To my beautiful Candace, whose name means “clarity.”
You’ve given my life clarity and purpose: to bring you joy.
Six weeks later . . .
There are two kinds of women in the world: those who buy throw pillows, and those who don’t. You know the ones who do. Uppity housewives who wear Ann Taylor. Etsy-loving homemakers. Prudish moms who suck in bed but bake like a fiend.
Not me. I hung out on the other end of the spectrum. Chaotic. Go-with-the-flow. Free-thinking. Fun. My ex called me a “trailer park hippie,” as if that were an insult. Give me all the bohemian vibes, thank you very much. I didn’t make my bed each morning, let alone worry about decorating it with overpriced, uncomfortable pillows that I would just toss on a floor that I never swept clean. Who cared about a little dust when there were more fulfilling things to do with your time?
So when the doorbell rang, forcing me awake from my afternoon nap, I opened the door and instantly knew I was looking at a throw pillow kind of woman. Her three-quarter-sleeved blouse was buttoned way too high, and her form-fitting khaki capris did nothing to compliment her flat ass. One look at her told me all I needed to know. There was a void inside of her that she covered up in boring, beige, brand name pride. She offered a polite but empty smile.
“Can I help you?” I asked, expecting her to be a Jehovah’s Witness or some other religious groupie offering spiritual wares that I didn’t want or need.
Her face, caked with foundation, drooped with a frown as she spoke warily. “I’m looking for Lane. Is he home?”
“Who’s asking?” I felt like I should recognize her, but I couldn’t quite place where I knew her from.
She extended her hand across the threshold, but I ignored it.
“I’m Harper—Lane’s sister.”
So this was Harper. My new sister-in-law. “Oh, hi. I thought you looked familiar.”
Her hand dropped to her side. “Yeah, we’ve met before. Over dinner. It’s Candace, right?”
Oh yes, the awkward interrogation dinner of a million and one questions, all aimed at me. “Wow, that’s quite a memory you have.”
Her gaze felt intrusive. “Yep, I don’t forget things easily.”
Harper had an unmemorable face to match her unmemorable personality. Now she was the kind who made her bed every morning—sometimes even before coffee. Her red hair brushed against her chin. I hadn’t remembered her being a ginger.
“You look different from when I last saw you.”
Her hand flew up to her hair, touching it self-consciously. “New haircut. I needed a change, you know? It was either this or a pixie cut.”
“A pixie cut is great if you want one day of feeling cute and three months of regret as you grow it out.”
Her smile flicked on, then off, and her judgment traveled up and down my body. “You’re quite tall, aren’t you? I didn’t remember you being so tall . . . and thin.”
I was well aware of my five-foot-eleven height. “I suppose.”
“Lane never dated anyone so . . . modelesque before. I mean that as a compliment. You’re quite stunning. And young. A little young for Lane, though, don’t you think?”
“Age is just a number, as they say.”
Her lips rose in a grin that didn’t look natural. “As long as you’re happy together, that’s all that matters, which I’m sure you are.”
Clearly Harper liked flattery, but she doled it out futilely. It was all so unsettling, her obsessing over my looks and age. I muttered a questioning “Would you like to come in?” for lack of anything more interesting to say.
“I was wondering when you’d offer,” Harper said for appearance’s sake, as she was already inching her way through the door.
“Sorry. How rude of me.” How rude of her to show up unannounced. I stepped aside, only now seeing the two tiny creatures that had been hiding behind her hips, all elbows and knees.
The little boy encompassed every creepy child in every horror movie ever made—oily black hair and pale skin. I wondered if when he smiled he’d reveal a mouth full of fangs . . . though he didn’t appear to be the smiling type. A grin would probably crack his face.
“I’m not sure if you remember Elise and Jackson. Guys, come in and introduce yourselves. This is Uncle Lane’s girlfriend, Miss Candace.”
The three shuffled into the narrow foyer, the kids still clinging to their mother like I was about to eat them.
“Hi,” Elise whispered. She flashed a meek smile, avoiding eye contact. Definitely shy and annoyingly timid. I wanted to yell at her to speak up, but instead I grinned back at her. Based on the snug, sparkly Purrfect in every way kitten T-shirt she wore, I guessed her to be about seven. A platinum blond, her hair looked borrowed from a Barbie doll, with knots all through it, as though her mother never brushed it.
I pegged Harper with my gaze. “Wife.”
“Excuse me?” Her face wrinkled in confusion.
“I’m Lane’s wife, not his girlfriend.”
Her mouth dropped, and pink splotches rose up her neck. Aw, I had embarrassed the poor thing.
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
Lifting my hand, I flashed her my ring finger, adorned with a platinum band. “It’s true!”
“You were b-barely d-dating . . . ,” she stuttered. “When did—”
“How old are you, Ellie?” I asked, cutting Harper off before she tossed out another question. His family was his territory to handle, not mine.
“It’s Elise,” Harper corrected.
“I’m eleven, ma’am.” Elise’s voice was as tiny as she was.
“Holy shit, no way! I guessed seven, based on that shirt.”
Harper cast me a glare. “Language, please.”
I rolled my eyes and mumbled a “sorry” that I didn’t mean. The kids had to grow up sometime. I would have bet my last dollar that Harper was a helicopter parent, always hovering. She probably still dressed Ellie—I mean Elise—and cut her hot dogs into minuscule pieces.
“I’m small for my age.” Elise’s lips puckered in a pout. She tugged out her shirt, examining it upside-down. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“It’s just a bit . . . babyish, don’t you think? A kitten . . . really? Maybe one of these days I can take you shopping for a girls’ day out and update your wardrobe. Would you like that?” That earned another scowl from the sister-in-law.
“I don’t think so,” Harper cut in.
I turned to the creepy kid. “And you’re Jack?”
“Jackson,” Harper corrected again, then knelt down at his eye level. “Sweetie, say hi.”
Raising his gaze from the floor, he looked at me with inky eyes that bolstered my suspicions. Two abysmal black pools rung with bluish half-moons that even a cool cucumber and the world’s best eye cream couldn’t fix. His face hung like a white curtain, weary and sad. I saw distance in his eyes, like he was detached from this world. I definitely didn’t want to be alone in a house at night with this kid.
“Sorry, he’s shy,” Harper explained, resting her hand on his head.
So that’s what mothers called their weirdo kids—shy.
He looked like a child who appreciated horror stories. Hell, he could star in one. Maybe we could connect in that way, one thriller lover to another. It gave me an idea.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked him. I wondered if he knew some personally.
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did you know that an old lady died in this house? It took three days before a neighbor found her body after the mail started piling up. Sometimes you can hear her pacing the upstairs, haunting the rooms.” It was mostly true—except for the haunting part. I wasn’t totally fond of the idea of an elderly corpse rotting away in my spare bedroom, but as long as I didn’t wake up to see her skeletal specter hovering over my bed, I could deal with it.
The boy seemed vaguely interested as his mouth opened, a row of baby teeth peeking through. The girl looked up at her mother with what appeared to be a cry for help.
“What was that about?” Harper’s voice lowered to a stern warning. “Don’t scare them like that or else they’ll never fall asleep tonight! Do you not have any common sense when it comes to kids?”
“Apparently I don’t. Sorry.” I turned to the boy, winked, and mouthed, “It’s true.”
I was done entertaining, so I glanced back at the belly of the house.
“Laaaaane!” I called. The forced chitchat was simply exhausting. “Your sister’s here!” Then I turned back to Harper, eager to escape. “I’ll go see where he is.”
I didn’t get more than two steps before it registered what Harper had said: They’ll never fall asleep tonight. Surely she wasn’t bringing her family to stay in my home without asking first? Even if she did ask, the answer would be a resounding “hell no.” I was still on my honeymoon with my husband, and a house full of extended family was the last thing we needed. I had planned a month of romance for us, thanks to the tips I found in a Honeymoon Romance book I bought. Candlelit dinners, nighttime skinny-dipping, wine under the moonlight, lunch picnics in the yard, christening every room in the house with our love . . . No way was I letting his sister and her kids barge in on that.
Lane appeared around the corner, sweeping past me as he pulled Harper into an eager hug. “It’s been too long, Harp.”
She grabbed the knob of black hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. “Clearly. You’ve grown a man-bun since I last saw you!”
“Shut up. You’re so genderist. It’s not a man-bun, it’s a regular bun.”
Harper raised a skeptical eyebrow, then folded the collar of his shirt down. “If you grow one of those nasty frizzled beards, I’m hosting an intervention. Did Candace inspire this little . . . hipster makeover?”
“No. I’m just trying a new look.” Lane flipped his collar back up and simpered.
“Ugh. Try another one, please. Midlife crisis much?” She tugged the edge of his beanie down over his eyes and laughed. “And by the way, what’s up with the hat? It’s swimming weather, not snowing weather. And you’re indoors. What’s next—sunglasses at night?”
Lane pushed the beanie back up on his forehead. “Okay, you made your point. Moving on, I’ve got so much to tell you. I’ve missed you!”
Missed her? It had only been a month since the memorial service for Harper’s husband. How needy were these two? It was shortly after that when Lane introduced me to Harper over dinner at a mediocre prime rib restaurant, and I was pretty sure they’d had another dinner since then.
“And Elise and Jackson—you’ve both grown like weeds since I last saw you.” Lane crouched down and scooped them into his arms as Elise giggled and Jackson’s face shifted just enough to look like he might grin . . . but thankfully he didn’t.
“Guess what?” Lane said, his voice high with boyish excitement. “I just got this cool drone. Wanna try it? It’s on the back porch.”
Elise screeched a “Me first!” before darting toward the back door with Jackson sluggishly following behind.
When I turned back to Harper, I saw three suitcases being lugged across the entryway, their wheels leaving long scrapes across my hardwood floor.
“What’s this, Harp?” Lane asked.
So he didn’t know either. He was lucky that he was being blindsided along with me. Otherwise . . . I didn’t need to finish the threat.
“I need to ask you for a favor.” Harper paused, glanced at me, then drew toward her brother. “Since Ben died things have been . . . rough, to say the least. The insurance money hasn’t come in yet while the investigation’s still open, and I can’t afford the mortgage until I get my payout. I wanted to rent the house out in the meantime to cover the costs . . . and I was hoping to stay with you in the interim.”
“Of course,” Lane said without a beat, taking the suitcase handles from her. “We’d be happy to have you for as long as you want. That’s what family is for, right, Candace?” He tossed a wishful look at me that gave me no choice but to agree. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—oblige them. No, I had spent my last relationship being a doormat. I’d evolved since then.
“Aren’t you rich? I thought your husband was a financial investor or something.” Certainly someone who could afford fancy ugly slacks and a mini-mansion where all the Durham, North Carolina, richers lived could afford a hotel room.
Harper’s lips straightened. “Not that it’s any of your business, but because of the nature of Ben’s death, they’ve frozen all my assets and I can’t access our money. So right now I am officially broke.”
“What about your mother?” I offered. “Can’t you stay with her?”
“Honey . . . ,” Lane interjected.
“I thought of that, but with the kids? They’d drive her nuts. Plus she’s in a two-bedroom rental. We need more space, a yard . . . and it’d only be temporary, I promise.” But Harper’s assurance meant nothing to me. I knew from experience that broke houseguests became permanent leeches.
I wanted to strangle that diamond-adorned neck of hers.
“Look,” I stated, as kindly authoritative as possible, “Lane and I are still on our honeymoon. We need privacy, alone time together—”
“Honeymoon? You were serious about being married?” Harper shot a scowl at Lane. “You got married and didn’t tell me? And to a woman you barely know.”
Now my claws were out. “Excuse me, but I’m standing right here!”
I would have said a lot more but a loud thump coming from the kitchen interrupted me. “Did you hear that?” Lane and Harper followed me toward a row of windows, where a circle of fractures splintered out in all directions from a cleft in the middle of a pane. “What happened?” I yelled at no one and everyone.
Beneath the window, outside in the grass, lay the destroyed drone. Across the yard Elise held the controller with a horrified look on her face. Turning on Lane, I gestured to the cracked window.
“Do you see why I don’t want them staying here, Lane? They’ve been here for less than ten minutes and are already breaking things!”
Harper advanced on me. “Don’t speak about my children that way. It was an accident.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t have the money to fix it?”
Lane stretched his arms out between us, as if holding us back. But I didn’t need fingernails to cut her when I had sharp words instead. “Harper, you may not approve of your brother’s choice in wife, but this is our life. And this is our home. You’re a grown woman. You should be able to take care of your children. That is your job as their mother.”
While my next words were for Lane, my eyes remained fixed on Harper. “And Lane, I’m your wife. And if you have any respect for our vows, you’ll realize it’s not good for our marriage to have your sister living with us.”
Lane rested one hand on each of our shoulders. “Harp, Candace, I love you both. Yes, things between Candace and I happened pretty quickly, but our love is intense.” Lane sidled up to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders—right where it should be. “We both instantly knew we were meant for each other. I wanted to tell you in person, but things have been chaotic. I’m sorry I didn’t have you there to witness it.”
“To witness your stupidity?” Harper shook her head at my husband like he was a child. “Lane, you of all people should know how manipulative women are. You lived with me and Mom your whole life. What you did was irresponsible, but what’s done is done. I just wish you would have talked to me first.”
I had to speak up. “Don’t talk down to him. He’s an adult who can make decisions for himself.” I could feel the fight inside me forming.
“You know how they describe love at first sight?” Lane said. “Well, now I understand what it feels like.”
Harper sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Yes, beautiful women have that effect on men. Look, I want to be happy for you, but I don’t understand why you’d exclude me. I thought we were close, after all we’ve been through together.”
“Hey, we are close. I’m sorry I didn’t consider your feelings.” Lane’s voice dropped with apology. I hated that Harper was making Lane feel guilty about the best day of our lives.
“When did it happen?” she asked.
“A week and a half ago. I know it’s a bit of a whirlwind, but we love each other and want to be together. There was no reason not to.”
“And you couldn’t invite me to be there for it? It hurts, Lane.” Harper touched her palm to her heart. A tear slid down her cheek, and I wondered if it was as fake as her press-on eyelashes.
“Sis”—Lane released me and comforted Harper—“I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of it. It was with a justice of the peace, nothing fancy. And Candace and I decided together that we only wanted it to be us.”
“We’ve been through everything together and you didn’t invite me to your wedding. I don’t know what to say. Congratulations, I guess.”
“Please don’t be angry, Harp. I love this woman”—he glanced over at me and smiled—“and I’ve never been happier.”
Harper hugged Lane, casting a dirty look at me over his shoulder.
Bitch.
“Well, if you’re happy, that’s all I could ask for my brother. So I guess me staying here is off the table, huh?”
I watched the battle wage inside Lane’s head. Wife or sister. Who would win? If only I would have known the battle was just getting started. When Lane turned to me, I already knew his answer.
“Candace, we will have forever to be together, but right now my grieving sister needs us. Please try to understand.”
Sister, one. Wife, zero. So that’s how it was going to be.
I would give him a free pass. But there would be no next time. If I stood a chance at winning against his sister, the best thing I could do was keep Lane happy. “Okay, I’ll get the spare bedrooms ready for you. I hope you like decorative pillows!”
Harper clapped her hands together, the tear gone as quickly as it came. “Thank you. And yes, I love pretty pillows!”
Of course she did. Which meant I was exactly right about what kind of woman Harper Paris was. And so I knew exactly how to drive her away.