She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the house, the lights glowing through the windows, the silhouettes of people moving inside.

Then, finally, she exhales. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“We can’t just leave it up to whatever happens when we’re there,” I remind her. Because if I want this town to accept her, if I want her to have a chance at something normal—I have to show them she belongs.

Even if I have no fucking clue what that actually means.

“Why do you think people get married in Vegas?” I ask.

She gapes at me. “Oh my God. You can’t say we got married in Vegas.”

“You’re right. It would’ve been easier to add you to my Costco membership without them finding out.” I sigh. “How did we get married if I met you the same day I arrived?”

“Tell them we fell in love immediately, and I’m very conservative. I believe in marriage before sex,” she states.

“Do you?”

She laughs. “No. I had some experience in high school, college . . . I’m not a virgin.”

“Obviously, you’re pregnant, sweetheart,” I remind her.

She snorts. “You can always make them believe I was, we skipped the condom and boom . . . baby on board.”

And when we finally pull up in front of the Timberbridge family house, slow irritation curls in my gut.

I shouldn’t care.

I don’t give a damn about my brothers. I don’t give a damn about what my family thinks of Blythe—of us.

But I hate that I have to do this.

Hate that this town won’t just let us exist without watching.

“We can’t hide out forever,” I say, staring out at the house. Not sure if I’m reassuring her . . . or myself. “But the whole ‘you were a virgin and I had to marry you’ is weird.”

“Anything we say is going to sound weird,” she offers.

I smirk, shifting into park. “Then we don’t say anything.”

“That might be the best solution you could’ve come up with,” she agrees.

“Just remember, sweetheart,” I lean closer, dropping my voice, “the best way to deal with them is to act like you belong.”

Her brows lift slightly. “Okay, let’s see how these acting classes I took in high school pay off.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Atlas

The second we step through the front door, the house goes quiet.

Not completely. Not in a way anyone else might pick up on. The low murmur of conversation doesn’t stop, but there’s a shift. An awareness. Like the air thickens, like the energy tilts just slightly off balance.

Like they’re all waiting.

For what? I don’t fucking know.

Honestly, why invite me if they can’t stand the sight of me?