“Whatever that is,” she teases, and I smile back, relaxing. Maybe this is about the museum and the possibility of an exhibit. Those are safer zones that I can talk about for hours.

  “What about Carter? What brought you two together?”

  Danger! What do I say?

  I wish Carter were here to handle this question. He’s better at non-answer answers than I am. But then I remember what I told Carter . . . keep it simple. Stick to the truth. It’s easier on your brain, but it’s also easier on my heart.

  “My brother, Zack. Carter and he are best friends, have been for years.”

  “Ooh, was it love at first sight? Did your brother pitch a hissy fit or was he on board?” Elena shimmies her shoulders, looking for juicy gossip.

  I laugh at her eagerness. “More like hate at first sight. And second, third, and fourth. It was years before I even liked Carter, but his charm got to me, I guess.” I smile, thinking back. Though Elena probably assumes it was long ago, I’m truly only thinking of weeks ago.

  Weeks? How can that be? It feels like so much longer.

  Remembering her other question, I answer, “Oh, and Zack was . . . let’s be polite and say ‘upset’ about it.”

  Elena shakes her head. “Let’s don’t and say we did. Skip the politeness and tell me the good stuff.”

  “He punched Carter in the nose,” I confide, almost happy about it now. “And then they talked for like two seconds and it was all good. Men are weird.” I shrug my shoulders, still not sure how that worked out so quickly.

  “That they are,” Elena agrees, patting my hand. “I’m glad they got over it. Are they still friends?”

  “Oh, yeah. Zack filmed Carter’s proposal right over there.” I point toward my favorite Pollock piece. “And then he was Carter’s best man.”

  Elena smacks my thigh . . . hard. Damn, she keeps her butt whooping hand strong! Excited, she asks, “He proposed here? How sweet is that?”

  I rub at my thigh, soothing the sting. “I guess . . . but honestly, I kinda thought it was awful.” Elena’s eyes widen in horror, and I rush to explain, “I wasn’t expecting it, and there were people all around us, watching and cheering. I was wearing my uniform.” I gesture to the unflattering navy suit I have on today too. “But he learned, and the wedding was super tiny. That was so much better.”

  I smile, remembering. Even though I had a whole-ass panic attack after, I’m glad we were at home, with our best friends.

  Home? Is that what I’m considering Carter’s place now?

  “Sounds like it,” Elena says kindly.

  She peers at me curiously for a moment, and I wonder what other questions she has up her sleeves. Though the conversation has been casual, I realize that it’s been slightly interrogative, with Elena playing the good cop.

  “You want to look around some more? I could show you the VR exhibit? Or we’re displaying a permanent collection that is on loan from another donor. It’d be a great example of what we could provide Thomas’s collection.” I stand, pointing toward a hall that leads to the exhibition and hoping to redirect us away from Carter and me and back to art.

  “I think I’m good. But I’d love for you and Carter to come over for dinner tomorrow night if y’all are available? Totally casual.”

  “Oh!” I have no idea whether we have plans. We haven’t exactly been sharing calendars. We simply come home at the end of each day and spend the night together. But this feels important. For Carter’s deal and for the exhibition, though I’m not sure why. “We’d love to. Can I bring anything?”

  “I wish you could bring that sweet Gracie girl, but just bring the two of you, and that’ll be fine.” Elena smiles, gathering both of my hands in hers. It’s not a handshake, exactly, though she is shaking my hands, but rather more like a hand-hug, as odd as that sounds, and she pins me with a soul-searching gaze. “You’re sweet, Luna. Thomas would’ve loved to talk art with you.”

  Hot tears fill my eyes. “I think I would’ve loved that too.”

  Elena tells me that she’d like to wander back up front on her own, just her and Thomas, she says with a sad smile and her hand over her heart, and I sit down heavily on the bench as I watch her go.

  This whole thing is so confusing and makes me feel icky inside because though everything I told Elena just now was the truth, it’s built on the foundation of a lie.

  I sit there alone, staring at the floor instead of the art because the bland tile lets me think and process. Sometime later, Maeve finds me. “Luna! Tell me everything!” she demands with a bright smile as she sits down beside me, scooting sexual-harassment close in her excitement. “Josie called me to the desk, and who do I see but Elena Cartwright? How do you know her? Do you know her? She called you Luna Harrington, not Starr, but you’re the only Luna I know, so I assumed she meant you, and you seemed pretty close.”

  I lift my gaze, pushing my hair behind my ears and my glasses up my nose so I can see properly. “It’s a kinda long story,” I offer, hoping Maeve won’t ask any further questions.

  There is no way I can piece together any sort of explanation that’ll make any sense. Not about being Carter Harrington’s fake wife, and definitely not about being his real one.

  “Ooh, isn’t that intriguing?” She waggles her brows at me. “You know I love a bit of mystery. But for now, you can keep your secrets if we can talk about this opportunity for the museum.” She takes my silence as agreement and says, “The Thomas Cartwright? As in, a Thomas. Cartwright. Exhibition? Here?”

  “That’s what Elena said.”

  “Elena? You’re on a first-name basis with Elena Cartwright. How in the world?” Maeve asks.

  That’s part of the whole explanation thing I can’t handle, but maybe . . .

  Stick to the art, Luna.

  “I, uhm, met Elena. And, well, she showed me Thomas’s collection. It’s amazing, with Renoir, Van Gogh, Picasso, and some lesser-known artists too. I even got to see pieces Mr. Cartwright did himself.” I gain steam as I describe Thomas’s collection because the joy of seeing it comes back to me. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. There are pieces I’d never heard of or seen in books. I wanted to sit and stare at them, study them inch by inch. I could’ve spent hours and hours, and I thought, if I wanted to do that, other people would too. So I suggested the exhibition as a way to honor him, and—”

  Maeve interrupts me. “Breathe, Luna. You’re turning blue.”

  Maeve is smiling warmly at my exuberance, but I’m waiting for her to yell at me. For what? I don’t know.

  For speaking for the museum without permission? For volunteering us for an exhibition? For wanting to be in charge of anything beyond tours? For not answering her question about my last name?

  None of that happens. She just expects me to breathe.

  I take the breath she ordered me to, and with a wavering smile, I meet her eyes. “Hi,” I say unsurely.

  “Good job. I’m proud of you for thinking of the museum during what sounds like a really special tour. I’ll email Mrs. Cartwright to follow up on her visit today?”

  I’m silent until I feel Maeve looking at me expectantly. I realize she wasn’t telling me that, she’s asking me . . . as if I’m already in charge of the exhibition. “Oh! Yes, of course.”

  Maeve nods and stands, tapping away on her phone before she’s even out of the room.

  This is happening! A Thomas Cartwright collection right here at the museum, and it sounds like I’ll get to help coordinate it.

  Needing to celebrate this with someone, I grab my phone to text Carter.

  You won’t believe this! Elena came to the museum today to talk about the exhibition! I gave her a tour!

  I should definitely use fewer exclamation points, but I’m so excited that I’m basically vibrating. Texting like a middle-school girl is the least of my worries, so I hit Send and wait.

  Less than a minute later, I get a response.

  Carter: That’s awesome. Congratulations! I can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.

  Me: How was your meeting?

  Carter: I don’t know yet. He wasn’t as receptive as I’d hoped.

  Me: Oh, no! I’m sorry. Anything I can do?

  The three dots are there for a long time, and I wonder if he’s typing a novel. Or more likely, typing something dirty and then deleting it, and I feel a smile steal my lips at the idea.

  Carter: All good. I don’t give up that easily.

  Luna: Me neither.

  Carter: Good girl. I’m heading into a meeting. See you tonight?

  I send back a quick heart emoji and put my phone away.

  It’s not till after my next tour that I realize that I didn’t text Samantha, Zack, or even my mom when I got the great news about the exhibition. My first and only thought was that I wanted to talk to Carter.

  But that doesn’t feel like a bad thing at all.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CARTER

  After Luna tells me about Elena’s weird museum visit with twenty questions and the dinner invitation, I spend the night tossing and turning with my mind running a million miles a minute. I feel three steps behind, and it’s not a feeling I like, but staring at the ceiling isn’t helping.

  What was Claire doing at Oleana’s office?

  Why did Elena go to the museum after that?

  Is this dinner to tell us that it’s all a go?

  Or to tell us that she’s going a different direction with both her money and Thomas’s art?

  I scoot away from Luna, planning to leave her blissfully sleeping while I go to the living room to plot and plan, obsess and analyze. But she mumbles, “Carter, where’re ya goin’?”

  If it was only the half-asleep mumble, I could’ve headed to the living room, but Luna’s reaching out for me with grabby fingers and an unhappy moan is too much for me to bear. I lay back down, and she snuggles into me, her head on my chest and body pressed against me. I feel her cheek move and realize that she’s smiling in her sleep.

  Because of me.

  Having Luna in my arms is a joy I never dreamed of having. I honestly don’t know that I ever truly saw her before this whole thing. She was my friend’s little sister, but now . . . I see her. I know her. I feel her.

  I run my fingers over her arm and press a kiss to her hair. Not for her, but to soothe myself. I have a bad feeling about this dinner, but I vow to myself that I won’t let anything happen to Luna.

  Eventually, I fall asleep from pure exhaustion, but I don’t dream of portfolios. No, Luna dances her way through my sleep, and it’s better sleep than I’ve had in years.

  The next day, I decide to work from home, burying myself in every bit of information I have on the Cartwright estate and then digging into what I can find on Claire.

  There’s not a lot.

  In shorthand, she’s Thomas’s niece, but only because I’m too confused by greats, grands, and once removed to figure out her actual connection. It doesn’t matter, really, because ‘niece’ is what they’ve always called her. She’s married to Madison, who prefers Mads, and they have a son, Jacob. All things I knew. My research does show that I was correct about Mads being a suit-type, though he’s a mid-level manager, not an accountant like I suspected. From what I can tell, they live on funds from good ol’ Uncle Thomas—their house, cars, Jacob’s piano lessons, and more.

  Who gets that kid to sit still long enough to play piano? Poor teacher.

  But there’s nothing concerning that I can find. She seems like a woman of means, the same as many others when your family is Cartwright-level wealthy.

  “Here, eat something,” Luna tells me as she sets a sandwich on the table next to me. She’s been working on Alphena all day, making little noises as she writes that I’m guessing correspond to the action on pages of her tablet.

  “Can’t. I need to figure this out.” I keep tapping away, not sure what I’m hoping to find.

  Luna plops into the chair she’s been curled up in all day, sitting on her feet in a way that makes my legs hurt, and takes a bite of her own sandwich. Around the mouthful, she says, “If you don’t eat all day, when Elena puts dinner in front of you, you’re gonna act like a ravenous wildebeest.”

  I still don’t reach for the sandwich.

  “Your brain needs fuel to figure out whatever you’re trying to figure out. You’re not going to do it if all your brain is saying is ‘feed me’. You’re basically a zombie running on caffeine at this point.”

  Okay, that’s a good point. I take a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Claire is the key here. I don’t know why, but her showing up at Oleana’s office and then Elena coming to the museum worry me.”

  Luna takes another bite and then sets her sandwich down in favor of her tablet. “Whatever it is, you’ll handle it.”

  Her faith in me is reassuring. If only I felt the same way.

  She goes back to working, and I watch her for a moment before I do the same.

  Pulling up to Elena’s home this time feels just as fraught with possible missteps as it did last time. I’ve researched, planned, and plotted. Luna and I have done everything to address the money and the art and have even gone so far as getting married for real. There should be nothing they can throw at us to ruin this.

  But my heart is pounding so hard I can almost feel it bursting through my shirt.

  Holding Luna’s hand, I help her out of the car.

  “You bring that piss monster with ya this time?” a grouchy voice says.

  I look over to see Bernard, the gardener, holding a spray bottle at the ready like he’s a cowboy in the Wild West who’s going to shoot the bank robber when he runs by. My guess? Nutbuster is his version of the bad guy, and he’d do anything to protect his rosebushes from another round of baptism by dog pee.

  “No, not this time,” I answer with a forced smile, waving in greeting.

  His lip curls in a snarl and then he squirts the water my way with a jerk of his arm. The spray arcs but doesn’t reach me. I think he truly meant for it to, though, which would’ve gotten my favorite suit wet.

  “What the fu—”

  Luna squeezes my hand. “Thanks again for taking such good care of Peanut Butter last time we were here, Mr. Bernard. I think he misses you too.”

  What? There’s no way that’s what the cantankerous old guy is trying to say. But he grunts once more and then walks away, his head hanging low and scanning left and right, as if he’s inspecting every blade of grass.

  I look at Luna in shock, and she shrugs. Whispering, she says, “Everybody likes dogs, even grumpy people.”

  Elena opens the door before I get the chance to knock. “Hey, you two! Get on in here!” She’s smiling and welcoming, seeming glad to see us, and my heart rate slows incrementally.

  She hugs Luna and then me in greeting, making this feel more like a visit to Grandma’s house than a business meeting. Though given how close Elena and Mr. Oleana have been for years, maybe that’s the type of working relationship I can look forward to with Elena too. I can imagine monthly lunches where we go over finances and catch up about our lives. Like friends, blending personal and professional. I know that can work because that’s how Zack and I function too.

  Elena shows us into the formal living room, and all hope dies in my chest instantly. Claire is sitting on the couch, looking smugly amused by our arrival. Mads is sitting next to her, examining his nails though his hands haven’t seen a lick of hard labor in his lifetime, from what I read. Jacob is sitting sideways in a chair, tilting his Nintendo Switch left and right as he hisses at the game. “Get’im! No! The other guy, stoopid!”

  “Hi, Claire, Jacob,” I say with a wave. “You must be Mads.” I hold my hand out to him, and he glances at Claire first, as though asking permission, before shaking.

  “You must be Carter.”

  His eyes flick to Luna at my side, but as they shake hands politely, his gaze drops to her chest. It’s only for a moment, but it’s long enough. I take an instinctual step forward, slipping an arm around Luna’s shoulders possessively.

  “This is my wife, Luna,” I say sharply, feeling Luna jump at the harshness in my tone as I introduce her.

  The caveman in my gut is glad she’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans, because if she were wearing a dress, I don’t know if I could hold back from popping him for daring to check out Luna’s breasts so brazenly.

  “Madison!” Claire scolds, jerking his hand so that he falls back to the couch beside her.

  “You know I hate that,” he tells her. Not ‘don’t call me that’ or anything commanding, but rather a whiny reminder.

  They’re having a silent conversation of glares, and though I’m paying attention to it, I check in with Luna. She mouths, “Whoa.”

  There’s a flush high on her cheeks and her eyes are full of heat. I think she liked the caveman moment. I bend to press a quick kiss to her cheek and give her a wink, and she fans herself in response.

  Elena chuckles, and Luna remembers that we have an audience, going a bit stiff beside me. Though his eyes are glued to his game, I ask Jacob, “Whatcha playing, man?”

  “Mario Kart 8 . . . Nooo!!!” he shouts. “You messed me up.” The accusation is reminiscent of the tone his dad just had.

  “Sorry,” I say, not sorry in the slightest.

  “Have a seat,” Elena says, coming in behind us and sitting down on the other side of Mads. I wait for Luna to sit on the loveseat, then sit beside her, resting my ankle on my knee and holding Luna’s hand on my thigh.

  “Luna couldn’t stop telling me how excited she was to give you a tour of the museum. What’d you think?” I ask.

  Elena smiles warmly at Luna. “We had fun. Two ladies talking about art. Thomas would’ve gotten a kick out of my going to an art museum. He was always trying to drag me here to see this painting and there to see that painting. Like I had a clue about any of it.”

  She laughs lightly, and Luna smiles. “I had fun, but I think you gave Maeve a heart attack showing up like that. Me too, honestly.”