Meemaw clanks her mug against mine. “Sweetheart, we can always schedule in time for a good cry. Have a sip of mulled wine. It’ll make you feel better.”

I stare suspiciously at the mug of dark red liquid.

She reaches over to pat my thigh. “Tell your meemaw your woes.”

I take a cautious sip of the wine. It tastes like hot nail polish remover and Christmas. “There’s nothing to tell. I’m just upset over something silly.”

Meemaw swirls her drink and makes a knowing click of her tongue. “Something silly like… the fact that you had sex with my granddaughter last Christmas?”

I choke mid-sip of mulled wine, then promptly do a cartoonish spit take. A fine mist of it spills out of my mouth and onto the front of my jeans like tear drops of blood. “What? No!” I scramble over how to approach this unexpected declaration and settle on ignorance mid-syllable—“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sugar.” Meemaw crosses her legs at the ankles and stares me down. “I might seem like some Southern floozy, but I’ve got sense enough to know something ain’t quite right with this whole situation between you and my grandson.” She taps a lacquered nail against her temple to indicate her smarts. “I mean, my bastard of an ex-husband adds a stipulation to Andrew’s trust saying he’s got to get married to inherit, and then Andrew shows up for Christmas with a surprise fiancée?”

I swallow the acid rising in my throat. “You… you know about that?”

“That’s what I’m telling you. I know everything. Mostly, though, I know about this because Lovey told me.”

“Lovey knows, too? About the will?”

My mind reels around this revelation, trying to figure out if I should apologize or beg her not to tell or burst into tears again. Two hundred thousand dollars, gone in an instant. And worse, if Meemaw tells everyone the truth, I’ll have to go back to my studio apartment, back to my old life, where there are no boozy grandmas, no mothers who touch your hair, no laminated schedules of family bonding time. No Jack.

“Wait. If you know Andrew and I are faking our relationship, why have you been so kind to me? Why have you made me feel like part of the family?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Meemaw asks, like it’s that simple. “Most of the people Andrew’s brought home over the years have only been interested in either his money or his ass. At least he knows that’s what you’re about in this case.” She eyes me over her mug. “You are getting money as part of this arrangement, yes? Or… ass, if that’s your thing.”

“Money,” I answer. “Ten percent of the trust fund.”

“Good.” She offers me a pleased smile.

“You don’t think I’m awful for marrying someone for money?”