“Are you going to tell us who’s coming?” Waverly asks, blinking bloodshot eyes. She massages her temples as soon as her mother looks away.

“Your father will talk to you this evening.” Jane leaves it at that, walking off to set the table.

Tonight must be when they drop the bomb on Waverly about her college plans, but why would they do that with company coming over?

This family is so fucking weird.

CHAPTER 18

WAVERLY

“You know what’s going on, don’t you?” Bellamy’s somber words send a chill down my spine, settling the anxiety that’s been coursing through my body all day into a pool of liquid nerves.

We’re standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I’m curling my hair and she’s slicking on a couple coats of mascara. Conservative dresses cover our bodies. She leans forward, turning her head from side to side and then up and down as she inspects her lashes.

“No, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?” I run my fingers through my warm curls, breaking them into loose waves.

Bellamy, normally a vision of coolness, is shaking like a poodle.

“No, I’m asking,” she says. “You know what’s going on?”

“Of course not,” I huff.

“Something’s up.” She clicks her blush compact open and grabs a brush, taking her sweet time as if she’s trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Obviously.”

“Last-minute dinner guest. Us being told to look good.”

“Maybe it’s someone from the UAB? Dad’s always trying to get on their good side. They don’t like that he left the old community and moved us all out here.”

Mom always said he didn’t like being financially dependent on the UAB back in Scottsbluff, and when he found a pharmacy for sale here, he jumped at the opportunity. They didn’t like that, and he’s been trying to redeem himself ever since.

“Could be a friend from work?” I suggest. “Maybe he’s just being sociable? I heard there are secret poly families all over Whispering Hills.”

Bellamy clicks her compact shut and turns to me. “Stop being so naïve, Waverly. He’s trying to marry us off.”

I resent her tone. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s the only logical explanation.”

“Dad wouldn’t do that. I just got into Utah. I’m going to college in a couple months.” My heart breaks for my sister. If she is right, she’s way more likely to be married off than me.

She turns to her reflection, her shoulders tensing as she grips the ledge of the counter.

“I thought you wanted to get married soon?” I say. “You’re almost twenty-two. You’re done with school. Aren’t you just waiting for—”

“No.” Without any further explanation, she exits the bathroom.

As the oldest of the family, Bellamy carries a great burden. She’s to set an example, be a shining image of perfection in our father’s eyes. She’s supposed to set the precedence and we’re all supposed to follow it.

The hard knot in my stomach tells me life as we know it is about to change.

Several slow, intentional steps carry me downstairs to where my mothers are preparing a feast fit for Christ’s second coming. That, coupled with the fact that Bellamy and I were excused from kitchen duty so we could get dressed up, tells me my sister’s suspicions might be founded.

Dad leads the younger kids in from the family room, and Jensen struts down the steps a moment later. I take my usual seat, twirling the stem of the iced tea glass between my thumb and forefinger.

Stiff silence fills the air. No one dares to speak.

There’s an extra chair between where my mother and father usually sit. A cool sweat glazes over me. I try to tell myself that Bellamy got me all worked up. That this could be nothing. It all might be in our heads. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that if my father was going to marry one of us off, it’d be Bellamy. She’s ready. She’s smart and pretty and she can cook and sew. She’s great with kids.

I continue listing off all the reasons Bellamy would make a better wife than me, but then I remember her face in the bathroom. She doesn’t want to be married.

But neither do I.

I’m not ready.

The doorbell rings, sending my heart galloping like a runaway horse. Dad rises from the table and heads to the foyer. A second later I hear voices—both male. I watch, breath suspended, for them to emerge from around the corner.

And when they do, I know.

CHAPTER 19

JENSEN

Mark grins from ear to ear, his hand on the shoulder of a man with gray around his temples. The man smiles and gives a friendly wave before Mark points for him to take a seat at the head of the table next to him.

Bellamy stares at her plate. Waverly watches, still as a statue.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Mr. Waterman.” Mark seems proud of his buddy, and judging by their matching Polo sweaters, I’d say they’re two of a kind. Mark gives another quick wave, the glint of his gold wedding band catching my eye.

“Oh, you can all call me Bruce.” Mr. Waterman—Bruce—flashes a crooked smile, his two front teeth overlapping just enough to be noticeable from a safe distance. He lowers himself into his chair and proceeds to make small talk with Mark as food is passed around.

A moment later, Mark goes around the table, calling out the names of his litter of children and three wives, and tells us all Bruce is a new colleague of his at the pharmacy who just so happens to be one of the seventy quorum members of the priesthood.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Our end of the table is alarmingly silent, like someone hit the mute button and sucked all the sound from the room. Mark doesn’t notice, though. He’s too busy bragging about his perfect AUB family to his buddy, and by the end of dinner, he suggests we head into the family room for some socializing. He even tells his wives cleanup can wait.

“Waverly, why don’t you show Bruce here that lovely hymn you play on the piano.” Mark motions toward an old oak upright in the corner of the room. “You know the one. Father Is My Favorite Friend.”

“Aw, I was hoping for Take Me to Church,” I dig.

Mark’s eyes snap to me for a mere second and then dart to Waverly, who takes a seat on the bench and lifts the lid to the piano, spreading her fingers across the black and white keys. He slips his hands into his pockets and stands next to Bruce, a big smile on his face like he can hardly wait to watch Waverly’s performance vicariously through his buddy.

She’s like a monkey on a leash, performing because Mark told her to. This really is a fucking circus.

“Jensen?” Gideon comes out of nowhere and tugs on my hand. “Will you help me with my puzzle?”

A thousand-piece puzzle is scattered all over the coffee table with a few rogue pieces littering the ground beneath. It’s way above his skill level, but I’m not about to rain on his parade. Little dude’s life is already hard enough, even if he doesn’t know it yet. I’ll help him with his puzzle.

“Sure thing, buddy.” We take a seat on the sofa. He tries to force random pieces together and I search for the edges, simultaneously keeping an eye on what’s going on in the far corner of the room.

I snap three edge pieces together, glancing up as the sound of some boring ass hymnal I’ve never heard before fills the confines of the crowded family room. The wives are perched on edges of furniture, still as mannequins, and the younger children play quietly.

Bellamy is seated on a big armchair to my left, away from the rest of the group. It’s almost as if she’s trying to blend in. She sits politely, her legs crossed at her ankles and her hands folded in her lap, like she’s sitting in a church pew.

“Bellamy,” Mark turns around and calls at her. “Come. You can sing while Waverly plays. Waverly, can you two do Thy Servants Are Prepared for our guest here?”