Page 13 of Dearly Unbeloved (Spicy in Seattle #3)

SIERRA

You realize the sink isn’t a storage space for your dirty dishes, right? - R

Jazz

What? When did we plan this?

We didn’t. I figured we were just springing things on each other now! Like, I don’t know… you marrying my sister. :)

“ S hit,” I groan. I knew this was coming. Jazz has been suspiciously quiet about me and Rose in the week since family dinner. And by that, I mean, she hasn’t brought it up once. And I certainly haven’t volunteered anything .

I drop my phone on the kitchen island and hop down from the stool. “Do you want this?”

Rose looks over from the coffee machine and arches a brow at my avocado toast. “What did you do to it?”

“You got me. I’m giving up on the inheritance, and I took out a life insurance policy on you instead.

I mashed poison into the avocado,” I reply, rolling my eyes.

“I didn’t do anything to it. Jazz just sprung on me that she’s picking me up in ten minutes so she can take me to breakfast—presumably to grill me about us—and I need to finish getting ready. Eat it or don’t. I don’t care.”

Ten minutes later, when I’m rushing out the door, the plate is empty.

“So.” Jazz narrows her eyes at me over her iced latte.

“So,” I echo.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“What the fuck are you doing, Sierra?” Jazz asks, slamming her latte down on the table so hard that some of the lavender whipped cream falls off. “Look, I’m no stranger to a drunken mistake, but getting married? ”

“You and Liam got married after two months of dating,” I point out.

Jazz glares at me. “‘Dating’ being the optimal part of that sentence. There’s also something to be said for the fact that Liam and I didn’t hate each other approximately two hours before said wedding. I was with you, remember?”

It’s hard to argue with that. In Vegas, hungover in the diner, this all seemed so much more manageable.

I didn’t consider how hard it would be to actually lie to people I care about—how guilty I’d feel.

And it feels really fucking unfair that I’m the one feeling guilty when it was Rose’s idea to stay married.

She doesn’t seem remotely fazed by any of this.

“I understand that this seems a little out of the blue,” I say, finally, and Jazz rolls her eyes.

“Seriously? Did you practice that? What the fuck, Sierra?”

I throw my hands up with a frustrated groan, almost upending my coffee. “What do you want me to say? I’m not going to apologize for marrying someone I… care about. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but since when did love happen conveniently?”

It doesn’t sound remotely convincing to my ears, but Jazz’s expression softens.

“How did it happen?”

“What?”

“How did you go from hating each other to being in love in the blink of an eye? I mean, I assume it’s been building a while, but it didn’t seem like that when you were both pissed that the other was coming to Vegas.”

Right. This is something Rose and I should probably have discussed ahead of time— the story .

Liam got Jazz hooked on romance books, and the two of them love a love story.

Lying comes naturally to me, something I should probably unpack, but storytelling has never been my forte.

I only just scraped a B- in my college creative writing class.

They say the best stories are rooted in truth, but there’s zero truth to our nonexistent love story, so I’m on my own here. I clear my throat.

“Well, it’s like you said: it’s been building for a while.

We spend so much time together, not intentionally, but we live together, you know.

And I guess it started to change when…” I wrack my brain, trying to think of something that might trigger our feelings to change, and almost clap my hands when something comes to mind.

“Do you remember when I had that really bad flu a couple of months ago?”

“I remember. You sounded so rough that I started mentally planning your funeral,” Jazz says nonchalantly.

“That’s… What?”

She just shrugs.

“Anyway. Rose looked after me. She made me soup.” She begrudgingly brought the soup I ordered from the front door to my bedroom and was kind enough to fill up my water bottle maybe twice.

“Rose cooked for you? I’ve never seen Rose cook in my life,” Jazz replies skeptically. And fairly. Neither Rose nor I spend much time in the kitchen. Mostly we reheat shit. Which is just as well because when I do cook, I’m messy, and I think I’d probably cause her an aneurysm.

“I didn’t say she cooked,” I correct. “She picked up soup from somewhere and reheated it, but the gesture was nice. And she kept an eye on me to make sure I was okay.”

“And then what? ”

“When I was better, we went out, and I bought her dinner to say thank you.” We went to the grocery store together because my car was in the shop, and I paid for her pre-made salad because she forgot her purse.

“And then?”

Jesus. Does she want a full timeline?

I raise my brows. “I don’t think you want more details than that, considering Rose is your little sister.”

She wrinkles her nose at the implication. “Gross. No, thank you. I’m not going to pretend I get it, because I don’t, but thank you for telling me that.”

We’re quiet as our food arrives, and with one bite of her strawberry pancakes, Jazz momentarily forgets I’m sitting across from her. I dig into my avocado breakfast stack—admittedly nicer than the toast I make at home—and enjoy the quiet, until Jazz drops her fork on her plate and sighs.

“We’re friends, so I’m going to ask you something as a friend and not a big sister who’s concerned about her sister’s wellbeing.”

I gesture for her to go on with my fork.

“What happens in three months?”

My lungs burn as I inhale the avocado and sriracha. Shit. I take a big gulp of my coffee and a deep breath, trying not to meet my demise in a fucking diner. What the hell does Jazz mean by that?

“What are you talking about? Three months?” I ask, hoping I look suitably oblivious.

“Come on, Sierra. I’ve known you for years now. I know your pattern.”

I don’t have to pretend to look oblivious as I answer. “My pattern?”

“Amy, Molly, Zhi, Sydney…” She ticks off her fingers as she recites the names of the women I’ve dated in the three and a half years she’s known me. “Am I missing anyone?”

She’s missing Toni and Mariana, but I somehow don’t think it’s necessary to mention them.

“What’s your point?” I ask wearily, though I already know where she’s going with this.

“My point is that you meet someone, you date for three months, and then you break up with them, no matter how much you like them. With seemingly no exceptions. I thought Molly and Zhi might actually last longer than three months, considering how much you liked them, but nope. Three months on the dot, you ended things.”

I had no idea she was so observant. Shit.

I could tell her that I have a strict three-month limit on relationships because the easiest way not to get hurt is not to give people the chance to hurt you.

I could tell her that I usually have the same rule for friends, but she somehow weaseled her way into being the exception to the rule.

I could tell her where it all started, because god knows I’ve never really opened up to her.

I could tell her that none of it matters, because Rose and I have a three-month agreement, anyway.

But I don’t tell her any of those things.

“What can I say? Three months is long enough for me to know if I want to be with someone long-term or not. Why prolong things if I know it’s not going to last? ”

“And Rose is the person you’ve decided it’s going to last with?” she asks.

I nod, feeling more and more guilty with every lie I tell her straight to her face.

Jazz hums. “I suppose it makes sense that you’d be so picky. Your parents are stupid in love. Kyo too. Marriage must be pretty important to you, considering how long your parents have been happily married.”

“It is.”

Why do I sound defensive? Thankfully, Jazz keeps talking, like she didn’t notice my sharp tone.

“Between you and me, I’m really happy that it’s your family Rose married into. She’s always seemed so lonely, and you know what our parents are like. It was so healing for me to be accepted by the Michaelsons—Maggie, too—and feel like a part of a real family for a change.”

I push a piece of arugula around my plate with my fork, squirming uncomfortably.

“How did your parents take it? Were they excited?” Jazz asks, but I don’t look up. I can’t look up.

“Yeah, they were really excited. They can’t wait to meet Rose.”

“That’s sweet. She deserves a good family to look up to—and you both deserve a marriage like your parents, Sierra. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a little baffled and blindsided, but I’m happy for you both.”

I thank her, then hide behind my almost empty coffee cup, dragging out the last mouthful.

All I’ve ever wanted is a relationship like my parents have.

Marriage is a sacred thing between them, and I know Kyo struggles with the fact he’ll never get to marry both people he loves.

Yet here I am, trampling all over something so important to them.

They would be ashamed of me if they found out.

They’re going to be devastated when Rose and I get divorced.

I know I’m not entirely blameless here, but fuck Rose for putting me in this position. Fuck her for being so unbothered by it all.

What I need is a break—from Rose, from the guilt, from all of it. What I need is to spend my Friday night in a bar, and to leave with someone who’s going to make me forget all about Rose Cannon.