Chapter 4

The lock notification sits on my screen for a few seconds before it fades.

I stare at "Sabrina Quinn" — and drive straight to the new house.

Door opens. Four or five suitcases stacked in my living room.

Sabrina walks out of the master bedroom, barefoot.

"Oh hey, hon."

She points at the boxes.

"Give me a hand? I can't lift anything heavy right now."

I don't move.

Somebody's still going in and out of the master bedroom.

The cleaning lady comes out carrying a box, sees me, freezes for a second, then turns to Sabrina.

"Mrs. Hale, all the pregnancy stuff goes in the master bathroom, right?"

"Yeah."

I look at Weston.

He's adjusting the AC in her bedroom.

He doesn't correct the "Mrs. Hale." Not once.

I walk into the master.

The huge engagement photo Weston and I picked out last month — gone.

Two nail holes on the wall. That's it.

"Where's the photo?"

Sabrina pops her head in.

"I had someone take it down."

"Waking up to your giant faces every morning? Nope. Too creepy."

She laughs at her own joke.

Weston just glances at her.

"Behave."

I open the closet.

My nightgowns and the outfits I bought for after the wedding — all shoved to the back corner.

The other half is already stuffed with Sabrina's stuff.

Even my shampoo and lotion are in a cardboard box by the door.

Sabrina points.

"Your perfume and body wash — too strong. I gag from anything scented now."

"You haven't moved in yet anyway. I packed it up for you."

Weston, even smoother:

"We'll put it all back after she delivers."

I look at him.

"Why does she get the master?"

"The guest room doesn't have its own bathroom."

He frowns like I asked something stupid.

"She's pregnant. She shouldn't be running back and forth."

I look at Sabrina's flat stomach.

"And after the wedding?"

"Where do I sleep?"

Sabrina's unwrapping her pillow. Doesn't even look up.

"Guest room, obviously."

She laughs.

"Hon, don't tell me you're gonna fight a pregnant woman for the master."

Weston doesn't laugh. But what he says hits harder.

"It's just a few months."

"You're healthy. You can sleep anywhere."

I stand next to the bed we picked out together. Watch my things get carried out one by one.

Next month, I'll wear a wedding dress and marry Weston.

Reception on. Guests invited.

Everyone will call me the bride.

But the marriage license has Sabrina's name.

The master bedroom has Sabrina in it.

Even on my wedding night, I'll be sleeping in the guest room.

Sabrina suddenly remembers something. Digs a red jewelry box out of her suitcase.

"Oh — right."

She flips it open.

Two diamond bracelets. Hale family heirlooms.

I know them. At our engagement, Diane slid them onto my wrist for a photo.

She said:

"These belonged to Weston’s grandma. When you officially join the family, they’ll be yours."

Sabrina snaps them onto her own wrist.

"Diane said since I'm carrying, they'll bring good luck to the baby."

She shakes her wrist.

"Heavier than they look."

I look at Weston.

He just says:

"She's only wearing them a few months."

"They're still yours after."

Right there, I don't even want to fight anymore.

The marriage license — borrowed.

The house — borrowed.

The heirloom bracelets — borrowed.

Even my fiancé — borrowed for a few months.

Every ounce of "we can't let Sabrina feel bad" gets dumped straight on me.

I drive home. Text Marcus, the VP.

"That London project we talked about — did you assign a lead yet?"

He replies fast.

"Not yet. Why the sudden interest?"

I type back.

"I want it."

Few seconds pass.

"Isn't your wedding next month?"

I stare at the screen. Delete the explanation I already typed.

"Won't affect the project."

Ping.

"Done. Wrap up your stuff, then fly out."

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