California Girls. Susan Mallery

You’ll be the bride.” The woman climbed onto the platform and started pulling pins from the pincushion strapped around her wrist. “I’ll do a little tucking to give you an idea of the look, then we’ll get our seamstress out here to do the final pinning.”

      The two women discussed everything from lowering the neckline—Zennie said no to that—to the length of the dress.

      “Are you sure you don’t want to wear some kind of heel?” the salesperson asked.

      “Very.”

      Ali sighed. “Zennie won’t budge on that. Good thing her boyfriend isn’t that much taller than her or they would look weird together.”

      Zennie looked at her sister in the mirror. “Boyfriend?”

      “Duh. Clark.”

      Zennie stared blankly.

      “Clark. You’ve been seeing him awhile now. He works with the zoo. He’s a primate specialist or whatever it’s called.”

      “Primatologist, and he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve only gone out three times.” She barely knew him and had no idea if she liked him or not. Boyfriend? As if. She hadn’t even told her mother about Clark, which explained the evening text offering to set her up on yet another blind date.

      “You said you were bringing him to the wedding.”

      “No. I said I might bring him to the wedding.”

      “Zennie! I planned on you and a plus-one. You have to bring a date.”

      Why? That was the question, Zennie thought as Ali was distracted by whether or not to shorten her sleeves. Why did she have to bring a date? Was she less socially acceptable without a date? Was her conversation less sparkly, her love less welcome? She had no idea why she’d even mentioned Clark, let alone discussed him as her plus-one at the wedding. She wouldn’t want him there, regardless of the state of their nonrelationship. For one thing, people would ask too many questions. For another, her mother would go totally insane at the possibility of Zennie finally settling down with someone and giving her grandbabies. No one could survive that much pressure.

      The pinning and tucking finished, Zennie stared at the dress. She would never admit it to her sister, but to her everything looked exactly the same. Of course she had the pins poking her to prove it wasn’t.

      “Can you finish up here without me?” Ali asked, glancing at her watch. “I have to stop by the florist before I need to race back to work for a meeting.”

      “I’m fine. I will stand here until they release me.” Once again she thought about how Nigel looked at Finola and how Glen didn’t look at Ali. “Shouldn’t your hubby-to-be handle some of this?”

      “I would never trust Glen with the flowers. He’s a red roses kind of guy and that would be all wrong.” Ali stepped up on the dais and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for doing this. Love you.”

      “Love you, too.”

      Ali raced to the door, then looked back. “Bring a date!”

      “Bite me.”

      Ali was still laughing when she ducked out of the store.

      Zennie looked at her reflection and tried not to think about the wedding. It was four, maybe five hours out of her life. Yes, they would be torturous hours, but they were for a good cause. In the name of sisterhood and all that.

      As for a date, well, that might be a problem. Because Clark was a nonstarter for sure.

      * * *

      Finola gripped the steering wheel so hard, her fingers ached, but she didn’t dare relax. Not until she was home. She drove slowly, careful to stay under the speed limit as she turned into her exclusive Encino neighborhood. As she approached the gate in front of their small community, she felt her control beginning to slip.

      Almost there, she chanted silently. Almost there, almost there, almost there.

      She made two rights, then a left before pulling into the driveway and pushing the button to open the garage door. As she eased forward, her hands slipped and the car veered a little to the right. She jammed on the brakes and started to back up, only to realize that she didn’t have to. Who cared if she wasn’t fully in her own section of the garage? It wasn’t as if Nigel was going to be pulling in next to her anytime soon. Of that she was sure.

      She turned off the engine and collected her tote bag and purse. Once she closed the garage door, she walked into the house.

      She was greeted by silence. She and Nigel had never wanted a housekeeper. There was a cleaning service that came twice a week and a meal delivery service, but both had been put on hold because of the upcoming Hawaii trip. As of two hours ago, the plan had been for her to meet Nigel at home after the show so she could finish packing. They would leave for the airport first thing in the morning. Only none of that was going to happen now. Not the packing, not the trip, not them being together and making a baby.

      She dropped her handbag and tote to the floor, then kicked out of her shoes. She needed a plan, she told herself. She had to figure out what to do first, then second, then third. Only with each step she took, the blessed shock faded, leaving behind pain and disbelief and humiliation. The tears came first, then the sobs. She stumbled before sinking to her knees where she covered her face with her hands as she screamed out the agony.

      Finola cried until her chest hurt and her throat was raw. She cried until there was nothing left but emptiness and the knowledge she would never be whole again. She stretched out on the cold, hard tile and wished she could be anywhere but here. Anywhere that wasn’t—

      “No,” she said aloud as she sat up and wiped her face. “Not anywhere.” Not on television, she thought. Being here, alone and confused and sad and angry was better than staring at that stupid camera, waiting for everyone watching to figure out what was going on.

      Nigel had done that to her, she thought as she scrambled to her feet. The bastard had come to her dressing room to tell her about his affair.

      No, it was so much worse. He’d told her about the affair, aware his mistress was going to confront her seconds later. That was why he’d chosen today, right before the show. That was why he’d needed her to know. He’d softened her up, knowing Treasure was going to try to take her down. He’d cheated on her and then he’d thrown her to Treasure.

      He could have told her who it was. He could have warned her, given her a second to catch her breath, but he left her to be blindsided. He hadn’t just cheated, he hadn’t had her back. He’d exposed her. There’d been no thought of her job or her career or what would happen on live television. What if she’d fallen apart? What if Treasure had said something to the audience?

      Possibilities paraded in front of her like a nightmare. Thank God she was strong, she thought grimly. Strong enough to survive Nigel.

      She fished her phone out of her purse. No text from her husband. Hardly a surprise, she thought, tears flowing again. What did she think, that he would apologize and beg to come back to her? Even she wasn’t that much of a fool.

      She walked barefoot through the quiet house before going upstairs. The master bedroom was large with French doors leading to a balcony. She ignored the beautiful space that she had, until this moment, loved. She ignored the big bed, the linens she and Nigel had picked out together. She fought the feeling of being exposed, she fought the pain and sense of betrayal. She had to keep breathing, keep moving. She had to figure out what on earth she was going to do now. Wait? Did she just wait to hear from him? Was he gone forever? Was this just a fling? How long had he been sleeping with Treasure? Were there other women? How long had he been lying, emotionally setting her on fire, while laughing with his mistress?

      The tears returned. She ignored them and walked into Nigel’s part of the his-and-hers closet. Entire sections of his closet were missing. Shirts and suits, jeans, T-shirts. She reached up, as if the clothes weren’t really missing, they were