my grandparents talked about.”

She has a wistful expression on her face when she talks about it, and I imagine her taking her wife one day—her actual wife, not me. For the second time today, I feel a sharp pain in my chest.