“Why didn’t she tell me?” I whispered.

She didn’t skip a beat. “She was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

Amelia turned and looked out the window. I don’t know if she was deciding whether to tell me. But when she turned back she said, “She didn’t want you to know how far she had deteriorated. She didn’t want to admit to you that she couldn’t do something that used to be second nature.”

That did sound like that girl I loved. “Well, then why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked down toward her feet, obscured by her belly, and then back up at me, her eyes shining. “I was trying to protect you, too.”

I hadn’t been the only one preserving a perfect image of Greer; Amelia had been, too, in a way that was even bigger and must have been more difficult.

I pulled Amelia to me and kissed her. She was strong, that woman. Stronger than I was.

And that was when it all began to make sense. “I have a gift for you,” I said.

“For me?” she said coquettishly.

“It’s from Greer.”

Now she looked confused.

I motioned for her to follow me back to our bedroom, where I pulled the envelope out of the top drawer of my dresser and handed it to her.

As she opened it, her eyes filled with tears, and she put her hand to her mouth. “I loved this bracelet,” she whispered.

She studied it and then laughed. “She had it engraved.”

She handed me the bracelet and I read, “ ‘To New York Times bestselling author Amelia Saxton. All my love, GMT.’ ”

I undid the clasp and put it on her arm.

“It feels right that I should be wearing this when we make it official.”

“You sure?” I asked.

She nodded.

I winked at her and held my hand out. “Shall we get married, then?” She took it, and I stopped. “Wait. What about a witness?”

“Someone at the courthouse will do it.”

But as we walked down the stairs and I could hear morning sounds in the kitchen that meant Tilley was having a good day, I decided a courthouse witness wasn’t enough. Amelia and her family had protested when I insisted that Aunt Tilley remain in the east wing. But it wasn’t a selfless act. Tilley wasn’t just Amelia’s nutty aunt; she was the entire town’s nutty aunt. Plus, as I said to Amelia, it really added to the allure of our story. Unwed couple—surrogate to the dead wife’s babies and the boy next door—take up residence in the family home. What kind of story was that without an aunt Tilley? Not one at all, if you asked me.

Amelia and I smiled at each other. “Aunt Tilley,” she asked, “how are you at keeping secrets?”

Something I didn’t understand passed between them when she said, “Well, my dear, I think you know that, when it comes to keeping secrets, I am quite possibly the best.”