Page 149 of The Wrong Groom

I’ve stayed home from work more frequently since Alexis’s hospital stay, but my duties still pull me away more often than I’d like. FlashUp is doing well. Better than any of our projections, thanks in no small part to Alexis. She brought everything the platform needed and more. Light, and joy, and realness. Everything I love about her is what everyone loved about her.

Other creators have started gathering audiences on the app by following in her footsteps, pursuing sweeping projects in the arts. It’s a bittersweet kind of pride I feel watching FlashUp thrive because of her. She’s accomplished so much, more than she even knows.

My focus has been split between FlashUp and my own side project. Even after disentangling Alexis from Vérité’s shitshow, I continued to work with the team of lawyers I’d hired, digging deeper into the mess the Beaumonts created. I don’t tell Alexis any of this, of course. I can’t—not until it’s finished. The temptation to reveal what I’ve been working on is near-constant, but I know it will only feel like another promise that’s too easily broken.

It’s almost a week before I get the confirmation I’ve been waiting for. I’m home from work, in the kitchen, slicing vegetables for a stir-fry. Alexis is in the living room, out of sight but never out of mind for me. I can hear the quiet rustle of pages turning as she reads. Everything she does is amplified in my perception, like my senses are tuned to her frequency.

My phone, sitting on the counter beside the cutting board, chimes with a notification. I pause in the process of dicing an onion, leaning over to glance at the screen.

It’s a text from one of my lawyers. I pause, wiping my hands on a towel, and reach to open the message.

It’s only three words.

We got it.

A sense of triumph builds in my chest, and it’s all I can do not to slam the knife down in excitement. I grip the handle tighter instead, forcing myself to remain composed as I re-read the text.

I let out a long breath, then set the knife down on the counter slowly, like it’s primed to explode. Then I turn toward the hallway.

Finally. Fucking finally.

In the living room, Alexis is curled on the loveseat, her legs tucked beneath her, completely engrossed in the book in her lap. I notice with some relief that it’s one of the novels I bought for her. She is reading them, after all.

For a moment, I linger in the doorway, watching her. Just basking in her presence, taking her in. She looks serene in the soft glow of the table lamp beside her. The light catches in her copper hair, illuminates every one of her freckles.

When I clear my throat, she looks up, and instantly, she tenses. Her shoulders stiffen, and her expression becomes guarded. The look on her face just about kills me. I put that distrust into her eyes, and I hate knowing that.

“I have to tell you something,” I say, taking a step into the room.

She closes the book and sets it aside. There’s a touch of curiosity in her expression that gives me a bit of hope. She’s not shutting me out, not entirely. She’s willing to listen to me.

“Your parents have been running damage control over at Vérité. The way things are shaping up, they’re looking at fines on top of the debts they already owe, back taxes for the past several years. Sources have told me they’re going to have to sell off assets to avoid prison.”

“Sell?” Alexis looks almost sad. “How much of it?”

“Essentially all of it.”

She purses her lips, glancing down at her folded hands. Then she says, in a small voice, “Does that mean Vérité is going under?”

“Not exactly.” It’s difficult to keep the smile from my face.

“So what’s going to happen to it?”

“I’ve arranged to buy the most valuable parts,” I tell her, my sense of satisfaction building as I watch her mouth fall open. “The brand, the designs, all of the standing deals with designers. Everything that makes Vérité what it is.”

She stares at me, her eyes wide. “You… what?”

“There’s going to be a corporate restructuring. Once the deal is finalized, all of those assets will belong to you.”

“To me?”

I nod. “You’ll be able to run the business however you want, with none of your parents’ baggage tied to it.”

Her lips form a slight O shape. She’s clearly stunned by this revelation and struggling to process it, her mind racing as it tries to catch up.

“You… you’re serious,” she whispers. “Oh, my god.”

“Of course.”