Wedding Bells

by AliLamba

Summary:

Wallace and Jackie are getting married, and thank goodness - both of their best friends are available to be there when they do.

Navigating the world of the upper classes, Veronica finds herself uncomfortable and alone more often than not. Which would be fine. Seriously, she’s fine. The guy who keeps trying to be her friend should probably just give up.

AKA

Two times Veronica and Logan almost get married, and the one time they actually do.

Chapter 1: you are cordially invited to play nice

Veronica’s phone ringing shouldn’t scare her as much as it does.

She’d just been poking at her face, staring at the far wall, wondering what to have for lunch and if she could actually afford a pizza combo or just stick with the slice, when her phone rings, and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Mars Investigation,” she answers, when she’s sure she hasn’t broken something.

“See, I knew you’d be there.”

Ah. Wallace.

“Wallace, why are you calling me on this phone?” Veronica asks, leaning back in her chair as much as the cord will allow.

“Because you haven’t been answering your cell phone, Vee!” There’s an amused sort of laugh on the phone. “Girl I know you. You busy today?”

Veronica looks around the completely empty office. Is she busy? …No. She should probably water the plant. And maybe there’s something she hasn’t filed yet. Veronica glances at the computer screen, towards the file that would contain OPEN CASES.

It is an empty file.

“Maybe.”

“Well. Go open your door.”

Veronica sighs, lumbering to her feet with much more suffering than is actually required.

She drags herself through the waiting room, every chair empty, four-year-old magazines never changing, and goes to the closed door to her office.

And opens it.

Holy shit.

Veronica nearly staggers back a step.

Her eyes travel upward, like someone confronted with an ogre or something. They’d started at the box, nearly hidden, holding at least a few dozen roses in at least a dozen different colors. There are candy things shoved in, lollipops and chocolate bars and marshmallows in the shapes of animals. It all serves to anchor a half dozen helium balloons in the shapes of engagement rings, and doves, and—

Veronica sucks in a breath and dives for the box on the ground, yanking it inside as quickly as possible. She tries to slam the door behind herself, but one of the balloons gets stuck in the hall, so she has to open the door again, pull them all in, nearly trip over the whole box as she tries to work the handle and the lock, and then stomp back to her desk.

This is clearly some sort of stupid joke, and she does not appreciate it at all.

She rips the phone off the table and practically snarls into the handset.

“What in the hell?”

The line is dead.

Seething, mostly from absolute embarrassment, Veronica grabs for her phone to text something vicious.

There’s already a text from Wallace.

[Open the letter.]

The what?

Veronica swings her glare on the box, taking up a whole half of the desk. Letter? What letter?

She parts the balloons, digging through candy and garbage, until she finds it. It’s perfumed, it’s huge, it’s absolutely ridiculous.

Convinced this is some massive prank, Veronica tears open the envelope and whips out the card inside. Confetti spills all over her desk.

Veronica Mars

It is with Greatest Pleasure that we Wish to Announce the Engagement of Miss Jackie Cook and Mr. Wallace Fennel

Veronica’s eyes round, the rest of the card blurring together.

Holy shit.

He actually did it.

He popped the question.

Pride and love swell in her chest, but not enough to drown out the annoyance. Damnit, Wallace! A text would have been fine!

She pulls out her cell to tell him this.

[Turn the card over] he has already written.

Over?

Veronica stares at the card in her hand, and…and a weird premonition starts to form in her mind.

Is it…just that she’s used to a life of mild danger? Is it just that she’s been around it too long? Maybe she’s overreacting. Maybe this is nothing, that this won’t be a terrible thing, that she is not about to be grossly pissed off at the world.

She turns the card over.

Will you be my groomsmaid?

The instinct to laugh grabs her first. What? No. Grooms—grooms what? Ha ha. No.

Her phone starts ringing in her other hand, and she looks at it, seeing the screen light up, seeing Wallace’s name on it. She slides her thumb across the bottom automatically, and his face appears.

“Hey Vee. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

A voice calls from somewhere in the background. “Is she freaking out?”

Veronica still feels the bubbles of annoyance. Not the fury she expected to feel, not yet. She’s sure that will come. That’s just biding its time.

“Hi Jackie,” Veronica says, mild. “Congratulations.”

A beat later, Jackie’s face appears on the screen. “Thank you,” she says, voice chipper, though her face isn’t smiling all that much.

Veronica and Jackie aren’t exactly friends.

They’re friend…ly. Friends-ish. It’s not like they’re enemies, or anything, just that they met during law school, and no one is friends in law school. In fact, Jackie was Veronica’s friend/not-friend first. Veronica’s the one who, honestly, introduced them.

Damn it.

She clearly needs to stop doing that.

“So you’ll do it?” Jackie asks, still with that slight mask of indifference. “She’ll do it?” she asks Wallace.

“Of course she’ll do it,” Wallace grins, sublimely happy.

Damn it.

Veronica drops into her chair.

“Yeah,” she says, kinda groaning. “Yeah of course I’ll do it.”

A smile finally does break across Jackie’s face. “That’s great,” she says, and she clearly means it. Jackie grabs Wallace’s chin, holds him in place as she plants a giant smacking kiss on his cheek. The ring she’s wearing flashes in the frame, and Veronica is proud that her eyes don’t bug.

The ring is the size of a bug, honestly. Like a pretty big one. One that she would shout at and then smash with something heavy.

“Um. When? Is this wedding again? Do we have any details?”

“Oh I’m so glad you asked,” Jackie says, sitting besides Wallace on the couch wherever they are, scooting around in some very nice looking skirt, making sure she looks good. She always looks good.

Her mouth twists in an apologetic wince. “It’s actually in six weeks,” she says.

What?

“What?”

“I know, I know,” she says, and now her wince becomes more legitimate. Her shoulders slump. “It’s just, I really, really don’t want to be a fat bride.”

A what?

Veronica’s face looks puzzled, she knows this, and she looks at Wallace as if he can answer what the hell Jackie is talking about…and he is absolutely bursting, a grin that should break his face in half.

“Oh my god you’re pregnant.”

Wallace laughs.

“He is nothing,” Jackie says, drawing attention back to herself. “I am the one knocked up with child. Which I do not consider to be my fault at all.”

Wallace is going to explode with sunshine and rainbows.

veronica narrows her gaze, fighting her smile. “Oh don’t be so smug,” Veronica patronizes, forcing her grin away. “It happens all the time, okay.”

“Yeah but,” Wallace says, shrugging. He grins at his girlfriend—his fiancée. “Come on.”

Veronica rolls her eyes.

“Okay, so, six weeks. Is it in New York?”

“No, no, no,” Jackie says, ever the voice of calm reason, ever the person in control of a situation. “Memaw can’t travel far anymore, so it’s going to be here. In Neptune.”

Oh. Well. At least she won’t have to buy a plane ticket.

“And do I have to, like…do anything?” Veronica asks, and there is no mistaking the absolute edge in her voice.

“Noooo no no no no no,” Jackie says, assuringly. “No. Well. Maybe some things.”

“Some things?”

“Well you’ll definitely want to get a dress.”

“Okay…”

“There are a few parties, so maybe don’t make weekend plans for a while.”

“Okay…”

“Like, one itty bitty speech at the rehearsal dinner, probably that’s it.”

“Uh huh.”

“And like. I dunno. Maybe you could do some cake tastings, or something. Pick up a few things. We have a wedding planner, but. There might be some opportunities to help her.”

Veronica…she is pretty sure Wallace is oblivious to the implication lacing Jackie’s words. But Jackie and Veronica went to school together, and they’ve known each other since, and Wallace sent the flower bomb to the office knowing Veronica would be there and wouldn’t be busy, so they both know very well that Veronica hasn’t used her law degree in the four years since she’s earned it, and paying back those student loans for a very fancy education does not come cheap.

Nor does, like, food. Or rent.

And maybe if Veronica helps out a bit.

Maybe…there’s some cash in it for her.

Huh.

“I’ll…consider it,” she grumbles, proud to a fault. “But. Thanks.”

Jackie nods, and slaps her hands on her knees. “Great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go throw something up.”

She stands, and walks out of frame.

Wallace is still radiating mirth.

“Oh shut up,” Veronica says, before he can even start.

Wallace laughs again.

 

 

 

Veronica mulls over the rest of the details while having dinner at her dad’s place later. The wedding is going to be huge. Next level huge. Neptune’s available event spaces are literally the only limiting factor, so only 300 of the nation’s best and brightest (see: richest) are going to attend.

Jackie…comes from money.

Like real money. Like borrowing the family jet money, but not exactly hey let’s go hang out in space for a while money. Her dad is some bigwig tech something or other, some former baseball player turned baseball team owned, and her mom is a former pop star who was number one in South Korea for like seventeen weeks.

The fact that Jackie chose Wallace is…sort of a miracle.

For him, anyway. Definitely a miracle for him.

But, well, in a much less cringy sense, Jackie is sort of hitting the jackpot with Wallace. Veronica and Wallace have been friends since they were kids, and while it has genuinely, legitimately, always been platonic…Veronica knows what a catch he is. He’s her absolute best friend in the world, the brother she should’ve had, all of that.

She is honestly pretty stoked for him.

Maybe not so much for this “find a dress” situation.

But for him, she’ll try.

Chapter 2: you are cordially invited to talk to old people

Notes:

Thank you again to Cubbie for doing the beta on this whole gosh darn thing. I really thought she was doing it for the points, but it turns out she's just doing it from the goodness of her heart, so. <3

Weddings are…not Veronica’s favorite thing. For a bunch of stupid reasons. There is probably some deep-seated insecurity mixed in there somewhere, something about growing up without a mother figure, being the butt of a bunch of shit in high school, etc. etc. Mostly she just thinks weddings are a really shitty way to spend money.

For instance: this party.

The first party, the one that is just called the engagement party. After this will be the bridal shower , and the bachelor party , and then the rehearsal dinner – all before these two people she knows get around to the dirty business of saying “I do.” You know what’s easier than all that? Just saying “I do.”

Ugh. Veronica should be a wedding planner.

She’s wearing a two-year-old dress she saves for emergencies and the occasional first date, and some heels she’s owned since college. The make-up is new, her hair is styled better, but other than that, not much has changed.

Veronica parks outside the mansion and looks up at it, all the way to the top. She doesn’t even know who lives here, only that it isn’t Jackie or Wallace. Is this the sort of place they’ll live in after they’re married? Veronica hopes not. But, she supposes all the open lawn is good for a growing kid.

Huh. Suddenly it hits her again. Wallace is going to be a father.

Certainly they’re old enough, probably. They’re closer to 30 than 20, and Wallace has a proper job teaching high school and everything. He probably even has good benefits.

Veronica hasn’t been to a dentist in years.

“Can I take your phone miss?”

Someone is standing just outside the doors, behind a table covered in cream-colored linens. A navy and cream floral decoration sits atop it, and there are people running back and forth in the distance. Veronica looks at them.

“What?”

“Your phone,” the attendant repeats, and Veronica’s open look of horror drifts to the bookshelf of plastic sleeves with varied electronics inside. “The bride and groom insist on absolute privacy. I’m sure you understand.”

Veronica gives them a drawn-out look as she reaches for her purse, pulling out the phone in question, begrudgingly handing it over. It makes sense that they’d want handheld recording devices left at the door, sure. What if someone gets drunk and jumps in a fountain. Or there are some other D-list celebrities here. But still. Not many people stateside have heard “Your Heart My Blossom.”

Veronica wonders if she’ll hear it tonight.

She walks inside, and is immediately overwhelmed by the scale of things. There are easily a hundred people milling around this beautifully-decorated palace, with its gurgling stone fountains, flowers everywhere, and a live mini-orchestra playing out in the back courtyard. Veronica grabs a glass of champagne from a passing server and takes a quick sip. And then another.

Time to find Jackie and Wallace, pose for a few pictures, make sure her presence is noted, then get the hell out of there.

On her way through the house to the backyard, she passes an open door. There is no clear purpose to this room. Whatever it is usually for, it is now simply filled with…mountains, and mountains of gifts.

So many gifts.

Veronica feels her skin get tight, and she resists the urge to smooth down her dress. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

And then suddenly she spies a familiar face.

Oh god no.

“Veronica Mars,” comes the drawling voice of Madison Sinclair. What’s making it all worse is that Madison Sinclair – beautiful, rich Madison Sinclair, with nary a pore visible, with long smooth perfect hair – is holding a clipboard.

“Hello, Madison,” Veronica returns, her hand tightening on her glass.

Madison stops far too close for comfort, and Veronica has to fight the urge to shrink back. Madison is easily a half-foot taller than her. Veronica looks away, takes an obvious sip of her champagne.

“Nice party.”

“Of course it’s a nice party,” Madison snaps, and Veronica raises an eyebrow at her. Madison narrows her gaze into a hateful glare. “It’s a nice party because I planned it.”

Ah shit. 

“You’re the wedding planner.”

“Yes.”

“Of this whole thing. Not just this party – of all the parties.”

“Every god damn rose petal has my stamp of approval.”

Veronica nods. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. “Right. Well. Congrats.”

So much for getting some cash out of this whole affair. Seriously, Wallace couldn’t have warned her? She remembers how it was Jackie who gave the veiled suggestion; that dumb, blindingly-happy Wallace had still been gloating about his fertility.

Madison is close enough to share breath.

“This is a big. deal for me Veronica Mars. A very big deal. You will not ruin it. ”

“What? Why would I ruin anything? Wallace is my friend.”

Madison is still glaring at her, apparently still running some thoughts through her head. By the way she’s grinding her jaw together, by the way fire simmers in her eyes, Veronica can’t imagine that Madison’s thoughts are that’s a lovely color on you, Veronica.

“That’s a lovely color on you, Madison.”

Madison sucks in a breath through her teeth, then closes her lips together. “Look. This wedding could make my career. You know how many followers I have on Instragam now? Just being able to help announce this wedding got me 5,000 followers overnight. Five thousand .”

Veronica wants to ask how many of them are bots, but she wisely bites her tongue. “That’s great.”

“Of course that’s great.”

“Can I go into the party now?”

Madison’s hand darts out, gripping Veronica’s arm in a tight hold. Veronica stares at the hand, then her gaze travels up to look Madison in the eye. Veronica tries for a gritting smile, knowing that this particular smile usually makes people see blinding red.

“Do we need to take this outside?” she asks, with forced sweetness, keenly aware that there are people around.

Madison’s eyes narrow into tiny little slits. “I’m watching you , Veronica Mars. All the time. Wherever you are. Any time you want to do something stupid, any time you want to make some dumb little scene, I. Will. Be. Watching.” She abruptly drops Veronica’s arm, then steps back, walking backwards until she’s a few feet away, then turning with a flip of her shiny shiny hair.

Veronica’s mood sours. So much for the extra income. Like hell she’d ever grovel in front of Madison Sinclair, whom she’s known since high school, whom she didn’t quite realize still kept in touch with Jackie and Wallace.

Great.

She skips down the stairs to the patio outside, gaze sweeping back and forth in the crowd, pleading with any merciful god that she’ll run into Wallace and Jackie soon.

Where the hell are they?

A very old woman approaches Veronica’s side, peering up at her, squinting in the sun.

“Who are you?”

Veronica tilts her head, trying to block the brunt of the glare. “Who’s asking?”

The woman smiles, showing too-clean teeth. They can’t be real.

“I’m the grandmother. This is my house. And I don’t know you.”

Veronica feels herself lean back, unconsciously shoving back her shoulders. “I’m the—” Why does it sound stupid now? “The, uh. The grooms -maid.”

The old lady snorts. “Back in my day, we did not have so many women wearing suits.”

Veronica wonders if this is a good time to tell her she won’t be wearing one. Probably not. Maybe let her stew a little bit. Maybe she should start considering whether to wear a suit.

“A damn shame, is what it is. None of this, boy-girl stuff. None of this boy-girl friendships. Never works. You stay away from them, you hear? After the wedding, you leave them alone .”

Veronica’s eyes round. She has no clue what to say.

“Will do.”

“Don’t you even have a boyfriend? Where’s your husband?”

“Um.” Is this a ruse she wants to perpetuate? She definitely wants to get out of this conversation. “He’s…not…here.”

Lying to old people isn’t a crime, right? It probably shouldn’t be a crime.

The old lady snorts again.

She glares up at Veronica, disapproval clear. Then she abruptly turns, and waddles off in another direction, the very definition of the word spry .

Yikes.

Panic starts to bleed into her thoughts. Is this what it’s going to be like? Is this what’s expected of her? Showing up in a series of stupid dresses, mingling with all these people she has absolutely nothing in common with. She suddenly can imagine the same conversation she will have fifty times over just in this afternoon alone. How do you know the bride and groom? You’re what, a, a groomsmaid, that’s so funny! So what do you do? Did you come alone?

Maybe this is all some terrible joke.

She spies Jackie and Wallace then, clear on the other side of the party. Jackie looks amazing, wearing a soft blue dress that fits her well. Wallace is wearing a suit and a tie, and he’s laughing freely. He looks…completely at ease.

And despite everything, despite her very strong urge to leave…seeing Wallace and Jackie so happy…something within Veronica resolves to put up with it. To put up with the stupid questions, the stupid jokes. She will tolerate these people, but she will not become one of them. She will not see them, or think of them, five weeks from today.

Another person’s presence settles at her side, and Veronica glances sideways, just to make sure it’s not the same memaw, back for round two.

It’s not the memaw, but that doesn’t mean Veronica relaxes.

It’s some guy. He’s tall, and grinning out at the crowd, like an eager puppy or something. Clearly he has no preoccupations about the ostentatious nature of this party. Clearly he’s been to places like this before, and is not wildly uncomfortable.

And sure, he’s handsome. What, she can’t notice that rich people are also usually attractive? Whatever. He probably has butt implants or something.

“Hey, you seen the bride and groom?” he asks, and for a moment, Veronica doesn’t realize he’s talking to her.

“Excuse me?”

“The happy couple,” he responds, easy, turning his grin to her. (What’s with him? Maybe he’s high. Maybe he’s one of those people who meditates, or something. Someone high on life. Someone really into essential oils.)

Maybe he’s an influencer. Like one of those fitness ones. She wonders if he has more followers than Madison.

“They’re over there,” she says, gesturing with her glass.

The guy doesn’t even glance at her again. “Great,” he says, and he lopes across the lawn.

Veronica’s shoulders slump. Now what is she going to do? If she goes over there now it will seem like she followed him, and that would be annoying. But then again, he barely looked at her, so maybe he wouldn’t even notice her a second time.

Veronica looks around, and spots a table with snacks.

Fine. Snacks.

A middle-aged couple is already picking things over, and the wife’s teeth are whiter than Memaw’s.

“So, how do you know the bride and groom?”

Veronica swallows her groan.

Let it begin…

Veronica is on her fourth tiny sandwich and her third conversation with a very rich person when she decides that she doesn’t particularly enjoy these versions of small talk.

“So what do you do?” a middle-aged man asks, his husband hovering, both way too excited to be drinking champagne in the sun.

“I’m a landscape architect,” Veronica lies, easily, shoving the rest of the tiny sandwich in her mouth. She nods. “Yup. Plants, dirt, planting, um. Watering. Doing all of that. That’s what I do.”

“That’s so great!” he answers. “We just went through the remodel from hell. Didn’t we James. Let me tell you, never renovate in January, and if you do, make sure there are no hurricanes between you and your Spanish tile.” They both laugh, some little joke they’ve doubtlessly told a hundred times before.

Veronica is trying to smile, trying to laugh along. “Oh. Right.”

“There you are.”

Veronica turns at the sound of the voice, and the masticated ball of cucumber and bread lodges directly inside her throat.

“Oh my god,” she squeaks around the lump. “Wallace. There you are. Thank god.”

She coughs, grabbing hold of his shoulder. He lets her cough up the ball, and Veronica has to do something with it, doesn’t she? She winces, chewing the ball into smaller pieces, having to swallow it again or risk spitting it into the grass. Great. Gross.

“Let me just…get her something to drink,” Wallace says, ever charming, and he must be smiling on her behalf.

She feels Wallace’s arm around her upper back, and then he starts pushing her away from the couple.

Veronica has a fist to her chest, trying to make sure she won’t choke on any more finger food.

“You good?” he asks, clearly about to laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me. I’m dying. I’m in my hour of need.”

“And look who comes to rescue you. You know I gotchu.”

“Yes, well,” Veronica says, looking over her shoulder. The husbands are talking together, sending concerned looks her way. Veronica turns back around. “I’ll have you know I was managing just fine until you surprised me.”

“Oh yeah? Pretty sure it is no big secret that I’m at this thing. Can’t see how you were surprised.”

“Psh. I’m just here to see Phish. Hear they’re playing a four-hour set.”

Wallace laughs, pleased. He’s pleased all over. And why shouldn’t he be? His smoking hot girlfriend is going to be his wife, and is going to give him a kid. And she’s super rich. Wallace won’t have to worry about pizza deals for the rest of his life.

Veronica feels herself shrink a little inside her skin, and she can’t say anything all at once.

“It’s a great party.”

Wallace is silent for a moment. “It’s fine,” he finally says. “You know me. Not really my…well.”

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t point out that every time she’s seen him in the past half hour he’s seemed to be living his very best life, like today is the very best day.

It doesn’t really seem relevant to say that.

“Jackie! I found her.”

Jackie turns at the sound of Wallace’s voice, and she’s holding a tall glass of ice water with a sprig of rosemary in it. It’s probably rosemary. The little straw sticking out of it barely has lipstick on it, even.

“Hey,” she says, smile spreading like syrup on hot buttered pancakes. “Thanks for being here.”

Veronica tips up her chin. “Pretty sure this is part of the deal, right?” She sends Wallace a tight smile.

Wallace rolls his eyes, grinning. “Yeah,” he says, drawing out the word, like she’s being childish. Maybe she is.

“Oh shit,” Jackie swears, and she reaches for Wallace. “Wal, it’s my aunt Gina. We have to say hello or she’ll literally slash my tires.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Let’s run .”

Wallace sends round eyes at Veronica as he’s tugged along over the lawn, and he mouths Stay Here in very obvious mouth movements.

Veronica can’t hold in a smirk.

She sweeps her gaze around the immediate surroundings, realizing she has not only a tall table for cocktails, but also a low table, with chairs around it and everything. There’s even a selection of cookies on this table, and little meatballs on skewers. Nice.

She’s just loading up a napkin with stuff, when there’s a voice behind her.

“Where did Wallace and Jackie go?”

Veronica straightens, meatball behind her teeth, toothpick still between her lips. She turns around and finds that hot guy from before, the one who is probably the fitness influencer.

If he’s not already a fitness influencer, he could probably be a fitness influencer? Is all she’s saying? She’s saying if he had a series of workout videos she might watch one, if it was mostly stretching in place. No getting off your couch stretching in place. Anyway.

“Um. They had to go say hello to a family member. I think they’re coming back soon.”

The guy nods his head, and Veronica realizes he has two large cocktails in his hands. He notices her stare.

“They’re definitely both for me, in case you were wondering.”

Interesting. A joke. A rich person joke.

“You must be thirsty.”

His grins twists. “It’s been a long, long few months.”

She wants to ask what he means by that. A long few months of…sobriety? Of his prison sentence? But she doesn’t. She works on chewing the meatball in her mouth, swallowing it without choking. It would be just embarrassing to choke twice in one afternoon.

“So…how do you know the bride and groom? I’m Logan by the way.”

Veronica fights not to narrow her gaze, wondering why he’s being so forthcoming, like he’s trying to brag about something. Veronica swallows the rest of the meatball.

“I’ve known Wallace since high school,” she says, touching the corners of her lips, making sure there’s nothing sticking to her lipstick. The guy nods, taking a long chug of one of the glasses. Like, a long chug. It looks like a Long Island Iced Tea, but she’s not going to ask.

“Awesome. Me too.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“ Jackie , Jackie. I’ve known Jackie since high school.”

Veronica knows it’s not a competition, because, well, it’s just not, and also she’d win because she’s the groomsmaid, but she feels herself rile a bit at his challenge that he’s maybe more involved with the couple than she is. She wants to pull out her phone and find a way to casually show off a picture of the gift box he sent her. Like it’s an accident or something. You wanna see a picture of my dog, oh whoops here’s all the flowers and balloons they sent me, ha ha oh these crazy kids.

She does not do this.

Then comes the inevitable question.

“So, what d’you do?”

Veronica feels herself pull in a breath. “I’m a…” don’t say influencer don’t say influencer , except now she’s thinking about it and that’s a problem and she needs to say something, and – “a…fitness…influencer.”

She realizes, a second too late, that if Logan is an actual fitness influencer her ruse is going to be up pretty quick. But his eyes just flare a bit, some reaction she can’t read all at once, before he nods, takes another large sip, down to the ice cubes in his cocktail, and says, “Nice.”

Veronica rolls her shoulders as Logan looks her over. “What sort of fitness?” he asks, politely curious, or rather, just way better at smalltalk than her.

“Um. The…usual kind.”

His gaze narrows then, just for a beat, and Veronica fears she’s said the wrong thing.

“Um. Weight lifting. Mostly weight lifting? Yeah. Five pounds. Ten. Sometimes fifteen.”

A grin starts at the corners of his lips, stretching slowly, as if he’s getting in on some joke she hasn’t told.

“Fifteen? Man. That’s hard stuff.”

“I mean. Sometimes, like. Twenty .”

“You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”

“Well. Yeah. I mean, I stretch beforehand.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like, my shoulders. And my arms. I stretch those first, so I can lift all the…weights.”

He nods, and she sees that he’s biting his lower lip, as if trying not to laugh.

“What’s your insta handle? Maybe I’ll start following you.”

Uh oh.

“Um. I’m actually on hiatus right now? I tore my…” Oh shit, think of a muscle, think of a muscle , “my…gluteus.”

“You tore your butt? ”

Ah shit of course that’s the butt.

“Y…es,” Veronica finishes, lamely, wishing she had a cocktail of her own. Wait, what happened to her cocktail? She had one before she started choking on cucumber. “Are you going to finish that?”

He looks at the cocktail she’s pointing to, and even with the blinding sun, she can see his eyes are dancing. “You know what,” he says, and he grins as he picks it up, and hands it over, “all yours. You probably need it in your condition.”

She gets the uncomfortable feeling that he’s teasing her, but, he won’t admit to it, so she’s unsure what to think. She takes it from him, taking a sip, and then fighting the gag as the alcohol hits her right in the throat.

“Oh my god,” she says, pulling it away from her face. “What the hell is this? ”

“Not celery juice.”

She casts him an indignant glare.

“For the fitness influencing,” he clarifies, resting an elbow on the high table behind him. Veronica purses her lips at the way his shirt stretches across his chest.

“We’re back,” comes a breathless voice, and Veronica turns to see Wallace and Jackie stepping quickly in their direction. “Oh good, and I’ve finally got you together.”

Jackie rests a hand on her stomach, which Veronica realizes that Logan has noted, and she has this absurd instinct to distract him somehow, as if Jackie’s pregnancy is some secret she has to keep. Wait, is she keeping this a secret from everyone? Does Memaw know? It feels like Memaw knows everything.

“Hey was that a bird?”

Everyone looks, and then Jackie turns back around first. “Probably? We’re outdoors, Veronica.”

Veronica nods, as if, yeah, okay, makes sense.

“Anyway,” she goes on, and she sighs through a big smile. “You probably already know then, huh?”

Panic seizes Veronica, making her still. Know what. That it’s triplets? That it’s octuplets? That they’re naming them all Wallace? Know that she’s not a fitness influencer?

“Know what?” Logan asks first.

Jackie waves her hand between them, between Veronica and Logan, as if it’s a thing.

Oh , Veronica wants to tell her, he’s not a fitness influencer , except she’s sure it would be confusing.

“Veronica!” Jackie tells Logan, nodding in an encouraging way. “Veronica Mars? You know, Wallace’s groomsmaid ?”

Veronica tenses, waiting for the joke. Waiting for the laughter, the stuff that’s supposed to be light and delighted, but most often comes across as mocking.

But he does something even stranger: he doesn’t laugh at all.

Veronica tilts her head.

“Oh, neat! Nice to meet you, Veronica.”

He reaches out his hand, and Veronica takes it, absently, having to drop one of the hands clutching her cocktail. She’s sure there’s condensation on her palm, which is maybe why Logan frowns down at their clasped hands. It’s a fleeting frown.

“And you’re Logan.”

“Yup,” he nods, and drops her hand. “Logan, the…” she leads. She knows there’s something he hasn’t told her yet.

“The uh. The brides- man ,” he says, and Veronica’s shoulders slump.

Ah.

Great.

Chapter 3: you are cordially invited to take up space

Veronica knows her face scrunches a little, and she hopes it looks like she’s just squinting in the sun. She looks away. Logan the bridesman. She’s Veronica the groomsmaid. And of course he’s handsome, and built like a firefighter, and is rich and makes jokes. That makes sense. She wonders for a second what it’s going to look like, the four of them up there in front of three hundred very privileged people.

Jackie, looking like a god-damn princess. Wallace and Logan looking like they’d rode in on fiery steeds.

And Veronica.

Good ol’ Veronica.

Taking up space.

“Veronica was just telling me about her instagram,” Logan says, and Veronica goes very very still.

She passes a glance at Wallace, a warning glance, and he’s looking at her curiously.

“What? Veronica ain’t got no instagram.”

“Um…” Veronica flounders, holding her glass up to her mouth. “It’s…new.”

Logan glances at her, and his eyes are glowing with restrained laughter.

Veronica narrows her gaze at him, because it’s suddenly so very clear…that he’s bought none of her ruse.

Wallace and Jackie are murmuring to each other, something to the tone of Wallace being considerate and checking in on her, making sure she has what she needs. Veronica takes the opportunity to attack their new friend.

“What gave me away?” she mutters, voice so low that Logan has to lean closer to her. She sees half of his face grin in profile.

“Gave what away?” he asks back, and Veronica levels a look at him. He shakes his head. “Telling you would be cheating.”

“Cheating? I’m the one who—” she starts to say, but then she realizes that she just nearly admitted to the whole thing. As if that isn’t what they are talking about anyway. Hmph. She shifts her jaw back and forth. “So…I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”

Logan leans back, so he can look down at her. “Seems like it.”

“And your name is Logan.”

“Sure is.”

“And you’re the bridesman.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

She has to shade her eyes to look at him all over. “Anything I need to know?”

“Know? Like what?”

“I dunno. I don’t do this often. Your blood type? Is that something I should know? Your in-case-of-emergency contact?”

He grins, wide and showing all of his real, and straight, teeth.

“No clue on the blood type. And - you. You can be my contact.”

“That is not in the-–” she starts to say, condescending to him, realizing too late that it’s a joke. Maybe. Probably. She straightens. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t plan on letting us get into any of that kind of trouble anyway.”

“No trouble ,” he wonders aloud, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She rounds her eyes at him, as if he should know exactly why there will be no fun, and passes a pointed glare at Jackie, and her little belly that is not even close to showing.

Logan rolls his eyes. “Oh. That.”

She’s not sure if it’s a joke or not; she’s not sure what to make of it at all. Does he not care that Jackie’s knocked up? He’s probably one of those frat-type guys, the ones who slip off condoms in the dark, the ones who say things like is it that time of the month again? when you’re arguing and making good points.

Gross.

Someone comes up to greet Wallace and Jackie, and it must be a close relation because Jackie makes a loud, excited sound, opening her arms to give them a hug. Veronica’s about to say something nasty to Logan, but then she sees that Logan also knows them, and that this relative’s next hug is for him. 

“Logan, it is so good to see you again!” the older woman says, and she drinks him in with a smile.

Thus begins a rather tedious half hour. Veronica retreats to one of the low chairs, where her napkin of stolen cookies still waits. She sips from the battery acid cocktail, amused when someone brings Logan another one, and Logan laughs and claps the person on the back when they do, clinking glasses and drinking together. She winces involuntarily at the sight.

It’s sort of impressive, almost, how social all these people are. They’re talking to each other so easily, making jokes, touching each other in polite, acceptable places – just so goddamn happy to see each other.

She’s staring off into space, having watched Jackie make conversation with one of Wallace’s cousins whom Veronica has met at least three times, when she realizes Logan has taken the chair next to her with an audible sigh.

“How’s it going, Veronica?”

He just sounds so satisfied when he says it. So pleased with the world. Veronica wonders if she’s wearing enough sunscreen, and glances behind herself at the nearest tree that would provide shade.

“Fine,” she demures.

“You get any new followers today?” he asks her, grinning, and Veronica scoffs.

“Oh give it a break.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be supportive.”

Veronica rolls her eyes, and then notices when Logan presses his lips together, then leans forward. “If that’s something you’re into, I’m sure I could facilita—”

“No, no thank you,” she interrupts, sourly. “Just forget it.”

A strange look passes over his features, as if Veronica is taking away his fun. Veronica sucks in a breath.

“I just…don’t…like…these kinds of parties.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, these…” Veronica pushes down the hem of her dress. “These fancy parties.”

Logan nods, then glances her over, gaze seeming to linger on her shoes. What? she wants to ask him. Did she step in something? Before she can, someone else comes over, a bland, broad smile across their face.

“Oh Logan, it is so nice to see you again!”

Logan dutifully rises, enveloping this woman in a half-hug, and they get swept up in small talk that Veronica immediately tunes out. She gazes at the treeline again. It’s getting hot; she’s been sitting in the sun for awhile. A wave of lightheadedness sweeps over her suddenly, in and out like the tide. Hmm. She frowns at her cocktail. The ice has mostly melted, but it’s also mostly a clear color, not the dark amber of before…how much of it had she actually drunk?

“And what do you do?” the bland, chipper voice asks in Veronica’s direction, and Veronica squints up at her, not even bothering to plaster on a polite smile.

“I’m a…” she says, and Logan is right there, and she doesn’t know what to say, because what she doesn’t want to say is that she’s a private detective, because best case scenario Logan thinks she’s joking again, and laughs, not even realizing he’s being cruel, and worst case he believes her, and then she’d have to explain.

“A race car driver,” Logan supplies for her, and her gaze darts to his face.

His cheeks are all tangled up in a little smile, really trying to force it off his face.

Veronica mentally rolls her eyes again, leaning back in her chair. Oh all right.

The boring woman makes an interested noise, and Logan easily picks up the thread of conversation, inventing little details that make it obvious Logan is much more familiar with the vocation than she is. She nearly snorts when he says she lit somebody on fire with her exhaust pipe once.

The woman gives Veronica a concerned sort of look before making excuses to leave.

Logan drops back into his chair, proud of himself.

“Someone’s proud of himself,” she drawls, and Logan grins at her.

“Child’s play,” he says.

“Still. I’m pretty sure cars don’t actually go two hundred-seventy miles an hour.”

“They do if you try hard enough.”

Veronica really does roll her eyes then, the third instinct in four minutes, fighting off her own smile.

Thus begins a slightly more entertaining half hour of her time. Logan, for whatever reason, decides to hover, and they take turns coming up with stupid professions for people they don’t know. To Veronica’s former high school principal Logan is a Naval Air Force pilot, and to one of Mr. Cook’s baseball buddies they are marine biologists, studying a type of worm that only grows in ocean volcanoes. The underground ones. Not the ones that breach the surface. Because that’s someone else’s jurisdiction.

They’re having such a decent time that they don’t immediately become aware that Wallace and Jackie have left them alone, or more likely have simply wandered off somewhere. The shadows are getting long on the ground, and Veronica is very sure she’s got a sunburn somewhere, when Logan points out that the bridge of her nose is getting red.

“What?”

“Your nose.” He squints up at the sun. “We should get into some shade. Aren’t you wearing sunscreen?”

“Yeah…” she drawls, suspicious of his line of questioning. Is this where he makes some skeezy comment, offering to slather her up? Hmm. She presses her lips together.

Logan is glancing at the trees, not so very far away. “C’mon,” he offers, gesturing. “Let’s head over there.”

The fact that he’s being nice to her – just genuinely nice to her – considerate, even – is jarring. Jarring enough to sort of take the sheen off the pleasantness of their camaraderie, jarring enough to remind her that Logan is effectively a stranger to her. A rich stranger, who knows all these people, who is friends with Jackie and has been since high school. Collecting her purse off the chair, standing on unsteady feet, Veronica reminds herself of the pledge she’d made at the beginning of this thing.

She’s not doing this to make new friends. She’s not going through all these motions to make life-long contacts, to be able to socialize at future events and be like, ‘hey, remember at Jackie and Wallace’s wedding? When that thing happened?’ She’s not looking for stories like that.

Logan is nice. She’ll give him that. He’s still giving her very strong bro vibes. Bros who go to the gym vibes, who would offer unsolicited advice about how you use the rowing machine vibes. Who’d offer to spot you and then linger when you say no thanks.

They reach the shade of the trees, and Logan lets out a sigh, tipping back his head. There’s a breeze over here, and it does feel…nice.

“That’s better.”

Veronica knows her eyes flutter closed for a moment, enjoying being out of the heat, no matter how mild it had been in late February. She finds Wallace across the party, with his jacket off, and he’s pulling a standing umbrella by its base towards Jackie, who is standing at a table watching him work. There is mild applause and plenty of cooing at his bravado.

“Wallace is a great guy,” Logan says, and Veronica turns to find him watching the same spectacle.

“I know,” she agrees.

They’re silent for another moment, maybe just cooling off, maybe just taking a breath. She hears when Logan wets his lips. 

“So you and Wallace never…” he leads, and Veronica grimaces, because of course he’s asking her this.

“God no,” she swears, and she’s annoyed that he’s lived up to some unspoken expectation in her mind. “Literally, never. We’ve been best friends for forever.” She glares at Logan, who has his hands up.

“Hey maybe I’m just checking. I saw that Julia Roberts movie. I know how things can go.”

Veronica narrows her gaze. “Well. I’m not Julia Roberts.”

Logan turns his palms upward, turning the gesture into a shrug. “If you say so.”

She tries to peel off the irritation his question provoked. It’s – okay. It’s not the first time someone’s made that assumption. It’s not the first time someone has probably wondered about that, either silently or out loud, and Logan surely won’t be the last. What, should she wear a sign? A sandwich board down the aisle? NOT INTERESTED. PROMISE I’M NOT INTERESTED. PLEASE LET THE WEDDING PROCEED.

Which is, by itself, a really gross and disappointing double standard. Surely no one is bothering Logan with these sorts of questions, claiming that he’s the one who desperately wants to object at the most dramatic moment, that is doing this out of some heartsick obligation to his best friend.

“Have you and Jackie ever…?” she asks, making her voice sound annoying, gesturing towards the bride-to-be to be in some mockery of Logan’s own question.

And it’s the total flatness of his expression that gives him away.

“Oh come on. ”

He balks a little. “What, you don’t think it’s possible?”

“Possible? No! Come on, she’s your ex? She’s your ex and she chose you? ”

He frowns at her, like she’s the one being disappointing now. “It was a hundred years ago.”

“Yeah but—”

He looks at her, still frowning, as if it’s completely reasonable to be so friendly with your ex like this. To be so friendly that you’re willing to be paraded around as bridesman , enduring the mockery of old people, the teasing jokes of tweens.

And speaking of…

“Oh for the love of,” Veronica gripes, because she spies Memaw, and Memaw spies her, and the old woman is hobbling towards her with a glint in her eye Veronica does not like at all.

“Is this him?” she says, her old lady voice hard and cutting. “Is this the beau?”

“You know who this is,” Veronica whines, folding her arms. “Logan, I’m guessing you know Memaw.”

“I know who he is,” Memaw interrupts, stepping so close Veronica can smell her mothballs. She’s shorter than Veronica, has a hunch in her back, and glares at Veronica and Logan like she’s ten-feet-tall.

“I didn’t ask who he is,” she snaps, like a turtle. “I asked who he is . Is this your beau or not!”

Veronica rolls her eyes, pulling apart her arms with exasperation. “You know what? Yes. Yes Memaw, this is my beau. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re so very much in love. Is that good enough? Are you happy now?”

“No. I’ll be happy enough when you’re married, and you can keep the hell away from Jackie and Wallace.”

Veronica gives her a withered look, as if to say, come on.

“I can get you married. I can get you married right now. You don’t think I can? I got a judge here tonight. I got three judges here tonight! I can get them over right here and right now and we can hitch you on the spot!” She glares up at them, as if just daring them to refuse her.

“We’re uh…we wouldn’t want to overshadow tonight’s events,” Logan hedges, for once off-kilter. “You understand Memaw. It’s Jackie and Wallace’s special day.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about you, and you , keeping your hands where I can see them, and keeping them away from Jackie and Wallace’s business.” Her glare is spectacular, and she says business like their business is keeping Memaw happy until the ends of her days. “You hear me? I’m watching you. I’m watching both of you.”

She backs away, which you’d think would be difficult for someone who lived through the stone age, but she manages just fine.

Veronica glowers at her, not relaxing until she’s well out of range. “I hate that old windbag.”

Logan offers a nervous laugh.

Memaw has sort of taken the fun out of the afternoon, and Veronica scuffs her feet on the lawn as they walk back in the direction of the party. There they pose for the photographer, Veronica unsure what to do after the third click, imagining that offering a thumb’s up or a hearty wink wouldn’t really set the right tone.

After the photographer announces he has what he needs, Veronica kisses Wallace and Jackie on their cheeks, insisting that it’s past her bed time, requesting that someone record the Phish show for her to watch later. The party is going to wind down to a family dinner in an hour or so, and Veronica has an open invitation to stay, but she really just doesn’t feel like it. Let it be a family thing tonight. She just sort of wants to go home.

She’s sort of surprised when Logan joins her.

“You don’t want to say?” she asks, when he’s jogged up to her side.

Logan shakes his head. “Nah.”

Well. There’s not much to say to that.

They make their way silently through the lingering throngs of people, avoiding conversation as they go. Veronica is full, and her buzz wore off a while ago, so her steps feel heavy as they go up the short flight of stairs to the house, as they cross the cool interior to collect their cell phones.

Logan slyly slips a bill into the attendants hand, which makes Veronica feel embarrassed, because the only cash she has is quarters, and she imagines that that doesn’t have quite the same affect. She looks away when Logan checks his phone for missed messages.

“Did you want to exchange information?”

The question makes her nearly trip over her shoes.

What?

“What?”

Logan shrugs. “Well, it’s just that we’re going to be spending so much time together. It seems like it makes sense to me.”

Veronica narrows her gaze at him, not for the first, or second, or eighth time this afternoon. What’s he getting at?

“I don’t...know if that’s necessary.”

Logan looks up at her. Veronica presses her lips together, a little bit of nausea rolling through her stomach. She wants to go home. 

“Look,” she continues, rubbing her eyes. “Let’s just – this is just a thing, okay? This is just pageantry, or whatever. We don’t have to. What I’m trying to say is.” She winces, not coming up with the right words. Should she just give him her number? Should she just give him a fake number? She doesn’t want to do either. “Can we just keep this professional? We both have jobs to do, right? So let’s just…” She blows out a breath, resisting the urge to rub her stomach. “Let’s just do them.”

Logan is still looking at her, and he’s silent for a moment, maybe processing her words. He shrugs a shoulder again. “If you say so.”

Veronica nods. They walk to the front of the house, where all the cars are parked.

Logan pauses by the valets, making Veronica realize he hasn’t parked his own car. Maybe he doesn’t have a car. Maybe he came via private jet.

“Well,” he says, when he realizes that she’s going to walk to her car a ways off. Veronica lingers, feeling uncomfortable in a way she wasn’t before.

“Well,” she agrees.

Logan is scratching the back of his neck. “See you in two weeks I guess?”

Veronica bites the inside of her lower lip, watching him. Why is she hesitating? Why did he want her number? She remembers him saying they should go to the shade. She remembers him giving her his cocktail, and not calling her bluff on the job thing.

“Yeah,” she says, remembering all that and still deciding against him. “See you in two weeks, Logan.”

Chapter 4: you are cordially invited to play dress up

Veronica is working on a business card today.

She’s downloaded a template off the internet, and she’s just finalizing the wording. She’s been finalizing the wording for about two hours.

She’s also watched three episodes of Verified Partners of the Czech Republic , and it’s clear that Martina is cheating on her husband and is also going to flee the country in the night.

Veronica’s phone lights up with a text.

It’s from an unknown number.

[You busy today?]

Veronica squints at the words. That’s a new one.

[OPT OUT] she types back, annoyed by the new levels of bots. No, her car doesn’t have an extended warranty. 

She checked.

The response comes after a moment.

[What?]

[CANCEL] she types out. [STOP]

The hovering ellipses start and stop.

What the hell? This is a very sophisticated bot, apparently, and she’s blowing out a sigh and going to block the number, when the message appears.

[This is Logan. From the party?]

Veronica freezes.

Oh. Right. Embarrassment flashes though her, followed by another surge of annoyance.

[Feel free to lead with that next time] she texts, stabbing the buttons, warmth at the back of her neck.

[Ha ha, noted]

She worries the inside of her cheek, staring at the screen. What she wants to text is what the hell do you want , but she doesn’t. How the hell did he even get her number? They talked about this at the engagement party. That was four days ago, or five – something like that. She’s had one case in the interim of a literal missing cat, and that’s it.

[So?] comes his text. 

Huh?

[So what?]

[So are you busy today]

Oh. Her gaze flies to the beginning of their conversation, ignoring the ways she tried to banish him. Er. Not her best first move.

Veronica twists her mouth as she looks at her computer, where MARS INVESTIGUTIONS has been sitting in typo for probably way too long. Then at the freezeframe of Teréza shopping for new teeth. Is she busy?

Well. No. Not really. But…she doesn’t have to admit that, yet.

[Kinda]

That feels good and noncommittal, should he follow up with something weird.

The next texts come all together.

[I have to buy a suit today.]

[A new one. I have to buy a new suit, and Wallace is busy, and everyone’s busy, and I hate buying suits.]

Veronica waits for the question. When it doesn’t come, she responds.

[So buy one online. I hear the internet has everything these days, if you know where to look.]

[Ha ha, yeah.] he texts back. And then, after a minute: [So you’re free?]

Veronica sighs a blustery sigh, slamming into the back of her chair. [Yeah. Just tell me where.]

She hasn’t thought of him, okay? Well, no, that’s a lie. Of course she’s thought about him, because she knows one of these days their paths are going to cross again, and likely it’s going to be before Logan is holding Jackie’s bouquet of roses and they’re all crowded around a priest.

She’s resolved to not like him, is what she’s decided.

Sure he’s handsome, and he works out, and he’s kinda funny. But he’s also smug, and rich, so somewhat deserving of all his smugness, and she’s just not really into that, for a lot of very good reasons. 

See? She’s a grown up. She knows what she wants. And despite the fact that Wallace has found cold comfort in the arms of other people’s money, Veronica knows she could never sleep well in their million-thread-count sheets.

That’s just not how she’s made, okay. That’s not who she is.

Case in point: Logan has picked out a ridiculous, legitimate designer label for his suit purchase. Yeah yeah so maybe someone else has chosen this designer label, but he still went along with it. What, Men’s Warehouse doesn’t make good enough suits? There aren’t a hundred at every pawn shop? Please.

Veronica walks in, hands shoved in her pockets, and scans the area.

It’s friggen cold in here, like the friggen arctic or something. It’s not even the end of February and they still have AC on blast. A young, decidedly frail-looking woman with a bright pink nose walks up to her on impressively steady ankles.

“Can I help you?”

See, it’s already obvious Veronica’s not supposed to be here. She spends a hot second wondering if she could pull off some stupid ruse of being someone famous, and then decides she doesn’t have the energy for it.

“Yeah, I’m meeting a friend.”

“Oh! Of course. What’s the name?”

“Um.” Hang on. “Logan?”

She’s realizing she doesn’t even have his whole name.

The attendant looks a little puzzled for a moment, and Veronica shoves down the groan. She pulls out a hand and holds it way up above her head. “Yea tall?” she asks, because Logan is tall. She has to pull out her other hand to estimate his shoulder width. “Works out. He’s got a…a face.”

Ugh. She needs to be in a TJ Maxx instantly.

The saleslady seems to agree. “I’ll…see what I can find out,” she says, and then she totters towards the back of the store.

Veronica groans, and shoves her hands back into her pockets. She’s not dressed horribly , okay? Black jeans, clean shirt. She even has clear skin, which is not always a guarantee. She put on earrings this morning. Earrings , even.

The door swings open behind her.

“Hey!” a voice calls out, breathless, and Veronica turns. It’s Logan, and he looks like he’s just jogged a few blocks. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Veronica tilts back her head to peer at him.

“What’s your last name?” she asks.

Logan puffs a laugh, then closes his mouth over his teeth as he runs a hand through his short hair. She can see him move his tongue against the inside of his lips. “Um. Echolls.”

Veronica nods. She turns back around, looking for wherever the attendant has gone.

“This is a very fancy place,” she says, and she realizes this is her pathetic attempt to make conversation.

Another soft laugh, almost like Logan is self-conscious. Which is stupid, because he’s so rich.

“Yeah, I…didn’t pick it.”

She lolls a flat look up at him. “Yeah, I’m guessing you’re a total Versace guy.”

His eyes are dancing. “Good guess.”

This is an invitation to look at him, and she accepts it, starting at his nondescript shoes, going all the way up to his nondescript t-shirt. That’s the thing about rich people; there’s definitely a level of wealth associated with flashy labels, tons of accessories, and lots of shiny-looking fabric, but then there’s a whole other level of rich that just looks like street clothes. Street clothes that cost as much as the street.

Logan must own a couple streets.

“Mr. Echolls! We’re so glad to have you.”

The attendant has come back, and she’s rubbing her hands together. Veronica wants to think it has something to do with the likely commission she’s about to make, but more realistically it has to do with the cold.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, champagne?”

“No, thank you.”

Veronica interjects, “You guys got any hot cocoa?” The attendant looks at her, as if she’d forgotten that Veronica was even there.

“Oh. Um. I mean – yes! I’m…sure that could be accommodated.”

Logan sniggers somewhere to her side.

“Joking,” Veronica clarifies, not really joking. Her bare arms have goosebumps.

“Um,” the attendant says, looking between the two of them. “It’s right this way, Mr. Echolls.”

Veronica and Logan share a look, and then follow.

They’re headed towards a back room, passing awfully small racks of clothing, artful mannequins, one or two other people trying on clothes; modeling them for doting attendants or bored personal assistants. Veronica notes it all with removed interest, the way someone watches someone getting dental surgery, or a parking ticket.

Veronica faces front in time to see their attendant pulling back a velvet curtain, leading them into a private space.

There are mirrors all along the far wall, all the way up to the 15-foot ceiling, angled towards a small round dais in the middle of the room.

“Measurements first, Mr. Echolls, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

He steps past Veronica, then pulls up short.

“Actually? Hang on.”

Veronica’s eyes widen at him, and then she and the attendant share a look, as it is immediately clear that neither of them is particularly keen on spending any amount of time alone with the other.

“Er—” Veronica starts, but Logan is already jogging out the way they came, the slight hop to his step at least belying the fact that he understands he’s sort of relevant to the afternoon’s proceedings.

Veronica looks back at the attendant.

“I’ll um,” the young woman says, professional. “I’ll just go look into that hot cocoa.”

Veronica grimaces, watching her leave.

After a second, she considers asking if they have any snacks.

Logan takes more than ten seconds to return to the room, so Veronica gets bored. She walks around the room, opening a giant book containing different swatches of fabric, then almost knocks over the dummy standing by the wall. She’s avoiding looking in the mirrors, but when it’s been twenty-five seconds and Logan hasn’t returned, and she’s still by herself, she steps up to the central platform.

Veronica looks at herself, reflected back in five ways.

She’s…she’s fine, right? She’d taken some time to redo her make-up before getting in the car, and she’s still wearing what she put on this morning. Her blonde hair is definitely duller than it was when she had better income; she hasn’t been to a proper salon in ages, and one pathetic attempt to box dye it left her too discouraged to try it again. Her eyes are clear and blue, her face is vaguely symmetrical…not bad, right? Not bad…

“I’m back!” Logan announces, again sort of breathless, and she wonders just how far away he parked. She’s like eight blocks away; it took twenty minutes to find the two-hours-free spots.

He’s holding something in his arms, and when he chucks it at her, she instinctively catches it.

“This could take a while,” he says, by way of explanation, and Veronica’s rounded eyes travel from the garment, back up to Logan, who is just looking at her. A very light sheen of sweat is at his hairline.

She holds it open, and realizes he’s brought her a sweatshirt. It’s lightweight and soft, and has a zipper up the front.

He’s brought her his sweatshirt.

“Logan—” she starts to protest, but then the attendant pushes back the curtain halfway, dropping her head into the opening.

“Is everyone ready?” she asks, hopeful, not really looking at Veronica at all. Veronica is still working through the feelings of protest that are high in her throat. She wants to toss it back to him, insist that she’s fine, but - well - it is cold. And this could take a while. It’s just…a…well…

A very intimate solution to her problem.

Veronica frowns as she trades places with Logan, looking down at the sweatshirt as she moves. From the corner of her eye she catches Logan huffing out a forced exhale, collecting his breath. He rubs the back of his forearm across his forehead, and shakes out his limbs.

“Okay!” he says. “Ready for the tape.”

Veronica is still frowning as she threads her arms into the arm holes, wrapping the panels of the sweatshirt around herself. It’s very typically boy-shaped, at least three times larger than her, and she at least appreciates that Logan doesn’t ogle her or make any comments about the way she looks in it. He barely looks at her at all, as Veronica leans against the wall, and then the attendant comes back in with a chair, and the tailor, and a cup of hot water with lemon (“ I’m so sorry ,” she says, not at all sorry, and Veronica wonders if this is some sort of comment about her weight, which is probably stupid, but Veronica sips the water anyway and promises herself she’ll go for a run later.)

The tailor is short, by man standards, which helps as he jumps around Logan, making small comments, asking small questions. Logan takes it all in stride. This is not his first time getting measured for a custom suit.

“The timeline…” the tailor says, clicking his tongue. “It’s a bit tight. We should have had you in here last week.”

“I’ll take whatever you can get,” Logan says, accommodating, smiling.

The tailor sends a look at Veronica. “I hate your boyfriend,” he explains, completely straight-faced, but clearly not meaning it.

Boyfriend.

Veronica opens her mouth to object, but shuts her mouth. She’s never going to be back here, right? It doesn’t really matter what he thinks she is.

“Not my girlfriend, Theo,” Logan says, quiet, firm, not impolite. Veronica looks away.

“She’s not? She looks like a girlfriend.”

“Just a friend.”

Theo shrugs, then goes to his big book of fabrics. “Ms. Cook sent over the colors, the general idea. But maybe you’re trying to match, with…?”

Logan looks at her again, and she can tell he’s getting a little annoyed. “Whatever you got, okay? I’m sure whatever Jackie picked out is fine.”

“I’ll get you some samples,” he says, and then he walks abruptly out of the room, the attendant following.

Veronica and Logan are both silent for a few moments.

“I guess that might happen a lot.”

Veronica peers at her shoes. “A lot less if we didn’t spend time together.”

Logan doesn’t answer for a moment, and when Veronica looks up at him, she sees that he looks a bit struck by her comment, like he’s trying to reel back some thoughts about to fly from the tip of his tongue.

“I mean–” Veronica finds herself saying. “I mean I don’t mind , right? I didn’t have anything else to do today. Work is slow, and the weather’s nice, and it probably would be helpful to see what you’re wearing, and Jackie and Wallace and everything. Not because I’m going to be buying my suit here too,” she says, and she’s definitely rambling. “Er, I mean, not that I’m wearing a suit, per se, but more like. More like.” She should really shut up. She should have shut up two minutes ago. “Um. I forgot what I was saying there.”

His stupid handsome face relaxes, and he cracks a tentative smile. He swallows, then tilts his head. “You sure you don’t want to go in for matching suits? Bet Theo could give us a BOGO special.”

Veronica puffs a laugh. “Ha ha,” she adds, sarcastic. She stands, and goes to the catalog that Theo left behind. “Do brands like this ever put things on sale? I thought they just…I dunno, stored them until they became vintage, or something.”

Logan surprises her at her side. Is he allowed to leave the platform? Seems like he’s allowed to leave the platform.

He looks at the book with her.

“I know it’s stupid…” he starts, “but…this might be the only part of this stuff I really like.”

“What, having another guy caress your inner thigh?”

Logan finally grins in full. “Hey, Theo would be so lucky, okay.” Veronica rolls her eyes, annoyed to realize she’s grinning as well. “No,” Logan continues, now looking at her. “The…getting dressed up part.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” she reminds him, and for some reason, Logan blanches.

“Oh, well, yeah, I mean I hate this whole process, definitely,” he says, and he’s clearly lying, which is annoying. “But…I dunno. The whole looking spiffy thing. It’s kinda nice.”

She takes a careful step away from him, under the guise of turning the giant page. It’s heavy, weighed down with actual samples of satin, and linen blends, and who knows what.

“You don’t have enough suits?”

He doesn’t move closer again. “I mean. Probably.”

Veronica keeps her gaze on the page.

“Where are you getting yours from? They got dresses here; I’m sure they’d let you try something on.”

Veronica hums, fingers on the fabrics, appreciating the luxurious softness.

“Maybe,” she answers, noncommittal.

Logan doesn’t press her further. Veronica turns the next page, and there’s a riot of color and patterns. A neon paisley stands out.

“Oh yeah. This is the one. You have to go custom,” he says, trying to draw a laugh from her. Veronica allows a small snort. There’s another one - very bright - a bunch of middle fingers on a polka dot background.

Rich people are weird .

“This one seems very appropriate for an afternoon wedding,” he comments, and Veronica tucks away the rest of her smile.

“I’m baaack ,” sings Theo, with the attendant in tow. He’s got a bunch of button-downs slung over one shoulder, and the attendant is similarly weighed down with suits. “Ready to start?”

“Sure thing,” Logan answers.

Logan hops up on the pedestal again, and Theo hands him a light blue shirt, and they all watch as Logan pulls it on over his t-shirt, starting with the buttons in the middle, then working his way up and down. It’s…he’s got really big arms, okay? That’s what she notices, as he works the clothes on, and then off. On and off, on and off, seven different shades of blue.

“Well?” Theo asks, looking up at Logan. Logan is staring at his reflection, frowning a bit. He bites the inside of his cheek, then meets Veronica’s gaze in the reflection.

“Any thoughts?” he asks her, and Veronica wants to say no , definitely not , and also I don’t care just for good measure, but she finds herself…shrugging. She walks towards the rack, holding all the selections. Look, they were all blue, okay? All of them were blue, and sure he looked good in all of them. She stops at the second one he’d tried on.

“This one was nice.”

She turns, and holds it out to him, and finds Logan nodding. “Sounds like a winner.”

“ Nice? ” Theo repeats. “You’re going to go with nice? Look, Logan, the one you’re wearing—”

“The second one’s fine,” Logan interrupts, quick and firm, like he’s worked with Theo many times over. “You got a tie that goes with?

Theo sighs a shuffly sigh. “Of course I do,” he says, and then he bustles out again.

Veronica looks at him. “You really shouldn’t take my advice,” she says. “I really don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” he assures her, and Veronica presses her lips together. She wants to ask, again, what she’s doing here.

“You really didn’t have anyone else whose opinion you’d want?” She frowns at him. “I mean. Seriously. We just met.”

Logan shrugs, unbuttoning the shirt he’s wearing. “Yeah, but, this one involves you.”

“ Barely ,” she says, keenly aware that the attendant is still there, listening in.

“What if I like the second one too?” he says, pulling the shirt from his shoulders. The t-shirt underneath strains against his muscles.

“Then you wouldn’t need me here at all,” she returns, not looking at his chest.

Theo comes back in, and he’s got a tie, and he picks out the color suit he wants Logan to try on, and it looks like a very complimentary navy color, and clearly this is the point where everyone’s going to find out whether Logan wears boxers or briefs, and Veronica has no interest in that knowledge right now.

“I’ll just – give you a moment,” she says, because Logan is reaching for the top button of his jeans.

Veronica ducks out, her cheeks warm, and a few steps into the hall she realizes she’s still wrapped up in Logan’s sweatshirt.

Embarrassment flushes through her, because, what the hell is going on? What is this thing, even? Is this a date? A really weird, perfunctory date? She desperately hopes it isn’t, because, well, because that’s a conversation she doesn’t want to have with Logan, because for one it would put a real damper on the whole wedding thing going on, and for another, just –

That’s just not what’s going on, okay? That’s not what’s going on. It’s perfectly reasonable that she would be here, because they really are going to be in photos together, and it really would be helpful if they didn’t horrifically clash with the bride and groom.

Right. Wallace and Jackie. See? Wallace and Jackie, they are the focus. She never has to see Logan again after this. Or, well, he is best friends with her best friend’s fiancee, so, well, realistically she’ll probably see him a few times in the course of the rest of her life, but like, definitely not more than five times probably? And it’s not like she’s going to start going on fancy ski vacations to Vail, or whatever, or hanging out in bungalows in Balisian lagoons, so, maybe more like three times.

Yeah. Three more times in the rest of her life. She can handle that.

Still not ready to risk the prospect of seeing the outline of his butt, Veronica wanders the store. The music is a weird mix of classical, techno remixes, pop hits. It would be distracting, but it’s all sort of…nice. Nice in the way that someone probably used a computer algorithm and focus groups to determine what is most likely to get people to add something else to their proverbial cart. She finds the dresses Logan mentioned, and spends a few minutes looking at them.

They’re pretty.

Of course they’re pretty.

She holds one up; it’s a dusty sort of lavender color, stopping at the calf. She can’t remember if she’s a friggen spring or a summer or a fall or a winter. What is the thing? If your veins look blue, it’s—

Logan has snuck up on her.

“That looks nice,” he says.

Veronica whirls around, hand still tangled in the fabric.

“What? I wasn’t,” she starts to say, and then she looks at him, and sees that he’s in the suit, and it looks nice on him, even with the pins tucked here and there along his outline. “Um,” she continues, finally shaking the dress off her fingers. “That’s nice. Look nice. You, um, look. Nice.”

He grins. Not in a teasing way, but in a nice way, like he’s pleased to hear her say so.

“Don’t trust it. They spray the fabric with something.”

“Like a…tranquilizer?” she says, not totally aware that she’s joking with him.

“Who knows. Secret, rich person chemical. Makes you think it looks better than it actually does.”

Veronica steps away from the dress rack, and Logan looks over the one she’d been touching again.

“You should try it on,” he suggests, friendly.

Veronica shakes her head. “Nah. I have something else in mind,” she lies.

“Oh come on. We’re here, aren’t we? Let’s see if the colors go well together.”

“Seriously, Logan, I—”

The attendant pops up from nowhere, no doubt scenting a sale. Or maybe they do spray the clothes with something.

“I’m sure we have this in your size,” she swears, and Veronica frowns at her as the woman disappears to the back.

Logan is rolling his eyes. “Come on. You put up with me playing dress up, it seems only fair that you get the same treatment.”

She’s not really sure if what he’s offering her is prize or punishment.

Veronica looks back at the dress, frustrated to realize she’s picturing herself in it. It doesn’t even have a price tag, and if it did, she’s sure that there is no way on god’s green beautiful earth that she would ever feel comfortable paying for it.

But…ugh. She can’t deny…that she…sort of wants to know what it’s…like.

Who doesn’t like a little bit of dress up, every once in a while?

“ One dress,” Veronica swears, holding up a finger. “And if that crap rubs off on me, I expect compensation.”

His eyes are dancing again. “Promise,” he says, and they head back into the dressing room.

Veronica stands on the platform, looking at herself from all angles.

Then she stops.

She…she can’t like the dress, okay.

Even if it does look very nice on her, with its subtle seams, generous neckline, and slight shimmer. Her ass looks fabulous. Her skin seems to glow. And she wouldn’t even have to take it in that much. Just a bit around her boobs, maybe, and then…

“Ready or not,” Logan drawls, and he pulls back the velvet curtain.

She doesn’t want his reaction when he comes into the room, but with the five mirrors in front of her, it’s sort of hard to miss.

His eyes are stuck on her, just her, and not her reflection, and yeah that’s probably him looking at her butt, but she already knows it’s a good-looking butt in this dress, and honestly he would have to be, like, a robot not to notice. Right? She’s sure they even make butt-ogling robots these days. So.

Apparently she does look pretty good. Either pretty good, or pretty stupid.

Logan clarifies when he gives her two big thumbs up.

Veronica snorts.

He hops up on the small platform with her, which is certainly not really built for two people, and before they can both go toppling off he throws an arm over her shoulder, and then looks at their reflection.

The attendant sweeps in behind Logan and drawls, “You’ve got an amazing eye,” with Theo coming in third. He’s got a pin cushion attached to his wrist again, and he circles them with the attendant. Theo tsks at Logan, who is probably messing up the pins in his suit.

“See?” Logan asks, as if he’s proud of himself for making Veronica mildly uncomfortable.

“It’s not even about us,” she points out. “Pretty sure ninety percent of our job is to make Jackie and Wallace look good.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“Attendance,” she answers, and Logan’s grin deepens.

It’s uncomfortable, having him all up in her space like this, having all this physical contact. Veronica ducks out of his hold, stepping down, which Theo doesn’t care about, as he starts bustling around her, pinching the fabric here and there.

“It really does look good on you,” he murmurs, and Veronica doesn’t quite know what to say.

The beginning of panic starts to creep up on her in little baby steps.

So , she wants to ask. How much does this dress even…cost?  

…A thousand dollars?

…Two?

Is that an uncomfortable question? Is she even allowed to ask?

She can’t afford it. No matter what the cost, she can’t afford it, and she doesn’t want to wear it anymore. She doesn’t want to go through the motions of having someone make it fit her perfectly, because what if that requires a deposit, or something, a deposit on a dress she would never come back for, because she really can’t afford it, and she only went through the process of placing the deposit to save face in front of some guy she just met who looks good in blue, and two absolute strangers who are making her feel weird. And jesus christ her bra straps are just totally visible, aren’t they? That’s awkward. Veronica eyes Logan’s sweatshirt, slung over her tidy pile of clothes on the far chair. She’d really like to put that on right about now, just tug it totally around herself and hide somewhere.

“Actually, um, I already have a dress,” she says, too loud and too abruptly, and Theo looks up at her from under his brows.

“You do?” Logan asks, from seemingly far away.

“Yeah. Um.” Veronica keeps her stare on Theo, wondering if he can actually scent the lie. “Sorry.”

Theo – for a moment – it almost seems like he understands her. He doesn’t break his stare, and then he does, holding up his hands in a shrug, backing away a step. The attendant looks pouty, like she put all that effort into adding the lemon slice for nothing.

“I’m going to go get dressed now,” Veronica announces, and without even glancing at herself in the mirror, Veronica makes a beeline for her stuff, and goes to find the nearest empty changing room.

Chapter 5: you are cordially invited to feel wildly insecure

She waits for Logan outside, bathing in the bright sunshine, letting every single ray penetrate her skin.

It’s going to be a long four weeks, she’s decided.

She really should hit up TJ Maxx after this. As much as she’d like to deny it, that color had looked nice with Logan’s suit. If Theo thought it was a good choice, and he knew what Jackie and Wallace were going to wear, maybe she should look into it. She’ll probably just buy something online since there’s enough time.

The door opens beside her, and Logan steps out onto the sidewalk, looking right at her.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice somewhat shy.

Veronica holds out the sweatshirt. “All done?” she asks instead.

Logan looks at her, mild frown to the corner of his lips, and takes the sweatshirt back.

“All done,” he confirms.

She doesn’t want him to say something stupid, something like - I totally bought that dress for you - so she just spins on her heel, shoves her hands back into her pockets, and starts stalking down the street away from him.

“Hey!” he says, like she’s playing some kind of game of tag. “Hey, wait up!”

It takes only a few strides for him to catch up with her, and he does, a hand around her upper arm. She tenses and stills, before rounding on him.

“Yes?” she asks, voice way harsher than it needs to be. “Are we not done? Is our business not concluded? I have places to be.”

His eyes search hers, and she’s not really sure why. Surely most people would be backing off by now, would be never speaking to her again with that tone.

“Just - let me buy you ice cream first. I owe you.”

What in the—

“What?”

“Ice cream. There’s a place nearby. My treat.”

She stares at him, confused, trying to suss out his angle in the four seconds of polite silence that follows.

Ice cream. Psh. Seriously, ice cream. As if she’s some child, as if she can be bribed into gentleness with a sweet treat.

She looks down the street in the direction they were going, and her stomach tightens.

“Fine,” she says, and she doesn’t look at him long enough to see the full extent of his smile.

 

They walk in vaguely companionable silence, side by side. It’s the middle of the day on a Thursday, and traffic is light - just housewives and people breaking up their workday with an errand or two. It’s maybe the only good thing about her weird schedule. Dentist appointments aren’t hard to accommodate. In theory, anyway.

“It’s just up ahead,” he says, and she cuts him a glance.

“We don’t really have to do this,” she hedges.

Logan shrugs. “Like I said, you did me a favor. Theo is overbearing on a good day, and we made it out of there in record time.” He flashes her a smile of bright white teeth. “So I was being sincere. I owe you.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she turns back ahead.

The ice cream shop is cute, cute sy really - half modern spectacle of Scandinavian design, and half old timey shoppe.

And they have sprinkles.

Lots of different sprinkles.

Veronica rubs her stomach as she looks over the options, because, well, it’s lunchtime, and this is apparently going to be her lunch.

“Just a scoop of vanilla on a cone,” Logan orders, and the very young girl behind the counter seems to blush.

“Oh, I’m having way more than that,” Veronica warns both of them, and proceeds to order a sundae.

 

They take it outside, one of the little tables by the window with two seats, and Logan mostly watches her as she starts to devour three scoops of ice cream, with caramel sauce, sprinkles, whipped cream and bright red cherry.

“Can I ask you a question?” Logan asks. Veronica looks up from the molten pile of dairy, and when she doesn’t stop him, Logan is encouraged to continue. “What do you do? Like, actually do?”

The question doesn’t surprise her, or maybe it’s just that it shouldn’t surprise her. It’s a pretty basic thing, in terms of getting to know someone.

She takes another bite of ice cream, swallowing. “I’m a PI.”

“A - I’m sorry, a what?”

“A PI,” she says again, leaning back in her chair. “A private investigator. I do small jobs, solve small mysteries, every once in a while help out the police with a case.”

His face is held in something like suspended animation, and she can tell he wasn’t expecting that.

“I… Wait, for real?”

“For real.”

Logan looks at her ice cream. “I didn’t know people really did that.”

“They really do that.”

“Huh,” he says, and he takes a long lick from his cone. Veronica quickly looks back at her own dessert, and scoops another bite into her spoon. “Are you any good at it?”

“I dunno,” Veronica answers quickly. “Are you good at your job?”

He holds her stare evenly. “Yes.”

Well. Fine. “Well what do you do then?” she asks, somewhat snide.

Logan grins. “Not telling.”

“What! I just told you what I do.” She pauses, really looking over his face. “You’re a stripper aren’t you.”

Logan busts out a laugh. He just totally laughs.

“Not a stripper,” he says, when he’s stopped, grinning fiercely. Veronica hmphs into her next bite of ice cream. Ugh. She’s getting full.

She takes her time letting it melt on her tongue, swallowing it down, wondering whether she can ask the next question, the one she really wants to ask. Which seems to imply that she’s not truly good at her job, if she can’t ask some very simple questions.

“And you’ve known Jackie since high school? You truly dated?”

Logan nods, taking a bite of his sugar cone and chewing carefully. “We didn’t date all that long. I wasn’t…you know…the most stable teenager. I think mostly we both just were trying something we knew wouldn’t work, hoping to piss off our parents.”

Veronica watches him. “Did it work?”

“Not really,” he says, rueful and dramatic. He grins with half his mouth. “You and Wallace though, seriously?”

Veronica rolls her whole eyes in a way that makes her head move. “Ugh, why does everyone think that it’s impossible for men and women to be friends, without sex getting in the way?”

“Um, because When Harry Met Sally ? And because they’re mostly right?”

She gives him an obvious and pointed look, and Logan holds up his hands in protest, crunched cone in one of them.

“Hey this is purely business,” he amends, and Veronica feels her shoulders settle a bit. “I just needed help with a suit, and you were available,” he adds, and Veronica nods, like he’s over-explaining things.

“Well, no. Wallace and I have never. We have never wanted to, we have never tried to, we have never been drunk and bored and lonely - never. He’s basically my brother. Or like, a cousin. I don’t know.”

She still wants to ask him more questions, questions like…how is it even possible to be friends with an ex. All of her exes have burned ritualistic effigies to cleanse themselves of her.

They’ve sent her pictures.

“And you and Jackie went to law school together.”

She pauses her eating, not staring at anything for a moment. Okay. It shouldn’t surprise her that he would know that. It makes sense that he asked Jackie about her, or that she would have given him rudimentary information.

“That doesn’t sound like a question,” she tells him, and Logan snorts.

He volleys, “What a lawyer-y response,” and Veronica doesn’t make eye contact.

“So you’re a lawyer, except you’re not, and now you’re a PI.” He pauses, and she can tell he’s now grinning. “Man it feels so cool to say that. PI. PI . Like a detective movie.”

“Don’t get too attached,” she warns him, and Logan takes another crunching bite of the cone. Veronica pushes her ice cream around, trying to decide if she wants to finish.

“Did you not pass the bar?” he asks, and it jolts her.

“Of course I passed the bar.”

“You did?”

Now she feels nervous. What’s his angle? “Yes,” she answers, simply.

“You’re a licensed attorney in the state of California.”

“Yes.”

Logan shakes his head, popping the last bite of the cone in his mouth. He eats much faster than her.

She tries to ignore the way he’s watching her.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, and Veronica nearly chokes on a bite of ice cream.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s just that you didn’t have one at the engagement party last weekend, and you were available today, and if you have a boyfriend I feel like you would have mentioned him already.”

Is he right? That can’t be true. She can’t imagine when it would have come up, whether she’s single or not, and isn’t that sort of stupid, and also, what the hell is he doing asking about that?

She’s saved from answering in the worst way possible.

“Oh my gosh, as I live and breathe. Logan Echolls.”

Veronica whips her head around, and sees Madison Sinclair – Madison Sinclair – nearly at her elbow. She’s looking straight at Logan (and she definitely knew his last name), and Veronica’s not even sure if she’s been seen. She wonders if she can escape before Madison spies her. Her available hiding spaces are limited. So probably not.

“Hey, Madison, right?” Logan asks, brushing his hands together. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Veronica can hear her grin. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Mr. Echolls. Of course we know each other! Jackie and Wallace’s wedding is in four short weeks, mon ami!”

The insertion of the French language is cloying, in a way too obvious way. Veronica hides her grimace.

“That’s right,” Logan confirms, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair.

“Well I was just out getting some things for the party next weekend. Bridal shower, amiright?”

Logan smiles blandly back.

“And,” she continues, fluffing her hair. “And I had to get my dress for the wedding fitted. It’s so short,” she laments, pawing a hand at the air in front of her. “It’s almost scandalous. Good thing my work is mostly done by then, I just have to ensure everything goes…” she looks away from Logan, and Veronica feels the heat of Madison’s stare on the top of her head. “Smoothly.”

Veronica shovels another bite of melty ice cream into her mouth.

“I have no doubt that it will be perfect,” Logan adds, in this benign, polite way.

“Let me tell you,” Madison says, catching an opening, leaning forward, touching his upper arm. “This job, it means so much to me. I’m working so hard. So. Hard. Just such loooong hours. All night sometimes. Working hard. And I’m just so glad that things are…coming together.” She finishes on an up-note, and looks at Veronica, as if this is a perfectly reasonable phrasing of her work.

Veronica feels the ice cream curdle in her stomach.

“Sounds great,” Logan says, and Veronica wonders if he’s flirting with her. If he is, she’s totally okay leaving them to it, and she’ll finish this ice cream on the way to her car.

Madison seems to remember Veronica then, and passes her a concerned look. “Careful with that, okay? Remember, these photos are meant to last a lifetime,” she says, and she leaves Veronica, mouth open, trying to figure out a better retort.

“I’ll call you, Logan!” she says, a parting shot over her shoulder.

Veronica turns her gaze to Logan, who is watching Madison and her curvy, ridiculously beautiful figure leave. Veronica feels heat flash through her, tightening in her chest, and frowns hard at Logan’s turned head.

“I think I should go,” Veronica says, and she puts her hands flat on the table.

Logan whips around.

“What?”

Veronica glares down at the ice cream. She can’t take it with her. For one she’s too proud, and for another, she would look really absurd sipping from this compostable paper bowl in her car.

Veronica picks it up, and tosses its remains into the nearest trashcan, again stomping down the block. Where did she park? She’s sort of turned around now. Ugh!

Logan skids to a stop in front of her.

“What happened?” he asks, and she cant tell he’s anxious.

“Nothing,” Veronica answers, and she steps around him.

She can hear his harsh sigh from behind her, and Veronica stares straight ahead, clenching her jaw.

Great , she thinks. What a terrible afternoon. First the fancy clothes, then the fancy ice cream, and then the absolutely glorious reminder that Veronica is so clearly unwanted in their little life. See? This is why she didn’t think they should exchange numbers. Ugh! Fury rips through her, fury at Wallace, wonderfully good-hearted Wallace, who probably thought nothing of giving Logan her number, who probably didn’t think twice, or if he did, it was that his second thought was: what a great idea, I’m sure Veronica would love that.

Dang you Wallace!

Clearly not taking the hint, Logan again pops up in her way.

“Can I help you?” Veronica demands, coming to a stop.

“I just want to—”

Veronica just sees red. “What. You want what. Look Logan, I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in million dollar dresses, I don’t belong on this million dollar block, I just—no. You shouldn’t have invited me. I am not the person for this.”

Logan’s frown grows with each word, and when she stops, his lips press together in a firm line. Veronica wishes she had more to say, wishes she could say something wounding that would just – just – just take the wind out of his rich-person sails.

She knows he’s not the one she’s really mad at. Veronica has…history with Madison. Annoyingly painful history, and every time she sees her is like another little dig in the wound. The wound is just ready and waiting for her, wide open, making it easy for Madison to take another little cut.

Logan drags a hand through his short hair. It shows off his arm again, which Veronica does not look at, does not pay attention to , because she’s furious, and he’s just rubbing it in that he’s all tall and sexy and she’s…she’s…well, she’s herself.

“Just forget it,” she says, and before he can say another word, Veronica maneuvers around him.

And this time, he doesn’t try to stop her from leaving.

Veronica is looking at her plastic cup of lemonade, both hands wrapped around it.

It’s definitely not made from fresh lemons, so there’s definitely that. It has that gritty, too-sweet flavor, which means that it started as a powder.

She’s really glad it’s made from powder.

“You want a burger? Or chicken?” Wallace’s stepdad asks her, and Veronica smiles at him.

“Burger please,” she answers.

Wallace’s stepdad gives her a little salute, and Veronica preps her paper plate with condiments.

It’s a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and she woke up…happy. Honestly happy, to get ready in a pale blue sundress, to take some extra time putting her sunny blonde hair into two messy space buns. She’s on home turf, so to speak, picking her dad up on the way even.

He’s talking to Wallace’s mom on the other side of the Fennel’s backyard, holding his own red cup of beer.

“Dad we’re outta ice,” Wallace says, bounding up to Veronica’s side. Veronica smiles at him too.

“There’s more in the garage,” Wallace’s dad reminds him, flipping Veronica’s patty. “Veronica you want to go help him get it? This should be done by the time you’re back.”

“And risk my pretty pink manicure? I think I’ll supervise.”

Wallace and his dad chuckle, and Veronica follows Wallace towards the garage.

Gosh it really just is such a beautiful day.

Her gaze drifts to the side gate.

“It’s nice, right?” Wallace asks her, drawing her attention back to the present. “Everyone’s having a good time?”

Veronica beams at him. “A great time, Wallace,” she affirms. Jackie and her parents are here, sitting on old plastic chairs Veronica and Wallace had to powerwash all yesterday afternoon. Wallace and his brother had to do the fence after. Veronica bumps her shoulder into his. “You sure you couldn’t have the wedding here?” she asks, and Wallace snorts. “I’m serious. Think of how much money you’d save. You could buy, like, a friggen house with that money I bet.”

Wallace rolls his eyes, embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Or a pony. Have the wedding here and you could definitely buy me a pony.”

Wallace sucks in a breath through his teeth, and when they’re just outside the door the the garage, he stops.

“What?” Veronica says.

Wallace looks at her for a moment, and then he shakes his head.

“Nevermind.”

Veronica follows him into the garage. “What, Wallace?”

“I said forget it. Don’t worry about it.”

“ I’m not worried about anything,” she insists, confused. She watches Wallace head to the garage freezer, open it, and haul out another bag of ice.

She’s blocking his way, and she folds her hands over her chest. “Is something wrong?” she asks him.

“Nah,” he tries to say, flippant and lying about it. Veronica throws out a hand to block him.

“Is this a…” she lowers her voice. “Is there someone else. Is this where we bolt in the night.”

Wallace laughs, though it sounds a little forced.

“ No ,” he says, voice hanging on the drawn-out word. He presses his lips together, shaking his head a little. “I’m just…” he starts to say, and Veronica can already tell she’s not going to like what he’s going to say next. “I’m just worried about you, is all.”

She jerks her head back.

“Worried about me? ” she asks, like she misheard him.

His voice comes out small. “Yeah.”

“Why the hell would you worry about me?”

“I don’t know,” he says quickly, plaintively. “I just – I know this isn’t your scene, alright? I know that, you know, this is…weird for you.”

Veronica feels herself rankle a bit. “And it’s not for your parents? It’s not going to be weird for your brother, your cousins?”

Wallace does roll his eyes at that. “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s just – I know how you get around rich people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wallace searches her face, and she can tell this conversation is making him uncomfortable.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Wallace?”

There are three terrible seconds of silence, and then Wallace drops the bag to the ground.

“Look, this is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, alright? And I am happy, Veronica! I really am. But I just can’t help…” he’s searching for the words. “I’m just…I’m worried about you. I worry about you.”

Veronica crosses her arms over her chest again, pulling tight. It’s colder here in the garage than it was outside. “I can handle it,” she says.

Wallace tilts his head, sympathetic, not believing her. Knowing her too well. Veronica glances at the way they came in.

“I just…don’t want you to be alone.”

She wants to rail at him, to tell him that she’s not alone, because, well, because he’s there with her. And she can go to a hundred painfully awkward parties when her best friend is next to her. But…but maybe that’s what he’s saying, isn’t it? That he…what, that he can’t be? That he can’t be there for her?

That thought doesn’t sit well. She remembers at the engagement party, when Wallace was pulled in so many different directions. Even today at this one, he’s been predictably absent from her side. Having been to many, many Fennel backyard barbecues, Veronica had barely noticed.

But maybe Wallace had.

Wallace scrubs a hand through his hair. “Look, can we please just forget I said anything? I just want to have fun today.”

She looks into his face, at his warm, familiar features, and really hates that he looks at all concerned for her.

And it’s the second time someone has looked like that in front of her in a week.

She looks at the ground for a moment, trying to banish Logan’s expression from her mind, the tense look to his eyes right before she left.

“Yeah,” she says, unwinding her arms, letting them drop to her side. “Yeah, of course.” She looks at Wallace again, and forces a sigh; forces her shoulders to loosen. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Wallace’s lips press together, but he doesn’t say anything.

Veronica’s hands curl into fists. “We’d never fit the dove aviary in here anyway,” she says, and relief spreads through her when Wallace’s face cracks open in a puff of laughter.

Wallace picks the ice up off the ground. “There’s not going to be a dove aviary ,” he says, teasing.

“Um, then why does Madison have me making all these tiny bowties?” she asks, joking. “For the doves, of course.”

Wallace actually laughs a bit now. “She is not making you do that.”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Wallace tsks through his teeth, and shoulders open the door. Veronica follows him back into the backyard, blinking in the renewed brightness, and she does a quick sweep of the guests.

“And you definitely don’t have to do anything for the party,” he says brightly. “I’m sure everyone else is helping out. That’s not one of your duties.”

Veronica doesn’t answer him on this.

“I don’t mind,” she deflects.

Wallace walks over to the coolers, where he dumps the ice into slushy water filled with cans of beer and soda. He gets swept up in a conversation with one of his mom’s friends, and Veronica remembers her promised burger, so she heads back to the grill. Wallace’s stepdad is talking to someone Veronica doesn’t know, but her burger is ready and waiting for her.

She finds Jackie there, wrinkling her nose at it.

“Everything okay?” Veronica asks, leaning around her to reclaim her plate. She identifies it by the absurd amount of ketchup she’d squirted all over the bun.

Jackie meets Veronica’s stare, then glances down at her plate. “I’m hungry,” Jackie explains, cautiously, “but I also think I’m going to vom. I swear, ever since this baby got inside of me, I can’t even think of meat without needing to find a trashcan.”

“And yet you’re here, at a barbecue.”

She shrugs, as if this is no small sacrifice to make. Veronica gestures with an elbow to the patio, where there’s a free ledge to sit on, and they can put their feet on the grass. Jackie nods. As they walk, Veronica finds she glances at the door again.

“How are you feeling with all of…that?” Veronica asks her, after they sit, and she’s got the burger in one waiting hand.

Jackie looks out at the party, stretching out her long legs. “Fine,” she says, bland. “Well. What I’m supposed to say is that I’m glowing , except that I don’t really feel like I am.”

Veronica swallows her first bite of burger hard, and looks Jackie up and down. “You look pretty good to me.”

She remembers what Wallace had been saying to her. I’m worried about you.

Why? She’s fine.

Jackie stretches out her hands behind her back, her cup of iced tea finding purchase on the bricks.

“Does everyone know?” Veronica asks. She hadn’t asked before.

“My parents do,” Jackie answers, dragging her gaze from the party to Veronica. “Wallace’s mom. We can’t tell his dad, because his dad is the worst secret-keeper on the planet. We’d like to just be able to focus on the wedding for now.”

Veronica nods at this, then eyes her next bite. “Makes sense.”

She glances at the gate again, right before taking the bite.

“He’s not coming, you know.”

Veronica nearly chokes on the burger. She doesn’t, but it turns into an eye-watering cough.

“I’m sorry?”

Jackie is staring at her. “Logan. He’s not coming to this. None of my friends are.”

Veronica has no idea why Jackie thought she was looking for him, but she still holds a hand to her chest as she swallows the lump down. Damn it’s painful.

“Who says I care?”

Jackie levels a cool look at her.

“What?” Veronica says, balking a bit. “I don’t care whether he’s here.”

Jackie keeps looking, and Veronica feels her mouth, hoping there’s no lingering ketchup. Finally, Jackie shrugs.

“Just, don’t want you to get your hopes up,” Jackie says softly, before hoisting herself into a stand with a groan.

Veronica watches her sashay away towards Wallace, where he envelops her at his side.

Veronica chews on her next bite of burger, trying to look away from them. No one else tries to sit in Jackie’s spot, no one else tries to ensnare Veronica in conversation.  Again she glances at the gate, and then she stops herself. What is she doing?

Is…is Jackie right?

Her shoulders drop, and she puts the burger back down on her plate when she realizes that…maybe Jackie is. She keeps forgetting that Logan and Jackie are best friends, and maybe she really shouldn’t. Did Jackie give Logan her number? Her cryptic comment replays itself: just, don’t want you to get your hopes up .

Embarrassment moves hot and heavy through her veins, and she feels it in the small vessels along her cheeks.

It’s not like that , she wants to shout after Jackie. But what is it like, really? They had a decently nice time at a party, and then a really awkward afternoon. That’s all it was. He’d tried to be friendly, and…and what.

And…she’s not great at making friends.

Veronica looks to the empty spot at her side, which no one is trying to fill.

Chapter 6: you are cordially invited to make friends and not influence people

Veronica hopes there’s a quota on surprises. Surely, for a year, there should be a cosmic cap at…what, four? Maybe five, if one of them is a particularly good surprise?

On her way back from the precinct, where she’d whined through a deposition with Officer Lincoln, and where they didn’t even have any donuts left in their specified donut spot, she sees that someone is…waiting out side her office door.

Her first instinct is: taser.

Her second instinct is…

“Logan?”

He turns at the sound of her voice, and she sees that he’s carrying a brown paper bag, and he looks surprised (and then not surprised) to see her.

“Uh. Hey,” he says, and Veronica narrows her gaze at him as she climbs the last few stairs to her floor.

“What are you doing here?” she drawls when he steps out of her way, and she pushes her key into its lock. Was that his car she saw outside? He drives a convertible. Hmph. Of course he drives a convertible.

“Oh, just in the neighborhood,” he jokes nervously, and Veronica’s gaze narrows further as she opens the door and lets them both in.

The door closes behind them, and Veronica frowns as she heads into her office.

She doesn’t watch for his reaction to the waiting room, or the matching doors to her and her dad’s private offices that branch off from it. Her room used to be the filing room, and it’s smaller, but she hasn’t felt like moving into her dad’s old office yet. Maybe one of these days. Definitely not today.

She drops her bag onto her desk, and sits behind it, powering up the computer.

Logan hovers in the doorway.

Eventually, she can’t politely ignore him anymore.

“Well?” she asks, clicking randomly at her desktop. She opens her email program (empty), and then the internet browser (vanity license plate frames on eBay).

“Is it okay if I sit? I brought lunch.”

She looks at him, as if this is a very strange thing to do. Which it is. It is a very strange thing to do.

“It’s…it’s lunch time. I thought maybe you’d hadn’t eaten.”

She remembers the empty pink box at the precinct, and then remembers the stale crackers she has in the kitchen with some getting to the edge of its best buy date cream cheese.

She’d been looking forward to those crackers.

Veronica leans back into her seat, looking up at him. “Pretty sure there’s a saying about free lunches,” she says, and Logan laughs politely.

“Yeah,” he agrees, before making up his mind to cross to her desk. He takes one of the seats across from her, and puts the paper bag between them. “I know.”

She eyes the bag. It doesn’t have a name on it, but she can smell…burritos.

Her stomach twists hungrily. 

“I got burritos. If you’re a vegetarian one of those is too.”

She uses this as an opportunity to safely open the bag, which she takes, cautious. “I’m not a vegetarian.”

“Oh good. Me neither.”

She looks at him, wondering what his angle is. Does he…does he want to hire her? She can’t imagine what sort of case he’d be tangled up in, but then again, she doesn’t know him hardly at all. She knows his last name. That he wears a size 31 waist. That he likes vanilla ice cream, of all things. That’s about it.

“Is this…” she starts to say, leaning away from the bag, ignoring the lurch of her stomach towards it. “Is this about the other day?”

If he wants an apology, she’s not sure she’s ready to give it. Or she is ready to give it, because, well, because she wasn’t her best self, but also, she hates apologizing, so maybe it could wait another week. Or another few years.

Logan nods, and Veronica’s stomach sinks.

“I’m really sorry,” he blurts, to Veronica’s surprise.

What?

“What?”

“I’m sorry, about the other day. I should have known you wouldn’t be into stuff like that, and I dragged you along on an errand, and you were probably busy, and I didn’t need to hold you there, or take up any of your time, or—” He searches the air, and then looks at her. “I’m sorry.”

Veronica knows she’s staring at him strangely, but she can’t help it. What? This is a new one. She behaves sort of bitchy, and she…she gets away with it?

It occurs to her that she could explain why the run-in with Madison irked her so much, why it bothered her to be holed up in a fancy store trying on dresses. But…she’s hungry. And Logan is giving her an out. She leans her head back, switching her narrowed gaze from Logan’s face to the bag, and then pulls it towards herself.

Logan releases an audible sigh of relief as she starts digging through it.

“Well, fine,” she says, pulling out a foil-wrapped tube. “But I’m definitely keeping this carne asada.”

The smile he sends her is…tentative and sweet.

 

They sit there for a while, eating burritos around her desk. Veronica points him in the direction of the staff kitchen with her mouth stuck mid-bite, and Logan opens drawers until he finds plates and napkins (and probably her sad crackers). He brings them back (he leaves the crackers), and they drink Mexican cola straight from the bottle and pour salsa from the little plastic containers sent over from the taqueria.

“It’s dumb that I think this place is so cool, right,” Logan deadpans, trying not to smile.

“I’m sorry, cool?”

“Yeah! I mean. Come on. Maltese Falcon? This is straight up Maltese Falcon.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Oh, yeah. I take cases of stolen bejeweled artifacts all the time.” Logan’s eyes dance at her joke. “No, private investigation is way more My brother is stealing my inheritance, or, My mistress is seeing other mistresses than one would think.”

“My mistress is seeing other…”

“Yeah, okay, so that was really just the one case.”

“Still though,” he says, impressed.

Veronica chews on a chip. A smirk touches her lip. Yeah. Still, she agrees, silently.

But it’s clear that he hasn’t come all this way to apologize; that he could have done this via text, and certainly without the peace offering. Not that she’ll ever complain.

“Logan,” she says, and he looks up at the sound of his name. Veronica tilts her head at him. “You definitely didn’t come all this way just to feed me.”

He chews his bite of vegetarian burrito slowly, then swallows it all down. He glances at the cola. “Nooo,” he drawls, tilting his head as he reaches for it. He takes a quick swallow, then puts the burrito and the drink down on her desk.

Unease pinches the nerves at the back of her neck, and Veronica quickly eyes her empty ball of foil. Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten so quickly.

“No?” she asks, when he’s looking at her, his arms thrown over the back of his chair in a way that appears to be a nervous habit. Veronica tilts her head again. “Don’t tell me you suspect your mistress of having some mistresses.”

Logan snorts, amused, but shakes his head. “I would never dream of getting in the way of her happiness,” he jokes, and Veronica wonders why he’s not getting to the point.

“Well?” she asks, when he doesn’t immediately respond.

Logan is looking at her. His gaze is steady. 

“I just…I think we should team up.”

Veronica blinks.

“What?”

“We should team up. You and me.”

Veronica feels the surprise rise up her body, filling her right to the brim. She jerks her head back.

“Um. Why the hell would we do that?”

Logan shrugs. “So you wouldn’t have to do this whole thing alone.” And before she can even get mad again, he’s saying: “We. So we don’t have to do this whole thing alone.”

Veronica tries not to reveal just how suspicious that makes him appear.

I just…don’t want you to be alone.

Veronica’s tone comes out harsh. “Who says I’m alone?”

Logan crosses his arms across his chest, scrunching up half his face.

“Well. Memaw, for one.”

Veronica cuts her glance away. Ugh. Memaw. Another person to avoid.

I just…don’t want you to be alone.

Veronica takes a deep breath, her teeth catching the inside of her cheek, the skin around her eyes tight. Team up. What does that…what does that even mean? She doesn’t know what that means. It better not mean anything gross, anything like, pretending to be boyfriend/girlfriend, or, doing anything that would suggest that, because, well, because she doesn’t want to do that. She sort of doesn’t think that’s what he’s talking about.

A glance to him, and it doesn’t seem to be what he’s talking about.

“You don’t have a girlfriend who would mind?” she asks him, sort of mocking.

Logan shakes his head, looking right at her. “Nope.”

“And you’re not asking me to be your girlfriend, right.”

“Not unless you’re offering.”

Veronica cinches her lip, and Logan puffs a laugh and looks away.

Veronica looks at her desk.

No, not boyfriend/girlfriend. Not pretend dating. Just…someone to have the other’s back, when there are difficult conversations afoot.

A…friend, maybe. The way that Wallace is usually her friend in these situations, the way that Wallace cares, can be the person she looks at when Madison says something bitchy. Wallace isn’t available the way she usually depends on him. Not these days, anyway, and…probably not anymore, either.

I’m worried about you.

That thought is the most depressing of all, and Veronica looks towards the distant trees, feeling a surprising wave of sadness. Just how much different are their lives about to become? Will…will she even still see Wallace anymore, after this? Will it be Wallace she’ll only see a handful more times in her life?

She doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Veronica looks at Logan, who is looking back at her with a hopeful expression.

Be friends with him.

Temporarily friends.

She doesn’t have to hang out with him after this. She’s not even sure what he’s honestly asking from her, but…if her suspicions are correct, then she can be…friendly. She can talk to him, at parties. She can be his little wingman, if that’s what he wants, or whatever.

“Definitely not sexual,” she clarifies, and Logan shakes his head without looking at her.

“Definitely not.”

“And you’re not going to ask me any weird favors, like, picking you up from the airport, or anything.”

“No airport shuttling involved.”

Logan looks at her again. The burrito bag splits the difference. He’s so weird , she decides, because the alternatives are scary and she doesn’t want to think about them.

“Fine,” Veronica says, and Logan’s eyes take on some brightness.

“Yeah?”

Veronica nods, mouth tight. “Yeah,” she confirms.

Logan finally allows the corners of his lips to turn up, but he tries to stop it, nodding to himself as if to say okay then, alright.

“Okay,” he says aloud, and then the grin breaks though. He holds out a hand. “Team Veronica and Logan it is then.”

Veronica wants to roll her eyes at him, at giving them a team name, but she takes his hand anyway.

“Go us,” she says, not believing it at all. 

Team Veronica and Logan doesn’t meet right away. 

It’s a busy week, work-wise. Not for her PI business. No, not for that, because for that she’s considering passing out her business cards at emergency rooms or something.

But she does get ahold of Madison, which goes about as well as she imagines it will. Madison puts Veronica in charge of sourcing chairs.

Actual chairs.

The ones from the preferred rental company aren’t good enough, and Madison wants to see the quality of what’s on the available rental market, so Veronica has to drive all over southern California and then FaceTime Madison from various warehouses, so Madison can comment on their size and shape and color. Madison wants to know about the texture and feel and heat absorption of each one, and Veronica gets the splendid job of trucking a few of them around in her back seat so Madison can pass final inspection.

It’s ridiculous, and she hates it.

The activity is broken up by sporadic text messages from Logan, whose number Veronica has finally saved into her phone. Just so she knows when to avoid it, of course, for those times she wants to avoid it.

[Any chance you know the difference between ochre and beige?] she texts him from traffic.

She’s not really expecting an answer, so when it does come, it’s a mildly pleasant surprise.

[Do I want to know the context for this?]

Veronica glances at the chairs taking up the entire back seat of her car.

[Probably not.]

The ellipses start and stop for a moment.

[According to my sources, ochre is more yellow. Or ‘dirt’ colored.] Veronica smirks at the use of quotations.

[Dirt?]

[Yes. Ochre is a family of earth pigments, which includes yellow ochre, red ochre, purple ochre, sienna, and umber. The major ingredient of all the ochres is iron III]

She has to read it twice, but when she does, she rolls her eyes. [Okay, someone’s reading Wikipedia]

He reply comes so close she knows he was typing when she was: [And that’s where my Wikipedia cuts out] Veronica smiles. [I could go on.]

She’s bored, okay? She’s just bored. And there’s traffic. But that doesn’t explain the warmth in her stomach, right? Hm. Maybe she’s sick with something.

[Okay]

The text comes after a moment. [Ochre is a natural clay earth pigment, a mixture of ferric oxide and varying amounts of clay and sand.]

[Wow, look how knowledgeable you are], she jokes, smiling a smile no one will see.

[Yes, well, my dissertation was in ochre]

[How convenient]

[It does come in handy when I people I know are having ochre-related emergencies]

[Like right now]

[Like right now], he agrees, and Veronica has to put down her phone for a minute. When she picks it up, there’s another text.

[It’s baby poop isn’t it.]

She barks a laugh. [What?]

[Baby poop. I’m hanging out with my sister and she says that the only thing she’s ever seen that’s ochre outside of something called a longshomp bag, is baby poop. Maybe they’re related. I’ll let you know]

[Please see that you do], Veronica replies, smiling. She rereads his last text, and then chews on the inside of her cheek. She wants to ask, but, she’s worried it’s not really relevant. Vaguely, Veronica wonders where he is right now. She vaguely wonders whether he would have been available for this. She wouldn’t have had room for the chair sitting next to her, blocking her view of the side mirror, but…maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Veronica glances at her cell phone again. 

[I didn’t know you had a sister] she writes, for no good reason.

It takes a minute for the text reply to come in, and she makes it through another quarter mile of traffic when it does.

[Yeah. Trina. She’s older. And currently drunk, while I have to supervise.]

[Drunk? It’s two in the afternoon.]

He texts back: [Not in Guam], and Veronica squints as she does some mental math.

This surprises her. [Wait. You're in Guam?]

His reply comes way later than it should, with little dots that start and stop and start again, before finally:

[No]

Veronica narrows her gaze at the phone. Huh. That's cryptic. She brushes it off. [Yeah well, in Guam, it’s eight in the morning. Tomorrow.]

[Oh. Right. Well she should probably switch to coffee.]

[All I’m saying is that a bloody mary can double as breakfast.]

[I will suggest this]

Madison doesn’t even end up liking any of the chairs, which for some really weird reason is not as annoying as it could have been.

And Veronica makes a few hundred bucks for her trouble, so.

Pizza combo for dinner tonight.

It’s the next morning, and Veronica is eating poking at her coffee machine, wishing it to brew faster, when she decides to text him again.

[Why did Guam matter?] she writes.

To be fair, it’s been bugging her since yesterday afternoon, but she couldn’t think of a way to integrate into subtle conversation. She spent a good twenty minutes searching Guam-related news last night while watching late night TV.

She’s not expecting to hear from him again – definitely not for another few hours (rich-person wake-up time is flexible, she imagines) – so she’s surprised to see the alert when she’s filling her favorite mug.

[To…the United States of America?]

Veronica cracks an involuntary grin.

[It’s a very strategic Naval base], he continues. [Should, you know, Papua New Guinea invade I guess.]

[I’ll start preparing my bunker] she writes back.

She’s taking her first sip of coffee when he texts back.

[Oh. My sister.]

Veronica nods and picks up her phone. [Your sister.]

Again the ellipses start and stop. Veronica checks the clock. It’s just past eight in the morning, and she wants a shower. Madison wants all those chairs back to their respective bunkers today, and Veronica has the very happy task of accomplishing this.

[It’s a long story] is Logan’s ultimate reply.

Her thumbs hover over the keypad, grin spreading her cheeks as she decides on a reply.

…A…a thought occurs to her then. A weird thought. One she does not like.

She could…she could really invite Logan on this errand with her. She could say something coy, like want to tell me in person? And then mention the job she has, and then invite him along, and he might actually do it, or he might say no, and.

And that sort of stops her in her tracks, really.

She glances at her phone with a small amount of budding horror. Is she…is she flirting with Logan? She skims through the texts. She doesn’t think so? She really doesn’t think so. But it’s…it’s close, maybe. Honestly it’s been so long since she’s actually flirted with someone she’s not even really sure what it entails, but, surely there’s much more innuendo involved? Surely there’s at least one phallic joke, or dick pic. There are no unsolicited dick pics in this text thread.

She remembers him asking if she had a boyfriend.

Er. That wasn’t…well. Logan doesn’t have a girlfriend, but, that’s not part of their agreement. That’s not what they’re doing here. This is friendly. Friendly in the way she and Wallace are friendly. These are definitely all texts she would be sending Wallace first thing in the morning. Frankly, if it was Wallace, she wouldn’t even be hesitating, she would have begged him all day yesterday to do this errand with her, bribed him with drive-through, let him pick the music.

That thought cuts right through her. She stares out the window, wondering what he’s up to today. She knows he’s working, and that he’s generally been really busy lately. They haven’t really hung out in…in a really long time, actually. Now that Veronica stops to think about it. They haven’t hung out in forever.

She’ll see him this weekend, of course. This weekend is the bridal shower, and even though it’s strictly gendered, because Jackie asked it to be strictly gendered for her friends to hang out together, she knows Wallace is planning a little surprise visit just to show off how attentive and charming he is.

Veronica looks back at her phone, and instead of asking for more information, she turns it facedown.

Chapter 7: you are cordially invited to shower the bride

Saturday arrives, and Veronica has the dubious task of picking out something to wear.

This is the day of the bridal shower. It’s three weeks to Wallace and Jackie’s wedding, and things seem to be happening very quickly.

So quickly, that she’s sort of out of fancy things to wear.

She ordered a dress for the wedding. Veronica even sent a photo to Jackie for approval, and the single thumbs up she received in reply seems to be all the sign-off she’s going to get.

It’s not…exactly…the color of the other dress, but it’s fine. Honestly it’s fine. It’s en route, she has a tracking number, it’s going to either fit or it’ll be close to fitting, and it’ll be fine.

That’s not going to solve the problem of the fact that she has nothing to wear today.

Veronica looks at the dress she wore last weekend and knows that only Jackie will know it’s a rewear. Which shouldn’t be a problem? Except it very certainly is.

She settles on a little black dress she can accessorize. There’s definitely a hole at the top of the zipper, one that she keeps meaning to learn how to fix, but she’s not going to fix it today. Veronica throws a neon pink sweater over it, adds some jewelry, and pulls on the same old heels. She looks fine, okay? Totally fine.

She just sort of wishes things could all go back to normal soon.

It’s not until she’s putting on her seatbelt that she realizes she’s never been to Jackie’s house before.

[Where is this thing again?] she texts Wallace, feeling a bit of nerves. Veronica checks the time; she’s supposed to be there in half an hour.

She starts searching through her email as a minute goes by. Panic starts cutting in when she can’t find anything. Two minutes. Did she get a paper invite? Now she can’t remember. There have been a lot of invites, and if Jackie lives where Veronica thinks she lives, it’s going to take at least half an hour to get there. 

[WALLACE] she writes. [SOS]

Veronica slams a hand to her forehead.

Right. He’s golfing today.

Golfing .

Apparently your hands are too full of rich people juice to carry around your phone. Or maybe he has one of those little guys who carries all your shit around for you and that person has his phone.

Panic bleeds more fully inside her stomach. She could skip this, right? She could actually skip it and no one would mind. 

Oh no.

Veronica winces and grabs for her car keys. Shit. Shit! She’s got a trunk full of gift bags that she picked up yesterday at Madison’s bidding. Veronica starts the car. Okay, she’s just going to have to start driving towards the hills, and hope that there are some balloons or pied pipers who can send her in a more legitimate direction.

Shit!

She’s bouncing her hands on the steering wheel at a stoplight when it finally occurs to her.

Oh man.

Logan .

She whips out her phone.

[LOGAN WHAT IS JACKIE’S ADDRESS] she types, too panicked to bother turning off the capslock, glancing back and forth at the traffic crossing the intersection, the red light giving her time.

The ellipses show up immediately , and relief floods right through her.

[2201 Martingale Ln.] he writes. [You want the maps link?]

[YES] she stabs at the keys.

The light turns green right as the link appears, and Veronica exhales, and changes lanes.

Madison is waiting for her at the side entrance when Veronica pulls into the lot. Technically it’s a driveway, in the same way that Jackie’s parent’s house is technically a house. The house has bedrooms. It just happens to have quite a lot of them.

“I know, I know, I know,” Veronica says, hopping out of her car, having to hop back in to get her keys and her purse and her cell phone. She pops the trunk.

“I give you a job,” Madison lays into her. “I give you one thing to do ,” Veronica doesn’t bother to correct her, “and you’re late. You’re late!”

“I’m - almost late.”

Madison hurls a glare at her.

“It’s 11:26,” Veronica adds, unhelpful, heart still racing from the drive over. I’m pretty sure invitation said 11:30.”

Madison’s glare boils.

She says: “Just, please don’t tell me you had these in your trunk all night.”

Veronica doesn’t say anything.

“Veronica!” Madison seethes, in as much of a whisper as she can get away with while throwing a tantrum. “There are Loatian bath soaps in here! We got them specially crafted in the shape of morning doves, which just so happens to be Jackie’s favorite bird! ”

Madison shoves her hand inside one of the bags, and pulls out a slightly squishy pale object shrinkwrapped in plastic. Then she screams through her teeth.

And then something ridiculous happens.

Logan walks right out the side door behind her.

He glances at her, eyes brightening with recognition that leads to half a smile, then he seems to get that something is going on, and glances at Madison, and the object in her hand.

“Hey, what’s with the pigeon?” Logan asks, and Veronica tries to pull off a subtle sort of neck cutting motion.

“It’s a—” Madison starts to say, clearly trying to reign in her misery in the face of an outsider, but having a really hard time of it. Her voice is sort of thick. “It’s a morning dove .”

“Oh, right,” Logan says, looking back at Veronica and Veronica’s big wide eyes. “Yeah I can totally see that. Like a…a very…soft…pigeon.”

“A morning dove,” Veronica clarifies, unhelpful.

Madison’s face scrunches up, and she looks at Veronica as if Veronica has murdered her child. “Just, get these inside,” she swears, and she shoves the bird back into its bag, and storms through the open door.

Logan ambles up the rest of the way to Veronica’s trunk.

“I guess I missed something.”

Veronica sighs, and reaches in to collect some bags. “Not really. Help me put these wherever they’re supposed to go?”

Logan threads his mighty arms through a whole bunch of bags at once, and Veronica does the polite thing of not rolling her eyes at him as they move to go inside.

Wait.

“Wait, what are you even doing here?” she asks, over her shoulder. What she doesn’t ask, is whether he’s stuck helping out Madison for cash, too. Because of course he’s not.

“I was invited,” he answers. Veronica frowns.

“Yeah, but–” 

Well. She stops herself. Clearly, she’s being a little sexist, or something. This is Jackie’s party, yes, and Jackie was in charge of the guest list, sure, but Veronica is sure that she’d been told that this was not a co-ed event.

Wait.

What is Veronica doing here?

She and Jackie aren’t friends.

Noise greets them the second they’re inside what looks to be an indoor gardening space, with a rack of cupboards for coats and tall boots at the far side. A mud room? She’s sure she’s seen these called mud rooms in fancy magazines. It attaches to the kitchen, where the noise level increases, and where there are tons of people zooming around. Caterers, mostly. People dressed in black dress shirts and slacks, some wearing clean half-aprons tied around their waists. Someone is pouring champagne into a veritable tower of glasses.

“I think they’re supposed to go outside,” Logan murmurs, way too close to her ear.

Veronica tightens her lips together and nods. Now it’s her turn to follow Logan as he navigates the massive house. They walk through a sort of family room maybe, except it would fit an entire family reunion, and then a dining area where food is set out on golden platters. And there are doors from here out to the backyard, where it has probably been transformed, because, probably rich people don't need giant floral displays when their gardens are generally always in bloom anyway.

Jackie is out there, with about a dozen other people who could be friends or could be age-contemporary relatives. They’re on a picnic blanket with low cushions, eating snacks and drinking sparkling drinks out of tall glasses. Jackie looks radiantly happy.

“Just over here,” Logan says, and Veronica drags her gaze away to follow him.

There’s a big table in the shade, empty, with a little placard on it. Till Death Dove We Part, it says, and Veronica grimaces.

“I think they could do better,” she says.

Logan tilts her head in Veronica’s peripheral vision. “Here comes the bird? ” he asks, and Veronica snorts.

“How about, Here are Some Things You Could Afford On Your Own?”

Logan shakes his head. “No way. Too subtle. Not enough bird puns.”

Guilt stabs through her as she looks back at the gift bags. Truly, she does feel a little bad.

Logan seems to notice this. “Hey,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s fine. You’re right, of course. Everyone here can afford their own chocolate pigeon.”

“It’s a morning dove,” she reminds him, with a flat look she hopes hides the hint of her smile. “And I’m not sure you’re supposed to eat it.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

Veronica leans back, relaxing her shoulders, breathing deep through her nose. She turns to look up at him, arching a brow. 

“You know,” she starts to say, and Logan is tall and turns towards her. “Apart from the whole, you know, gender swapping of traditional wedding rolls here–”

“Groomsmaid,” he acknowledges.

“Bridesman,” she returns. Veronica smothers the smile that threatens. “Anyway. It’s just…I thought this was a girls’ afternoon.”

“Ah,” Logan straightens. “Well—” he starts to say, but then he is immediately cut off.

“Logan!” an older voice coos, and Veronica turns to find Mrs. Cook stepping lightly towards them, a glass of champagne held by one wide open arm. Logan accepts the hug willingly, and then Mrs. Cook pulls back to look in his tall, handsome face. She hasn’t spared Veronica a glance. “I’m so glad you’re here today. I’ve been wanting to catch up for weeks.”

“You know where to find me,” Logan murmurs, all smiles, and Veronica looks away.

She excuses herself to go get more bags.

Veronica is pleased that she doesn’t get lost, and that no one drops anything on her. That’s a win, right? She considers swiping one of the glasses of champagne, or rooting around in one of the two fridges in the kitchen for a beer, but she decides to finish what she’s doing first. She only runs into Madison once on the way, but Madison is too busy to chew her out again, satisfying her rage with a withering look.

When Veronica is back from her car with the last of the gift bags, Logan is veritably surrounded by middle aged ladies.

“Isn't it so sweet of him to be here?” Mrs. Cook is saying, her hand on his chest, her other arm around his back. She’s had a few more sips of the champagne since Veronica last saw her two minutes ago. “Look at my modern daughter, and all her modern friends. A bridesman. And so handsome! And I think he’s single,” she adds, suggestively, as if reminding all these women that they have eligible children and that hers might be convinced to change grooms.

Logan forces a laugh. “Uh. I think maybe your daughter is spoken for, Mrs. Cook.”

“Well—of course she’s spoken for, Logan!” Mrs. Cook says, as if just remembering it herself. She looks out at what must be her friends, and adopts a charmed look. “And isn’t our Wallace just the best. So humble. So kind. He makes our Jackie so happy.”

Everyone nods along. “That’s the most important thing,” someone says, to general agreement, and Logan looks over their heads, and finds Veronica hovering awkwardly nearby.

She meets his stare, and jolts, ducking behind the crowd to deposit the remaining bags. She probably should make them look more presentable, but she just sort of wants to get out of there.

Logan twists and sends her a pleading glance, but Veronica returns it with a shrug, as if to say, old people amiright? and finds somewhere else to be.

That somewhere else is back at the kitchen, where she decides she doesn’t have any more work to do; where she decides that she’s hungry, so she takes a glass of the champagne and fills up a little plate with food, and walks until she’s found a different entrance to a different part of the backyard. More people have shown up since, and Veronica recognizes a few of them. She ends up sitting on a blanket with Jenny Budosh, one of the more benign of Veronica and Jackie’s law school friends. It’s easy enough to sit and listen to Jenny humble-brag about her career, her ongoing caseload, some paralegal she wants to fire.

It’s almost easy, really.

“What about you, Veronica? What firm are you with?”

This reminds her of hanging out with Logan, for obvious reasons. Hmm. An unsettling thought suddenly hits. Shouldn’t she be with Logan, actually? Team Veronica and Logan? Whoops. And now she kind of wishes he was next to her, so they could deflect this conversation, even though he wouldn’t probably know why she didn’t want to talk about her current career path.

Veronica looks across the lawn at Jackie, who is still ensconced with an ever-widening circle of friends.

“Oh, I’m working on starting my own firm,” she says, mixing lies and truth. “It’s a…work in progress.”

“You’re joking.”

“I am…not.”

“I knew it. I knew you’d be the first one to break away. No one could ever peg you down, Veronica Mars.”

She doesn’t know why that makes her look for Logan Echolls again, but it does.

She finds him, and he’s carrying a tray of fresh drinks towards Jackie and her friends. They all erupt into coos, playfully nudging each other, batting lashes at him. He accepts their praise, and Veronica reins in the urge to massively roll her eyes. Oh what, so he does one vaguely helpful thing, and suddenly he’s some golden god? Please. There are servers everywhere doing the same thing. They’re not wearing white button-downs, with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, though. They’re not wearing tight blue chinos.

“Ladies, behave,” he warns them, playfully, and Veronica would shout something cutting, something like, this isn’t the bachelorette! Except, well, she tries to share an exasperated look with Jenny, as if to say get a load of this guy, except… Jenny is staring at him, eyes a little vacant, mouth a little open.

Veronica groans on the inside, and watches as Logan plops on the blanket they’re all sharing, and Jackie drapes her arm over him, and he says, “Now, who wants to talk about the wedding night,” and everyone laughs.

Chapter 8: you are cordially invited to watch crap tv

Notes:

Thanks again to my teammates for this challenge: CubbieGirl1723, Jeanie205, Jagwriter, DarkVoid116, and Louise88. When we picked our tropes, the wedding ones were definitely the ones I never thought I'd write for, and this was absolutely my favorite thing to write for this event. I've had so much fun getting to know you guys!

Someone Jenny knew dragged her into conversation, so Veronica uses the excuse to get up and go find some water. There’s probably water out here somewhere? Somewhere on this massive expanse of green lawn? But she heads to the kitchens instead. The bustle has died down. Apparently most of the cooking is done, so the caterers are not so loud now. Plating, and saucing, and adding little pieces of greenery. It’s a picnic-style lunch, so, it’ll be served where people are sitting or standing or whatever.

Veronica wonders if anyone will notice if she eats in the kitchen.

Probably not, she realizes with a frown.

Veronica pulls one of the plates set out on the rows towards her, earning a discouraging look from the person working on them. Veronica hopes she passes off an appeasingly innocent look.

“Don’t trust her,” a voice says, and Veronica turns her head. Logan. And he’s not looking at her. “She’ll promise to be your buddy,” he continues. “And then, at the first scent of danger, she’ll abandon you.”

He says this like it’s an amusing joke, and Veronica twists her lips, settling him with a glare. “You looked like you were doing just fine.”

Logan takes the stool next to her, walking his long legs around it. “You left,” he pointed out. “My gentle sensibilities were ravaged by Boomers.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Seriously?” she asks.

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, and Veronica…she gets the sense that maybe he’s telling the truth. A bit. Maybe he’s telling the truth just a little bit.

Veronica bites the inside of her cheek. She pushes her plate towards him. “I forgot,” she explains.

Logan nods, and stares at her offering. It’s a sandwich of some sort, with a little salad on the side. The salad has actual flowers in it, and Veronica hasn’t decided whether they’re edible or not.

“You looked like you were doing okay,” she grumbles. Logan picks up a nearby packet of silverware, wrapped in a napkin, and pulls out a fork.

He hums, and takes a bite of the salad. “Practice makes perfect,” he jokes, around his bite of food.

Veronica pulls a face at him. “And apparently you have to practice your manners,” she says, and she picks up the napkin and tosses it towards his face. Logan catches it with a grin.

“I have terrific manners,” he says, making sure to open his mouth a few more times on the syllables so she can see all the food he’s eating.

Veronica rolls her eyes again, and turns back to the long line of plates.

“I’m stealing another one of these,” she warns the caterer, who glances at Logan, presses his lips together, and shakes her off. She takes that to mean that it’s okay.

The salad is good, of course.

They work their way through it, sharing tidbits from the party that the other might have missed. Logan has promised to call no fewer than eight daughters of Jackie’s mom’s friends, which makes Veronica feel a little more sympathetic to their arrangement. Not that she would dissuade Mrs. Cook’s friends, per se. More like she could have gotten him ten phone calls.

Veronica picks at the paper wrapped around her sandwich. It’s stamped with Jackie and Wallace’s initials in a decorative series of swirls. Like a crest, even. A freakin crest.

“A bunch of our old law school friends are here,” she tells him, and Logan looks at her, as if hoping to understand more.

“Oh yeah?”

She picks up the sandwich, then thinks better of it, reaching for her glass of water instead. She holds it up to her lips.

“Yeah.”

Logan watches her drink, then watches her put the glass and sandwich back down. Can he tell? That she’s sort of embarrassed? That it’s not exactly a great reminder of her current situation in life, to see people who’ve received the same education and came out so much farther ahead? Does he…does he even know how far apart they are?

“Okay. I have an idea.”

Veronica twists towards him, brow raised. “Oh?”

Logan nods, and then he takes a big bite of the sandwich, chewing it down. “Yeah,” he says, and then he swallows all, facing her halfway. “How come you don’t use these places to network?”

Veronica knows her confusion has reached her face.

“Not with—the, you know. Not with the lawyer stuff,” he amends, before shrugging a shoulder. “With the PI stuff.” What? “What, you don’t think all these people have inheritance problems, or mistress problems?”

It’s weird that he has such good recall of their conversations.

“Yeah, but,” she starts. Logan sips some water. He plows ahead.

“I’m just saying, that it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever to tell people what you do here. For real.”

Is he right?

She looks away, thinking of the business cards she sort of finished. She hadn’t really gotten as far as bringing them to a legitimate printer, or anything. Just sort of tried printing them on fancy paper at the office, cutting them out, then getting discouraged when she wondered if adding glitter would make them look more professional.

It didn’t, is what she won’t tell him.

“I will…take it under advisement,” she says, and Logan nods, looking straight ahead at the kitchen. She chews another bite carefully, and swallows. “Is this where you tell me what you do for a living?” she asks, for forced disinterest. “Seems only fair I get to give you career advice.”

Logan cracks a grin. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs again. “I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

“Oh, so you are a stripper,” she says, and Logan laughs.

“Like I said before,” he said. “You couldn’t afford me.”

Veronica puts down her sandwich. “I did not!” she drops her voice. “I did not say that.”

“ You might not have,” he says, looking at her. “But I could tell you were thinking it.”

Veronica feels inexplicable heat touch her cheeks. Is she sunburned? Maybe she’s sunburned. She turns back to her sandwich.

“Someone is awful full of themselves,” she goads, not looking at him. “Who says I’m not the competition?”

Logan coughs on his sandwich. “Excuse me, what?”

“Well,” she drawls. “Works has been so slow lately. And stripping pays so well.”

Logan stares at her. “You’re joking.”

She stares back at him. His eyes seem darker now, somehow. When he doesn’t break first she smacks her fist on the counter. “Of course I’m joking!”

Lightness comes back to his eyes; he seems to relax a bit. “Oh yeah.” He tries for a smile, then lets it bleed through for real. “Yeah, right. Of course you don’t do that.”

Now he’s just making it easy. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with stripping?”

“It’s legal, isn’t it?” he asks, too easily. He grins at her. “Maybe for the bachelor party we can put on a show.”

Oh, that is a mental image she does not want. “As if I would share any of my professional secrets,” she says, dramatic, and Logan huffs a laugh.

They eat companionably for a while, mostly joking about stripping and who would make more money with what moves and with what accessories. The dinosaur striptease idea doesn’t pan out so well, as Logan insists that t-rexes have nothing to do with the Jurassic age and Veronica doesn’t care enough to check him on it. And then when they’re done, and both looking out at the party through very distant windows, Veronica realizes…that she really doesn’t want to go back out there. And she has no idea if she’s fighting the push or the pull of it, really.

“Do…you want a tour?” Logan surprises her by asking.

She looks at him. “Why, are you a docent?”

He laughs again, soft. That might be her least favorite laugh, actually, just the pure intimacy of it.

“Maybe.”

Veronica glances through the windows again. There’s a DJ out there, trying to invoke a social, happy vibe. The prospect of suffering through more conversations like the one with Jenny… There are other people out there who know enough about Veronica to ask questions she can’t lie her way around. And she was maybe prepared for them, and maybe she thinks of herself as tough enough to weather them, but also…

Logan’s leaning his head on his propped fist, looking at her. His eyes are warm and brown, his gaze encouraging.

“Sure,” she says, and she hops off the stool.

 

Logan walks her through hallways, and the noise of the party fades into the distance.

“And here’s the library,” he says, opening a door to a broom closet. “I mean. Huh. Okay. I swear there was a library here last time.”

Veronica grins, opening the next door down. “Found it,” she announces. Logan comes up behind her, sharing the door frame as he looks inside.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees.

They look inside for a moment, maybe both waiting for the suggestion to enter. It’s, well. It’s just a library. It’s got books and a couch and a TV and a desk. It’s…very fancy, of course.

Intimate, even.

Veronica feels something stir within her at the sight, and she realizes Logan is nearly brushing against her from where he’s gazing inside the room. He’s not looking at her, mild interest at whatever he sees, but –

“Nah, it’s just a bunch of old books,” Veronica says, answering an unspoken question, and she pulls herself back into the hall. Logan closes the door with a soft click, and they continue onward.

“So,” Veronica starts to say, not looking at him. “How did you get to know the house so well?”

He snorts from her side. “Well, I guess it’s worth mentioning that I saw this place mostly at night.”

She doesn’t know why that makes her tense, but it does.

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, yeah. Teenage Logan was very dramatic.”

Veronica forces half her mouth to curve. “I can see that.”

“So, as you can imagine, things look a bit different now.” He pauses. “I’m…pretty sure that this is the game room.”

Veronica smirks, crossing to the door in question, and opens it. “Nope. Just a bunch of gift wrap.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I forget that people even do that.”

“What, the Echolls compound doesn’t have a gift wrapping room?”

“Oh no,” he protests, and she’s pretty sure he’s joking. “We outsource all of that.”

Veronica shakes her head, still smiling, and closes the door.

They continue on. The doors are farther apart now.

“I’m surprised you didn’t find all the weird little escape routes,” she teases, and she can hear Logan grin.

“Escape routes?”

“Well yeah,” she says. “You know, like, the shelf that turns into the hidden tunnel. The mirror that is not a mirror, stuff like that. Pretty sure I saw a movie where someone put a slide from inside their house to the outside.”

“Oh yeah…”

“Martina’s house has a whole network of hidden rooms. She made all the walls two-feet wide so she could hide things from the government. Mostly Kraft macaroni & cheese, but, you know. Also cash.”

“I’m sorry, what movie is this?”

Veronica stills, her feet coming to a halt. Logan notices and stops too, and they turn to face each other.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica unknowingly echoes, “are you trying to tell me you don’t watch Verified Partners… ?”

“Of…badminton?”

Veronica’s eyes widen, her heart speeds just a bit. Oh man. Oh man.

“Logan,” she says, “show me where that library is again.”

She ignores the way he looks on the couch, tucked into a whole side of it as she fiddles with the TV remotes, trying to get it to work. Logan assures her there is a game room somewhere, and also a movie theater, but Veronica guesses they’re probably a bit short on time.

“Okay,” she tells him, “it’s lucky for us that I haven’t seen the latest episode yet. Here’s what you need to know: Eliška is married to Jakub. He’s an asshole, and he’s definitely banging the nanny, so he’s gross. Tereza is trying to get an artisanal honey slash honey-related jewelry business off the ground, and she’s calling it medový medvěd. It’s not going great, but she brings it up at every single gathering. She’s also a widow, and won’t talk about that. Adéla and Karolína are best friends. They would never betray each other. Their husbands travel for work a lot, so they basically live together. And Anna is a big ol' bitch. That’s all.”

Logan is staring at her with round eyes. “O…kay,” he says, and he grabs a throw pillow and puts it over his chest. It makes the throw pillow look small, and his arms look beefy. Veronica looks away. She looks at the TV screen, where the episode is all cued up, and she’s very thankful right now for very rich people with empty rooms and cable network TV, and couches to watch it on. She presses play. And then looks back at that couch, and Logan who was watching her back.

The intro is playing behind her. A part of her knows that she has to go sit down now, or she’s going to start missing things, and then she’ll have to rewind it.

But a part of her is also remembering just how intimate this room is. Just how small, and warm, and cavernous. And that rich people are bored creatures, and someone has probably banged on that couch, and it very well could have been Logan, maybe, maybe Logan a hundred years ago, except that probably the Cooks have replaced the couch sometime in the last 12-15 years or whatever it’s been.

Veronica takes the far edge of the couch, and tucks her legs beside her. She and Logan aren’t exactly touching, but, it’s also not a huge couch. She can feel radiant heat from his body on the exposed parts of her feet, and quite possibly that’s his cologne she can smell. Maybe it’s the leather polish. Maybe it’s rich-person-fabric spray. She’s not going to ask.

Martina is being interviewed about her new life in Akron, Ohio, and we get a video of her eating American snow. [I loves it. I loves America. Go USA.]

It’s a surprise when the door opens.

Veronica and Logan are really, truly, totally oblivious to each other. They both have pillows gripped tight in their arms, eyes stuck on the screen, leaning forward as if to hear and see better. Karolína is finally professing her love to Adéla, and the music is swelling to a high crescendo.

“There you are,” comes a harsh voice from the door, and Veronica whips her head around. 

Jackie is in there, hands anchored on either side of the frame, and her eyes are wide and annoyed.

Veronica looks back at Logan, and then at the screen he’s still staring at. She kicks his foot.

“What? Oh,” he says, because he’s found what Veronica is looking at.

Jackie exhales and pushes into the room. “What are you guys even watching?” she asks them both, looking at the screen. Adéla and Karolína are obviously about to kiss.

[We will escape just like Martina did,] the subtitles read. [We will get a condo in Daytona Beach, and we will be happiness.]

“Um. Nothing,” Veronica answers, reaching for the remote. When she’s clicked off the show, Jackie is crossing her arms and facing them.

“People are leaving,” she explains. She looks at Logan. “They’re asking about you.”

“Right,” he says, glancing at the blank screen. He looks back at his friend. “Right, yes, I’m coming.”

Veronica feels an absurd instinct to laugh.

When had they stopped talking? At first Logan had questions, that were annoying, because she was trying to watch, and she kept shushing him and pointing at the screen. Partly she just wanted him to stop leaning closer to her when he asked them. But eventually he stopped, and at some point Veronica picked up a pillow, and then Karolína was setting up an elaborate tea service and serving macaroni & cheese…

Logan stands. “Is your mom still here?” he asks, and Jackie looks at him strangely.

“At her own house?” she asks back. “Yes? Of course? She’s specifically been asking about you for the last half hour. Pretty sure she was going to organize a search party.”

Logan laughs, the sound a bit hollow. He looks at Veronica. “Right, I’ll just go say goodbye before she leaves.”

Veronica has to work really hard to smother the laugh at his expense. It’s a good show, alright?

Veronica watches him go. She turns around, and finds that Jackie is not sharing this sentiment.

Her arms are still crossed.

“What’re you doing, Veronica?” she asks, and the humor dies in Veronica’s chest.

She clears her throat. “Nothing,” she says.

Jackie raises her eyebrows.

“Seriously, nothing,” Veronica swears. “We were just watching TV.”

“At my bridal shower?”

Well. When you say it like that.

Guilt skitters in. Okay, so, maybe they should’ve thought about that. They, right? It was a group decision? Veronica’s not sure why she’s getting all the blame. 

“I said I was sorry, alright?” she says, moving to get to her feet.

“No, you didn’t.”

Veronica looks up. “What?”

“You didn’t say sorry. You didn’t explain why you were in here, with Logan, watching some stupid TV show.”

“I told you—”

“Forget it,” Jackie swears, interrupting. She turns to leave the room. Veronica frowns, feeling the guilt give way to anger. Seriously, what’s the big deal? There are plenty of other people here. There’s no reason Jackie should be pissed that one person, or, well, two people would be missing.

Veronica catches up with Jackie in the hallway.

“What’s your problem?” she asks her, and Jackie barely turns halfway and definitely doesn’t stop walking. “Seriously, aren’t Logan and I supposed to spend time together?”

“Why would you need to spend time with him?” Jackie asks, pissed, trying to go for rhetorical. “This is for a wedding, Veronica. My wedding. You never have to see him again after this.”

Okay, that’s no more than she’s thought herself, but. Still.

“So?” Veronica asks, louder. “Shouldn’t that sort of prove my point?”

Jackie pulls to a stop, and spins around, eyes wide and furious.

She doesn’t say anything, and a creeping sense of unease starts to crawl through Veronica’s thought process.

“Oh god,” she says, and Jackie’s anger hitches.

“What.”

Of course. Of course. “You –” Veronica says. “You’re in love with him? Is that it? Oh god, Jackie—”

Jackie’s face screws up with outrage. “Are you kidding me?” Veronica remembers all over again that Logan and Jackie dated in high school. She remembers the tenderness and comfort Jackie’s mom displayed when touching him. “Of course not! Ugh!”

Veronica is confused. “It…makes sense,” she argues.

“Oh, grow up,” Jackie says. “It’s ancient history, Veronica.”

Veronica’s gaze turns knowing. “History tends to repeat itself.”

Jackie stares at her, cold and hard.

“I’m not in love with him,” she says, finally. “He’s my best friend. My best friend in the whole world.”

They stare at each other. Veronica’s not sure what to say. And just when it looks like Jackie is going to say more—

“Jackie?” a voice calls from down the hall, and Jackie looks down at the carpet, and then away. Her shoulders sink.

“Coming,” she calls back.

Jackie sends another vile look at Veronica, then spins and jogs down some stairs.

Veronica doesn’t move to follow, watching her disappear. For a moment, Veronica realizes, she’s not quite sure where she is in the house. Surely all roads lead to Rome, or whatever (she has to get off historical proverbs), but. After mustering up some courage, Veronica follows the way Jackie went.

Following the noise she catches from the end of the hall, she curves through rooms and hallways, finally coming into the big family room she’d seen earlier.

Wallace is here. He’s made his arrival, and he’s wearing golf clothes still: khakis and an aqua-colored polo shirt that nevertheless makes him look…good. Rich. Like he…like he actually belongs. Wallace’s stepdad and Mr. Cook are with him in similar dress, and everyone is gathered around in the kitchen as Wallace pulls Jackie into a half-hug, all smiles for the guests. She can’t see Jackie’s face, but she probably doesn’t need to. Wallace is bright enough for everyone.

There’s the tinkling of silverware on glass, and Veronica gets the feeling that it’s time for speeches.

She wants to leave.

Wallace hasn’t seen her yet. Which isn’t a terrible thing, sure, but is also something she’d probably have to explain later. Veronica takes the nearest chair, a whole room away from the bride and groom to be. She sinks into it, ducking her head as someone holds up a glass.

When Wallace starts talking, Jackie still tucked against his side, his gaze sweeps the room.

And when he finds Veronica, his smile…slips, a little. He stares at her for a beat too long, then wets his lips, and looks around the room again.

“I seriously can’t thank you enough,” he keeps going.

Veronica’s heart sinks.

I’m worried about you.

Chapter 9: you are cordially invited to do as you're told

This week’s problem is…napkins.

“Napkins?” Veronica repeats, sitting across a desk from Madison.

“Yes napkins,” Madison says, harried. She holds up one. “I need nine hundred of these napkins. And as of this moment I only have five hundred eighty-eight.”

Veronica tries to control her look of irritation. “Okay…” she says, cautious. “Have you tried online? I hear they have everything, if you know where to look.”

She’s said this before, and a small amount of pain streaks through her. She hasn’t spoken to Logan since a very awkward goodbye at the bridal shower. They’d high-fived. Veronica lets the feeling pass.

“Of course I’ve checked online. They’re on–” Madison says, distressed, “– backorder .” She shoots Veronica a murderous look, as if this is her own personal fault. “We bought them from Lands & Frogs,” she continues, naming maybe the most expensive store Veronica has ever been in. “I need you to go to every single one you can get to and clear out their stock.”

Veronica feels her eyes go wide. “Um. Surely, they can deliver.”

Madison pushes a piece of hair back from her face. “They will not guarantee delivery. I want a guarantee. I want these napkins.”

Veronica looks at it again. It’s blue. A nice shade of blue, sure, but still…blue. She shakes her head at her lap, swallowing the urge to point out that there are likely many blue napkins in the world, and that they would probably be close enough in color.

“Alright,” Veronica says, resigned. She stands, and holds her hand out for the napkin. “And if I only end up with three hundred and eleven?”

“Then I expect you to drive until you find one more,” Madison answers, sweetly. There’s a ragged look to her eyes that Veronica’s not sure what to do with.

It’s two and a half weeks to the wedding. Maybe someone has to take on the brunt of the timeline, and it looks like that person is…Madison. Seriously, though. It’s not like this is the first wedding ever . Surely there’s a playbook, or something? Just tick some boxes?

Two people hurry into Madison’s office, each with something they desperately need Madison to see. Sensing her dismissal, Veronica heads back to her car.

She sighs when she’s there, pulling up her maps app. Maybe she’ll splurge for an iced coffee. It’s going to be a long day.

The text surprises her.

Two texts, actually.

And they’re identical.

[You busy?] Wallace texts.

[You busy?] Logan texts, at almost exactly the same time.

Huh.

It’s an absurd coincidence, and Veronica leans her arms on the roof of her car to answer.

She texts Wallace first: [Yes. Madison has me on the world’s stupidest errand.]

And to Logan she texts: [Kinda]

She waits for either to reply. When the sun feels too hot on the top of her head, she pushes her sunglasses in place and hops into her car.

And when neither has replied when she’s got directions to the first store pulled up, and she’s about to start the car, she texts back…Logan.

[Why?]

The response comes a few seconds later. [I’m bored.]

Veronica grins. [Aw, it’s so hard being rich] she teases.

[You wouldn’t believe. All the counting, I mean. Sheesh. One dollar, two dollars…]

Veronica’s grin deepens. [Well,] she types, [I can’t help you. I’m working today.]

[Oh yeah? Anything cool?]

She starts the car, but doesn’t put it in gear yet. The AC feels nice from the vents. 

[Yeah,] she writes, [the Maltese Poodle]

She imagines him laughing. And then he texts back.

[Sounds like a case for…]

Veronica rolls her eyes to the roof of her car. Don’t say it, she wants to warn him, but she’s still grinning hard. Seriously, don’t—

[Team Veronica and Logan.]

Veronica laughs, but he sends her his location - some coffee shop downtown - and she figures she can hit two birds with one stone.

So to speak.

“Okay,” Logan says, rubbing his hands together from the passenger seat of her nondescript sedan. Hey, nondescript sedans are useful for PI work, okay? That doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss her old LeBaron convertible sometimes. This car gets much better gas mileage though. “What’s the case. Missing person? Stolen jewels? I know - a spurned lover,” he says, wagging his eyebrows.

Veronica is really going to enjoy this part.

“It’s napkins,” she says, and she totally makes a meal of the confusion that enters his gaze.

“I’m sorry what?” he asks, head tilting. “Are these…fancy napkins? Napkins with the coordinates to the hidden treasure? Do they contain the lover’s phone number?”

“No, they’re like. Blue.”

Logan’s shoulders drop, and Veronica grins wide. “It’s for the wedding,” she explains, and she throws the sample she has at him.

Logan catches it, and leans slowly back into the seat.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought that maybe—”

“Nope.”

He looks at her for a second, weighing some thoughts. Then he asks: “how come Madison never gives me any jobs to do?”

Veronica turns the key in the ignition. “Probably because she likes you more than me,” she deflects, easily.

Logan pulls something out of his jacket pocket. “Probably didn’t really need this hat then, huh.”

Veronica glances at him before putting her car into reverse.

Logan is putting an honest to god tweed deerstalker hat on his head.

Veronica has to stop trying to drive her car, so she can laugh at him.

“What?” he asks, kind of laughing too, probably hoping it’s a friendly laugh, not a mean one.

Veronica wipes at her eyes. “Nothing,” she says, bubble of laughter escaping her lips. “Nothing, seriously. You look…great.”

Logan grins jauntily, and points a finger gun at the front window. “Onward, Holmes.”

Veronica has to oblige.

Of course he wears the hat into the store.

Just, of course.

“Sir, I am here for your finest napkins.”

The sales associate looks as if he’s really hoping today is his last day.

“Can you be more specific.”

Logan pulls out the napkin and dangles it in the air. “A woven blend, I believe. Powder blue? Periwinkle?”

The associate cuts him off before Logan can really get going. “Back of the store. Linen section.”

Veronica is grinning the whole way to retrieve them.

 

The hat gets old by the third store they visit, and then they get stuck in traffic.

They’re both staring into space after a really lengthy discussion of Verified Housewives , wondering if Tereza’s jewelry is made with actual honey and whether that would degrade overtime. Probably not, they decide. But also - probably best not to test it. Logan has caught up on two whole seasons in the last few days.

And then a thought occurs to her.

“Hey,” she asks. “How come you’re not at work today?”

“Hm?” Logan turns from the passenger seat. Her question seems to sink in. “Oh,” he says. “Well, I…have some time off for the wedding.”

She narrows her gaze at him, but then has to face forward to drive an extra six feet.

“You’re still not going to tell me what you do?”

“Nope,” he says, grinning. Veronica rolls her eyes.

“Why is it such a big secret?” she asks. “You know what I do. You know that I’m not a racecar driver.”

“Or a stripper,” he adds.

“Or a stripper,” she confirms. She glances at him. “Seriously. What. You work for the mafia?”

Logan looks steadily back at her, and she can tell he’s debating whether to tell her the truth.

And maybe…maybe she doesn’t want to know, afterall. Maybe the knowing will be the bad thing, maybe it will make her judge him too harshly. If he says he’s a hedge fund manager, like part of her suspects he is…then what? Then that changes things. If he’s an importer of rare animal hides she’ll have to never speak to him again. If he’s a freaking prince she’s just going to make him walk the rest of the way home.

“Actually,” she says, turning away. “On second thought, no, don’t tell me.”

“What, why,” he asks, and there’s a certain smile around his lips she can hear, but it’s definitely barely disguising some nerves.

Veronica sighs into the steering wheel. “So I won’t have to make you walk home,” she explains, and then traffic starts to pick up.

He’s silent for the next half mile, and she can tell he’s debating what to say and how to say it.

“How…” he starts with, and then he shuts his mouth. Veronica decides she doesn’t want to make him more comfortable, what with all the rare animal poaching.

“What…okay.” He turns to face her. “What is your story.”

Well, that is not what she expected him to say.

“My story?”

Logan is clearly chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’s got one long leg bent closer to his body, the other stretched out. His elbow rests on the ledge where window meets door.

“Yeah. With the whole lawyer thing. The whole lawyer, not a lawyer thing.”

Veronica feels herself sink lower into her chair.

“Oh,” she says. “That.”

A pause drags on for a second too long, betraying Logan’s interest. “You don’t have to, um. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t—well. If you don’t want to.”

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, then checks where they are on the map. Still ten minutes away.

Does she need to tell him? Absolutely not.

And yet, she finds herself swallowing, and then wetting her lips.

“I went to school in New York,” she says, and Logan’s even look on the side of her face reminds her that he knows this. Jackie went there too. “I had just passed the bar in New York when my dad got hit by a truck.”

His body shifts, like he’s restraining some movement.

“We’re close,” she continues. “And the hit was intentional. It’s a long, long story. But just know that it was partly my fault that someone felt like trying to kill him. So when he…survived,” she says, and she hates how her throat is just a bit thick. She clears it. “Um. The PI business was his. And while he was recovering I helped keep it going. And then, I just…never left.”

Logan is silent for a moment. Then he asks, “How long ago was that?”

Veronica switches lanes. “Two years,” she answers. Their exit is coming up, and she doesn’t want to miss it. “It’s been two years since then, and my dad still feels like he’s healing most of the time.”

They’re silent the rest of the way, and Veronica gets the feeling, as they’re walking up to the front doors of the fourth fancy store, that Logan is trying to get up the courage to hold her hand.

Four stores, an iced coffee, and a stop at In-N-Out later, and Veronica and Logan are back at Madison’s office. It’s between the burger place and Logan’s car, still downtown (is what they rationalize with a certain degree of flippancy) and traffic is mostly light the rest of the way.

It’s been a nice day, Veronica realizes.

They have exactly three hundred and twenty-four napkins for Madison, and just as Logan is propping the door open so Veronica can walk in, her arms laden with an expensive box of linens…she realizes…that maybe she doesn’t want Logan for this part.

But the problem is, she can’t think of a single excuse to keep him in the car.

“There you are,” Madison says, waspish. She straightens when she sees Logan. “Oh. Um? Hello?” She is instantly brighter. “Logan, what a surprise?”

“I was just trying to be helpful.”

Madison is staring between the two of them. “Oh?”

Logan nods, and then he looks at Veronica, who is still holding the heavy box, and he lurches to retrieve her of it. She gives him a withering glance in her head.

“Did…” Madison is trying to say, without sounding too annoyed or desperate. “Did you succeed?”

Veronica nods, hands flat on her sides. “Yup. Even got you a few extra.”

Madison’s eyelids flutter with annoyance. “Good,” she says. She looks at Logan. “You can put them in through there, please, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Veronica knows Madison has never said please to her in her life. But she’s not going to bring it up now.

Madison’s lips are twisted as Logan disappears. “How many stores did it take you,” she asks, flat.

“Four,” Veronica answers. She can see Madison doing some mental math.

“Well, you know where to get your check,” she says, and with an overly dramatic sigh, she turns, and heads back towards her office. Veronica notes that she leaves the double doors open, and that she perches very pointedly on her chair, back straight as she checks her hair with her fingers.

Veronica nearly rolls her eyes. She heads for the side office, where Amy with the thick glasses usually works.

 

When she walks out a few minutes later, folding the check in half with her fingers, she sees Logan at Madison’s desk. His eyes snap to Veronica’s hands, and she hurries the check into her back pocket. Shit.

They’re making polite-looking conversation, so Veronica slows her steps. It’s not for her to intercede, and, knowing Madison, she might have something even worse for Veronica to do next. Maybe some indoor plumbing. Who knows.

“Anyway,” Logan is saying, obviously trying to end the conversation. He sends another glance at Veronica. “We should probably go.”

Madison smiles encouragingly at him. “Call me,” she orders, the playfulness not quite hitting the mark. “Or I’ll call you!” she adds, and Logan sort of laughs.

He makes eyes at Veronica, nodding his head towards the front door.

“See ya Madison,” Veronica calls, and they leave together.

When they're buckling seat belts in Veronica's car, she says: “I didn’t realize you guys actually knew each other." She’s trying real hard to keep the teasing smile off her face. It’s just always funny to see him uncomfortable.

Logan frowns, adjusting his weight. “Yeah, well. Same circles, I guess.”

Veronica is probably going to hell for pressing, but. “And you two never…” she suggests, grinning.

Logan frowns at her. And doesn’t respond.

That hits wrong, somehow. She expects to find it funny that Logan and Madison have some sort of romantic history. And it’s strange that the humor doesn’t materialize. She forces a sort of low cackle, under her breath. She starts the car.

“Wait, how do you know Madison?” Logan asks, and Veronica’s hand nearly slips on the gearshift.

“What?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you guys just met for the wedding. You know each other?”

Veronica stares at the steering wheel, then presses her lips together.

Is this just going to be her day to expose all her dirty laundry? Veronica winces, and doesn’t look at him. Well. He did okay with the dad stuff. He probably won’t…

“Madison went to law school with us.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she confirms, finally getting the car towards the road. “She didn’t graduate.” Logan is clearly waiting for her to continue. Veronica finally sighs. “We did these mock trials, right? And yeah I was hot-headed, and very full of myself, and sure Madison was and is sort of a…” She glances at Logan, and decides not to finish that sentence. “Look, can we just say, that it didn’t end well?”

“Didn’t end well for whom?”

She hates it when people use that word correctly. Like they’re actually listening.

“Um. Well. I won.”

“Yes.”

“And maybe I didn’t know that Madison had lupus.”

“Lupus?”

“It’s in remission,” she amends, quickly. “At least, I’m pretty sure it’s in remission. And also, Madison is a terrible litigator. And probably I took things way too far.” Veronica is grimacing, staring at the cars ahead, not really seeing them. “Knowing that…she had…some…lupus.”

Logan is looking at her, small curve to his lips, brows raised, as if he’s impressed, but also exasperated. In a charmed way maybe? It’s hard to tell.

“It’s definitely in remission,” she insists, and Logan’s grin cracks through. “Look, she’s doing great! Do you know how many Instagram followers she has now? Because let me tell you, I am…one of them.”

Logan laughs, and Veronica merges onto the on-ramp.

It’s a surprise to hear Logan’s voice quiet as they get closer to the coffee shop. Veronica’s only been there one or two times, but Logan is much more familiar with it, and he points out the turns without her having to rely on technology.

The sun is hanging low; it’s almost dinnertime, honestly. Veronica really wants to deposit her check. If she didn’t hate Madison’s tasks so much, she might actually have to consider a change in jobs.

But actually…she didn’t hate today so much.

Veronica pulls into the spot next to Logan’s sleek dark convertible, and misses her LeBaron all over again. She gets the urge to tell Logan all about it, suddenly.

“Well,” Logan starts, and Veronica looks at him.

He’s got his hands on his thighs, and he’s peering out the front windshield. His seat belt is still on.

Is he…stalling? A grin cracks her lips. Gosh, he must actually be bored.

“You need a hobby,” she teases, pulling over her phone. She closes the map app, and realizes she’s missed some texts.

“I have a hobby,” Logan answers, pleasant. “I surf.”

That makes her stop reading Wallace’s text.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Surfing. I enjoy surfing.”

She looks ahead, out the window, trying not to picture Logan in a wetsuit. Trying not to picture Logan in tight, tiny bathing suits, all tan from the sun, salt water in his hair.

“Okay…” she says, because she’s forgotten why he’s bringing it up. Veronica shakes it off, and glances back at her phone.

[What about tonight?]

[We should hang out.]

[I miss us.]

She knows what Wallace is saying when he writes this, but it still takes a moment to strip the words of their romantic overtones. And then an extra minute to realize Logan is still talking.

“I’m sorry Logan, what?”

He’s looking at her, brows slightly pinched. “Everything okay?” he asks instead, glancing at her phone.

“Yeah,” she answers, putting it down on her lap. “Yeah,” she says again, more strongly. “Seriously, what did you say?”

Logan clears his throat, shifting again. He takes off the seat belt. “Oh, well, I was just wondering if you had dinner plans.”

“Dinner?” she repeats, balking. “Logan, I’m still full of cheeseburger.”

He rolls his eyes. “Then we can do something first. Putt-putt golf. A movie. I don’t care.”

She’s still thinking about Wallace’s texts. They really hadn’t seen each other in forever.

“I can’t,” she says, distracted. She bites the inside of her cheek. Veronica glances at her phone again. “I uh. I have plans with Wallace.”

She lets that settle for a moment, then looks at Logan. He’s staring out the front window, and his jaw is shifted to the side, like he wants to argue, but isn’t. And he shouldn’t want to, right? Their friendship is temporary. Her and Wallace are forever.

Logan seems to realize this when she does. “Yeah,” he says, suddenly flippant. “Of course.” He reaches for the car door. “Maybe tomorrow, or something.”

Veronica doesn’t know why she feels the urge to grin. It is totally inexplicable.

“Yeah, maybe,” she hedges.

Logan opens the door and climbs out. And when he doesn’t move from the open door, but instead leans down to look at her again, Veronica finds that she is actually grinning.

“Thanks, for today,” he says. “I had fun.”

Veronica nods. “Me too, Logan.”

He presses his lips together, pushing the corners down in a slightly pleased way, as if to say: good.

“I’ll see ya later,” she says, grinning freely. Logan pulls back and closes the door. It’s not until he’s in his own car, and she’s put her car in reverse, and then has driven all the way home…that she realizes he’s left the hat behind.

She makes dinner plans with Wallace for the next day.

Feeling flush with cash, she splurges for a pizza that they share at the beach. It’s the unofficial halfway point between their houses, and Veronica wonders what the new halfway point will be. Wallace and Jackie share a condo in a swanky part of town, but they’ll be buying a house after the wedding. More likely someone has already bought them one, and Jackie’s parents are just waiting until the wedding to tell them about it.

Sitting on a cement outlook at the dark and empty beach, Veronica swings her feet in the air, munching a slice.

“How’s wedding planning going?” she asks, making conversation.

Wallace shrugs, mid-bite. Veronica takes that to mean: I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure it’s covered.

“Is Jackie doing okay?”

He nods more emphatically at this, then swallows his bite. “Oh man. Yeah. I didn’t even tell you, we did a nine-week scan. You wanna see pictures?”

“Of course I want to see pictures,” she says, having temporarily forgotten that Jackie is pregnant. Wallace grins, pulling out his phone. He unlocks it, and has to skip through a bunch of photos of Jackie, smiling for the camera from their balcony.

“Someone played hooky today,” she says, and Wallace laughs.

“We had a doctor’s appointment!” he argues, and Veronica rolls her eyes. Wallace swipes again, and a black and white photo appears.

Veronica angles her head, then takes the phone from Wallace’s outstretched hand.

“What am I looking at here?”

“Um, a baby?”

She turns the phone around. “Like a human one?”

Wallace nudges her shoulder, laughing again.

Veronica quiets her smile, and looks more closely. It doesn’t look like much, honestly. Like a bit of a lump. She assumes the more lumpy part of the lump is the head, but if it is an actual head, it’s a weirdly-shaped one. She figures that’s normal.

“Oh yeah. Definitely your kid,” she jokes, and Wallace laughs again. “I can totally see the resemblance,” she adds, holding up the phone next to Wallace’s face.

Wallace laughs more and swipes the phone back. “Yeah yeah,” he says, and Veronica grins.

“You gonna find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Wallace nods. “Yeah, in another few weeks. I guess there’s still a decent chance of miscarriage, or something.” He looks ahead, still wistful. The beautiful confidence of someone who will never experience pregnancy or childbirth, except as a spectator.

“Are you hoping for one or the another?” she asks, curious.

He levels a look at her. “No. Just a healthy kid,” he says, as if this should be obvious. But then he sort of shrinks. “But…maybe a boy. It would be cool to play ball with a boy.”

“Right. Because you definitely couldn’t play ball with a girl.”

Wallace laughs, eyes to the night sky, clearly a little self-conscious. Veronica takes pity on him.

“Yeah, yeah, a little Wallace Jr. would be cool I guess,” she agrees. Wallace meets her stare. They’re quiet for a beat, and then Wallace licks his lips.

“You ever want kids?” he asks, because this isn’t a subject that comes up easily in some boy-girl friendships.

Veronica looks away, out at the distant ocean. There’s a nearly full moon, so she can see more than she might have otherwise. Does she want kids? Probably not, is her answer. She feels pretty undecided about the whole thing, or rather just pretty…ambivalent. Which is a strange thing to realize. There was definitely a huge chunk of her life when the answer would have been an emphatic no, with a never in your life thrown in for good measure. And now…well. Nothing’s changed, right? Nothing’s changed, and yet, she’s hesitating.

She finally shrugs, and Wallace leaves it alone.

“Jackie says you and Logan are friendly,” he says, and Veronica flinches.

She hasn’t spoken to Jackie since, well. Since the party. She wonders how much Jackie’s told Wallace. Probably everything, right? And yet, he hasn’t railed at her, hasn’t mentioned it. That’s…strange, right? Aren’t couples supposed to tell each other everything? Especially when that something is about one party’s best friend, who may or may not have been a bitch?

She’s staring at her knees, so Veronica shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. He’s been helping me with some stuff.”

Wallace sort of leaves it at that.

Or maybe he doesn’t.

“He’s…he’s a good dude,” he says, and Veronica looks at him, surprised. Wallace sees her stare. “We’ve hung out a few times. Moreso in the last few weeks, but, you know. I like him.”

Veronica absorbs this information. Wait. “Wait, you’ve been hanging out with him? Without me?”

Wallace’s eyes go a bit wide. “Well, yeah,” he says, backpedaling. “I mean not a ton. Just a few dinners, you know. I dunno! Look, Jackie invites him over. I just have to be nice.”

Veronica narrows her gaze at him, wanting to be mad. When he still looks tense, she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever.”

They go back to looking at the water. Veronica wonders what they all talk about, when they’re together. Rich people things, probably. The cost of gold, or silver. Stocks and bonds. Which tropical vacation destination is the most tropical.

“He’s…nice,” Wallace says, ultimately, and Veronica chooses not to read into his tone.

Because it sounds more like a suggestion. A suggestion to spend more time with Logan. Wallace’s little stamp of approval.

But she already has a best friend, okay? She already has one, and she’s not in the market for another.

No matter how tiny his swimsuits probably are.

Chapter 10: you are cordially invited to give thanks and be grateful

Veronica is going to a bachelor party.

Okay, well, a mixed bachelor/bachelorette party. There isn’t really a name for those yet, is there? Probably not. Bachelordome party. Singles party. No, that’s not right. Whatever it’s going to be, it’s an archaic concept, and it always reminds Veronica of things like prima nocta . The only thing she’s heard about the from Wallace is that the weekend-long event will not involve, in any way shape or form, strippers. 

Not at a strip club, not surprising them in their hotel room, not jumping out of a giant pile of pancakes at the breakfast bar.

Dozing in the back of Wallace and Jackie’s car after an all-night stakeout that ended up fruitless anyway, Veronica at first doesn’t realize that they’re making another stop.

“Urr we there yet,” she starts, gazing around half-awake.

It takes her a moment to realize she’s staring across the backseat at Logan Echolls.

Horror flashes through her.

“Hey, I thought you said no strippers!” she yells into the front seat, and Wallace and Jackie laugh.

Even Logan cracks a grin, which is embarrassing.

“Better get me drunk first,” he warns, shoving his bag over the back seat and into SUV’s trunk.

Veronica feels her cheeks warm, and she banishes the images he’s trying to stir up. She drags her feet closer to her side of the car and tries to sit up straight. She realizes she hasn’t seen him in over a week and a half. Last weekend Wallace took Jackie on a little secluded pre-wedding pre-honeymoon vacation to the mountains, so Veronica had all weekend to do…nothing. And then she actually got some work not related to the wedding, so she’s been doing that, and Logan went on a surf trip to Mexico with some buddies Veronica doesn’t know. He kept sending her pictures of sunsets, for some reason. Maybe he wanted her to tease him for it.

Is that drool dried to the side of her face? Oh shit it’s definitely drool on the side of her face.

Logan jumps into the spare seat, and then accepts Wallace’s waiting fist bump.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Logan says, and Veronica shoots Wallace a look in the rearview window that her best friend definitely doesn’t meet.

“No problem!” he says, chipper, still avoiding eye contact.

Veronica looks at their surroundings, trying to get an idea of where they are. They haven’t even left Neptune yet. They’re still outside of the Grand.

“You’re staying at the Grand?” she asks, and Logan shares a look with Jackie.

“Yes?” he answers, and it’s definitely not a full answer. Hmm. Veronica sinks into her seat, still waking up a little. The opportunity to ask more questions about it passes.

Wallace steers them onto the highway.

Jackie and Wallace and Logan chat on the way, benign conversation about wedding prep, some surfing Logan got in yesterday. Despite the nerves Logan’s unexpected arrival brought on, Veronica still feels the seductive draw of sleep, and something about the warmth of the sun through the windows, and the cool glass, and the nice conversation has her eyes closing.

“What makes you so sleepy?” Logan says, touching her shoe with his own. Veronica readjusts her position.

“Late night,” she answers.

When she doesn’t elaborate, Logan nudges her shoe again. “Doing…” he prompts, and Veronica isn’t sure why he’s allowed to ask her questions but she’s not allowed to ask him any.

“I was working a case,” she sighs, short.

“And did it work out?”

She cracks an eye at him. Maybe she won’t get back to sleep after all.

“No. Thanks for the reminder.”

He’s looking at her, his head tilted. “What was the case? Maybe I can help.”

“How would you be able to help?”

“I got a full night’s rest, for one.”

She sends him a withering look, like: ha ha .

Veronica frowns at him when he doesn’t back down. “It’s a missing persons case.”

“Ah.”

“There was a tip that a friend of the girl knew where she was.”

“Okay.”

“I asked them for information. Nicely. And they said no.”

“And I’m guessing by ‘nicely’ you said…”

“Tell me where your freaking friend is or I’m telling your mom, yeah.”

Jackie turns her head from the front seat. “As a lawyer, I’m going to pretend I’m not hearing any of this.”

Veronica cranes her neck to respond. “As a lawyer, I’m going to tell you, it was fine.” Jackie makes a psh -ing noise and Veronica sinks back into her seat. “Anyway,” she continues, “after some gentle threats, I wanted the friend to leave so I could go through her stuff. And then she never left the house.”

Logan nods. “The police aren’t involved?”

Veronica crosses her arms. “Of course the police are involved. I just want to find the girl first.”

Wallace is changing lanes. “How old is she?”

Veronica drops her head back. “Fifty-seven.”

Logan, Wallace, and Jackie all bust out laughing.

“Fifty- seven? What, is she senile?”

Veronica doesn’t totally understand. “What, old people can’t go missing?”

“Yeah but!” Wallace says, eyes on the road. “I thought we were talking like teen abduction or something!”

“Um, hello, it made the news.”

“Yeah, yeah, like, old people weekly ,” Wallace says, caught up in the joke. Veronica frowns at him as the rest of the laughter peters out.

Silence descends for a moment, and Veronica stares out the window at the passing landscape. Then Logan snorts some laughter, and shakes his head. He catches Veronica’s eye.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just remembered what you said about threatening their mom .”

Veronica sinks back into her seat.

It’s going to be a long drive.

 

She does fall asleep at some point, sometime after complaining about the sexism/inherent problems with bachelor parties, sometime before Jackie falls asleep too. Veronica’s woken by a gentle nudge, and she comes to with a start, jerking her head off the seat.

Wait, the seat?

She leans up, realizing that someone has taken off her seat belt, that she’s horizontal on the car seat, that she’s fallen asleep in the back of Wallace’s SUV…and that her feet are cushioned, shoeless…in Logan’s lap.

She scrambles off of him, shoving herself as close to her door as possible, pushing hair out of her mouth.

“What’re—” she starts to say, breath coming too shallow, heart beating too fast. “Where are—” she looks around. The car is stopped, there’s the sound of the ocean, and in the distance she can see the front doors of the small retreat-style bed and breakfast they’ll be staying at. Logan is locking his phone, and putting it down.

“You okay?” he asks, and Veronica’s mind still feels fuzzy.

“Yeah,” she answers quickly, automatically, wiping her mouth with the back of her forearm. She looks to the floor of the car, finding her shoes. When did he take them off her? Did she take them off herself? And he took her seat belt off? Veronica frowns, heart still thumping inside her chest.

“You shouldn’t take someone’s seat belt off. That’s safety 101.”

Logan frowns back at her. “I put the middle lap belt on you. You were out like a light.”

Warmth creeps over the back of her neck, thinking about how her legs had been in his lap, her calves resting on his thighs…for who knows how long. It’s late in the afternoon, judging by the sun.

“Where are Jackie and Wallace?”

Logan puts his hand on the seat back, twisting to face her. “Inside. They went in a while ago.”

“A while ago?”

“Like I said, you were sleeping.”

Protest rises high in her throat, protest like: yeah, but– and also: what the hell, but she doesn’t voice either of them. Maybe he has a foot fetish. She really hopes he doesn’t have a foot fetish. Veronica frowns again.

“We should go inside.”

“Sure,” he says, accommodating. Veronica’s frown deepens as she tugs her shoes back on, as she finger combs her hair, and then climbs out of the car. Logan is at the open trunk, pulling out their bags. When she finds him he’s got his own over his shoulder, hers in his hand at his side. “Got everything?” he asks.

Veronica reaches for her own bag, tugging it out of his grip. She can’t stop replaying the way it felt to wake up like that, to realize he’d been sitting there for even longer than their car ride. Just so she could sleep? Is that it? What the freaking hell? And he probably, definitely has a foot fetish.

She spins away, stomping up the walk to the hotel lobby. Jackie and Wallace picked this place because it is remote, gorgeous, and very exclusive. Not to mention small. Veronica is pretty sure they’ve rented out the whole place, with friends flying in from all over the country just to attend. She’ll be meeting them here throughout the weekend.

Where are Jackie and Wallace, anyway? Should she be doing something? She feels like she should be doing something. Facilitating an event maybe? At least being present, participating, or –

Veronica opens the front doors to the lobby, and is met with a tinkle of noise.

“Oh! Hello. Welcome to Absalom Retreat and Spa.”

Veronica approaches the counter, and a beautiful woman is perched pleasantly, dreamy, vacant look on her face. She looks like she’s high on life. Or barbiturates.

“How can I help you.”

Veronica hitches her bag higher up her shoulder, crossing the massive lobby. “Yeah, I’m here to check in? It’s part of the Fennel-Cook party.”

“Of course,” she says, kind. “And will your husband be joining us?”

Veronica nearly trips over her own feet halfway across. “Excuse me?”

The woman is looking at her screen. “Mars, correct?” When Veronica lingers, the woman glances back at the screen. “And Mr. Echolls. Your husband yes? We have you booked in the Shalom suite.”

“He’s not my husband.”

The woman’s brows go up. “He’s not?”

Veronica walks the rest of the way to the counter. “No. He’s not. Please tell me this suite has two beds. Two rooms even, please tell me it has two rooms.”

She looks confused. “Mrs. Mars, I’m sorry, there must be some mistake.” She squints her eyes a little, just as Veronica hears the tinkle of the bell above the door. “This is a couples spa & retreat? We only book rooms to married couples.”

“Yeah but—“

“No, I’m sorry, but we just don’t book the rooms separately. The whole heart song of Absalom Retreat & Spa is mindful unity of the soul and the spirit. The twin soul, so to speak. Even if we had another room…we wouldn’t let it out.”

Veronica is staring at her.

“There are no other rooms.”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“We have to be married to go in.”

“Yes, absolutely, it is our mission and purpose.”

Veronica feels cold dread sluice through her body. She half turns, finding Logan in her periphery. Something has gone seriously wrong. Something has gone drastically wrong. And right now she is in a remote location, on the coast of California, and her best friend’s bachelordome party is going on through the other doors leading from the lobby.

…How…is she going to atone for this?

She’ll need to rescue a litter of puppies.

Save some children from burning buildings.

Sacrifice a toe to some alien god.

“Logan, darling,” Veronica says, with forced sweetness. She holds out a hand towards him. “We have to check in to our honeymoon suite now.”

“The Shalom suite,” the lady corrects, and Veronica ignores her. She’s focusing on Logan’s confused look, as he takes a few steps forward, from too far away.

“Sweetheart,” Veronica continues, through her clenched teeth. “Sweetheart I’m afraid we won’t be able to pretend we’re not married, because, you see, this is a couples retreat —”

“—and spa,” the desk woman interjects.

“And so we have to be twins. Our souls have to be entwined. Twinning. Something like that. So darling. My, um. My heartsong. Even though we secretly got married an indefinite amount of time ago, and we swore not to tell anyone about it, we have to tell this very nice lady the truth. Or else she won’t let us in.”

Logan comes up to Veronica’s side, still with that little look of confusion on his face, but now looking at the desk agent’s bland, vacant smile.

“We’re definitely married,” he tells her, and Veronica feels some tension leave her shoulders.

“Well of course you are,” the agent returns, and then her fingers are a flurry of movement on the keyboard, and she rings a little gong on the counter, and someone comes out from the backroom through some curtained flaps blocking the door.

“Right this way, Mr. Echolls, Mrs. Mars.”

Veronica and Logan look at each other.

This is probably not going to end well.

The young man who leads them through the hallways and manicured grounds is silent, taking measured, slow steps that makes Veronica want to shove him in the back.

Logan has a little smirk on his mouth, which Veronica keeps throwing visual daggers at, as if it will get him to stop.

“Right this way,” the attendant says, and he stands beside a door and opens it up.

Veronica sends one final glare at Logan and steps inside.

Her first thought is…wow.

Wow to the giant, pillow-like bed, that looks like one big inviting marshmallow. Her morning view will be through some floor-to-ceiling windows framing the sequoias. A fireplace faces the end of the bed, burning a small, pleasant fire of cedar and rosemary. She can smell it from here. Across the other side of the room are the windows to the ocean, where carpet transitions to gorgeous tile. A giant bathtub is between them and a small balcony, as well as a shower that could easily fit a family of four.

Wait.

That’s…that’s the bathroom.

That’s the bathroom, with the shower and tub, and the sinks for brushing teeth. It’s like a studio apartment, except not the kind she’s ever lived in, because the bathroom is just there, in the room. The only saving grace is the missing toilet, and if it’s not behind the only door she can see then she’s probably going to have to hire a helicopter to take her home and take her home immediately.

“This is great,” Logan says behind her, and Veronica can’t even turn around as he seems to see the other guy out. She just hears the click of the door, and Logan’s shifting weight on the carpet, and the soft thud of his bag on the ground.

“It’s got a nice vie—”

“This. Is not. Great,” Veronica seethes, and she whirls around.

Logan has his hands in his pockets, and she can tell by the dancing in his eyes that he is dreadfully amused.

“Hey, I didn’t book it,” he says, and Veronica’s anger intensifies.

“What the hell happened!” she swears, throwing down her bag. She doesn’t even know where to sit. There’s a loveseat - oh no, a loveseat - at the end of the bed, facing the fireplace, but it’s just. It’s just. Ugh!

Logan is looking at the bedside table, where there’s a phone and a piece of paper. “Hey there’s an itinerary.”

“A what? ”

“Itinerary. For this weekend.” He holds up the piece of paper, and Veronica stomps over and rips it out of his hand.

Logan gives it up easily, and crosses to the windows facing the waves.

Welcome, friends and family, to our Weekend Escape

Okay, so maybe no one has landed on a good name for a combined bachelor/ette party.

Here we have listed activities for you to peruse. All are completely optional, as it is our deepest wish that you spend this time reflecting, connecting, and embracing all things love.

There is no way that Wallace wrote this. Or signed off on it. Or saw it.

She scans the list and checks the time.

They’ve missed the alcohol.

They’ve got an hour before dinner, which will be followed by a starlit yoga, and hot tubbing, and then a midnight hike to a beach (definitely skipping the hike). Tomorrow there’s sunrise yoga, and a tea ceremony with continental breakfast, and couples massages and couples mud baths and couples meditation and optional couples freaking therapy. Then there is an actual nap time scheduled, followed by more hikes, and more yoga, and on, and on, and on.

What the hell has Veronica gotten into.

“I’m guessing we missed the alcohol,” Logan drawls, and he turns towards her. “Any chance there’s a mini bar?”

Veronica casts her gaze around the room, then looks back at Logan, exasperated. “This isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think I’m laughing.”

“We’re not married. We’re not going to be married. There’s been some mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“I should talk to Wallace.”

Logan nods, then turns back around. “Sound like a plan,” he murmurs.

Veronica’s fury drops a bit at the sight of his turned back. What. Isn’t he…why isn’t he furious too? He should be furious.

She digs her phone out of her back pocket, and pulls up Wallace’s number. She calls him, cutting glances at Logan, turning her back on him too.

Wallace doesn’t answer, and Veronica remembers why she’s so righteous pissed when she hears his voice. She doesn't leave a voicemail, just hangs up and sends a text.

[CALL ME. NOW.]

Guilt weeds its way into her heart the minute she hits send.

This…shit.

This is Wallace’s bachelor party. His bachelordome party.

He’s probably… Veronica glances at the itinerary. He’s probably staring into Jackie’s eyes right now. He’s probably in their bathtub, or their shower, or just holding on to the love of his life as he prepares to marry her.

There are definitely no strippers at this event. There are no hidden surprises. This is clearly a weekend to celebrate the act of marriage, not to…not to laugh in the face of commitment.

Veronica puts her phone away.

Logan turns at the sound of her sigh.

“No response?” he asks, arching a brow.

Veronica shakes her head, looking at the ground. She looks around the room instead. There’s no way either of them are going to fit on that loveseat, but she could make a bed on the floor. She could make Logan make a bed on the floor. For Wallace, she could do a lot of things.

“I think we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“Okay.”

She looks at him. “It means pretending to be married.”

“Hey, if that’s what it takes.”

“And doing couply things. Like sitting in mud.”

“I hear that is a requirement for marriage in this country, yes.”

“And faking it in front of whoever is wearing a uniform.”

“I call you pudding pop, and you call me hummingbird.”

“This is for Wallace and Jackie,” she reminds him, ignoring the stupid nicknames. “We can do rock paper scissors for the bed, I don’t care, but I am not willing to mess up their weekend just because this is a completely, and entirely, shitty situation.”

Logan makes an oof noise, and turns away.

Veronica stares at his back, trying to anticipate how the weekend is going to go, wondering what other ground rules she needs to set. Seeing as they are not interested in each other romantically, it shouldn’t really be a problem. They just have to figure out how to bathe, really. That and Logan is apparently going to learn her skincare routine.

She pads across the room to stand beside him, looking out at the ocean view. It really is pretty nice, maybe. If the door hides the toilet, she’ll consider this a nice view.

“It is…nice,” she says, carefully, and Logan tilts his face towards her. “And I can be nice,” she adds, only meeting his stare for a second.

A warm sort of smile spreads across Logan’s mouth, and before she can ask what he means, Logan turns to face her fully.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Mars —”

“Don’t call me that—”

“—because I think you have failed to notice the wine.”

He gestures, and Veronica turns back around, and she looks at the giant bed again, and this time she sees the gift basket. The big gift basket, with five bottles of wine in it, and snacks, and fruit, and engraved wine glasses, all shrinkwrapped in plastic.

“Okay. Feel free to lead with that next time,” she says, and Logan grins.

Chapter 11: you are cordially invited to seek spiritual awakening

Logan finds a bottle opener while Veronica ransacks the drawers, finding a silk eye mask they can wear during those times the other is required to get naked. Logan rolls his eyes at this, promising he’s adult enough not to peek , but Veronica insists. They start setting up the room, claiming sinks at the double vanity, unpacking clothes that need to be hung up. When Logan hands her a glass of red wine she takes it, and sips from it while getting ready. She desperately wants a shower after napping in the car, feeling stale and sticky. But she isn’t ready to test out their bathing strategy yet, and it doesn’t seem like Logan is either.

He takes much less time to get ready than she does.

There are two options for tonight, she decides. Two options for fancy sort of events maybe in general, for this weekend. She definitely didn’t pack enough swimwear, and she definitely didn’t pack for a hike. Or - that’s what she’s going to tell Wallace, when he tries to get her to go later.

She picks the dress slacks that show off her butt, and a nice top, with a nice sweater. Good for a dinner, right?

“Are you going to watch me put on…” she starts to say, and Logan looks up from where he’s sprawled all over the bed, eating cashews from the gift basket. He’s been scrolling his phone. When Logan looks her over from head to toe, her cheeks feel warm.

“Put on make-up,” she clarifies, and she hopes she misjudged the look in Logan’s eyes. His face relaxes, like, oh yeah, of course that’s what you meant.

“Not if you don’t want me to?” he suggests.

Veronica bites the inside of her cheek, and goes to the toilet room to change. The water closet? They need a better word for it.

When she emerges, Logan is out on the balcony, still eating cashews, the bottle of wine beside him in the late afternoon sun. Veronica gives him a cursory glance. Even from behind and half hidden by the chair he looks nice, but then again, he looks nice most of the time. He’s wearing a pullover sweater, dark slacks. She can’t tell if he did something with his hair when she was changing.

Veronica goes to the mirror and opens her toiletry bag.

 

There’s something surprisingly intimate about letting someone see you without your make-up on. Even more intimate when they see the way all the sausage gets made, somehow. There’s a very real part of her that always wants guys to just…think of her finished. Think that she doesn’t have pale eyelashes; that the lipstick is her natural color.

And it’s decently close. If she were eating some sort of red berry it might be close. A berry-flavored popsicle.

“Ready?” she asks, from the sliding door. Logan looks up from his chair at the sound of her voice, and she ignores the way he does a double take. Logan looks like he almost wants to stand, or something, so she waves at him to keep sitting.

She takes the other seat on the balcony, staring out at the ocean. There’s a breeze, and it ruffles the soft waves she’d put in her hair. Not enough to be annoying, though.

“You look…” Logan starts to say, clearing his throat. Veronica doesn’t look at him, but also notes that she’s sort of holding her breath, a little. Why? “You look good,” he finally says, and warmth tangles beneath her ribs.

Veronica glances at the small table between them. Logan has the wine bottle out here, and his glass of wine. She realizes she left hers inside, and that her mouth feels dry.

Feeling brave, she picks it up, still not looking at him, and…she takes a sip. She presses her lips together after, checking to see if she’s left a bunch of lipstick on the rim. She’s okay.

“This is good,” she says, and she’s not sure if Logan is moving. She can still feel the heat of his gaze. “You good?” she asks, turning towards him, and Logan reanimates.

“Yeah,” he says, with forced casualness. Veronica tucks back her grin.

She takes another sip, then puts the glass between them. Logan is still looking at her in a heavy sort of way. What? It’s just make-up.

“We’re going to be late for dinner,” she reminds him, and Logan moves one of his legs.

“Right, of course,” he says, and then he stands. Veronica wants to laugh. He adopts a familiar grin, and offers her a hand. “Well, wife?” he asks, and Veronica wants to roll her eyes. She’d nearly forgotten. “Shall we go to this dinner?”

Maybe a few weeks ago she would have brushed him off. Maybe a few days ago, even. But tonight she takes his hand, and he tucks it against his arm, and arm in arm they make the trip together.

 

Dinner is served on a cliff-top patio, with the crash of the waves far below. People are in varying degrees of casualness, and Veronica might feel overdressed, except that she sees Wallace and Jackie looking very clean and put together on the other side of the gathering. Wallace waves them over when he sees them.

Veronica doesn’t know why, but walking through the mingling crowd, she leans closer to Logan. Plenty of Wallace’s and Jackie’s family are there, relations Veronica has seen over the past few weeks. And there’s Jenny, and someone who looks to be her spouse, and people Veronica hasn’t seen since high school. She didn’t even know Wallace kept in contact with his old basketball buddies, or Hamilton Cho.

“Glad to see you conscious,” Wallace says with a grin. He’s pulling out a chair for Veronica, so she takes it.

“Glad to see you didn’t abandon me at this very lovely retreat and spa,” she volleys, and then she makes eye contact with Jackie, who is following Wallace towards their end of the table. It’s one of those long ones - one of a few long ones - and the four of them are all sitting together.

Jackie slides into the seat next to Veronica, leaving Wallace and Logan to choose where else to sit. They take the chairs opposite, which is a little discomforting, for some reason.

“I just want to be by the space heater,” Jackie explains to their unspoken question, and Veronica glances behind herself at the towering piece of metal. “It gets so cold later.”

Veronica glances at Jackie from the corner of her eye, watching as Logan presses a hand to his abdomen before sitting. He gives her a look after he’s seated, which for some reason makes Veronica want to laugh.

What? He seems to ask with his face. Veronica shakes her head.

Nothing. She presses her lips together, looking his torso up and down. You look good too, she hopes he understands. From the gentle tip of his head, she thinks he does.

The smile dies on her lips when she sees Jackie tracking their exchange.

Sourness curdles instead.

Veronica reaches for the bottle of wine on the table, and pours herself a glass. She’s about to pour one for Jackie when she remembers that she can’t.

Well. She puts the bottle down, and turns to Jackie instead.

“So,” she starts, and Jackie cuts her eyes in Veronica’s direction.

“Do I have you to thank that I won’t be able to shower until I get home?”

Jackie gives her a strange look. “Excuse me?”

“I’m Mrs. Mars this weekend. Logan and I are sharing a room.”

Jackie looks away. Probably over at Logan, who is busy talking with Wallace about something. She reaches for Veronica’s glass of wine and takes a small sip. “Don’t know what you’re implying, Veronica.”

“I don’t really know what I’m implying either,” Veronica admits.

“Well it’s not my fault neither of you are married. Or has a significant other, or whatever. What, I just shouldn’t have invited you?”

That rankles. What Veronica wants to say is, probably you should have picked a different destination if you wanted more people to be able to attend, but, it’s not her bachelorette party. Bach party. She’s just going to call it a bach party. Yeah.

“Well it was pretty awkward,” Veronica says, too quietly for the guys to hear. “And if that desk agent wasn’t high as a kite—” Jackie laughs, and Veronica inadvertently cracks a smile. “—We would not be sitting here beside you right now.”

“Oh come on ,” Jackie wheedles. “Like it can be that hard to pretend to be in love with…that,” she goads, rolling her eyes. Veronica presses her lips together, suppressing a frown. She glances at Logan.

She’d accused Jackie of being in love with Logan once before, and it hadn’t gone over very well. Apart from that, Jackie’s betrothed is sitting right across the table. Veronica bites the inside of her cheek. Well. Maybe it’s a double standard, then. Everyone seems to accept it as fact that Veronica isn’t interested in Wallace romantically. Maybe it’s best if she gives Jackie the same benefit of the doubt. Which means, though…what? It means what?

Food starts arriving then, and Hamilton Cho sits on Veronica’s other side, which surprises her. His wife sits on his other side. She’s not sure if Hamilton is in the wedding or not (he’s not, right?) but apparently no one is pulling, er, wedding rank here, or anything. Food starts coming out of some nearby kitchen, and soon Veronica is swept up in a decently nice evening and decently nice conversation. Hamilton is a doctor now. Of course he is, so, there’s that, and they have a kid at home.

Red wine pours. Food is served family-style. Every seat is filled, and music plays from somewhere. Veronica finds herself laughing about some anecdote. She finds that she sort of wishes Logan was sitting next to her, especially when she has to explain to him one or two things that Hamilton has said that made her laugh. Candles burn in simple hurricane cylinders, and as the sun sets Veronica: a) wants to send a picture to Logan as a joke, and b) realizes how beautiful everything is here.

After debating for a second, she pulls out her phone.

Logan sees the glint of metal, and raises his eyebrows.

Veronica grins around her screen, lining up the shot. She’s facing West; Logan is in the way, but then again maybe he’s not.

“Since you sent me all those photos from Mexico,” she explains, and Logan’s eyes light up.

Veronica focuses, and then takes the picture. She holds her phone in her lap, checking the quality. She doesn’t own the newest phone, or anything, but it works. She locks the phone and puts it away.

Jackie is looking at her strangely.

“What?” Veronica asks. Jackie sort of frowns.

“Nothing.”

Veronica doesn’t know what to do with that, and she isn’t really interested in trying, so she turns back to Hamilton, and asks what sort of thing doctors do for fun.

And it turns out they all have the same taste in TV.

“I know!” Veronica is saying. “I just – did they get the condo in Daytona Beach? I should really look into this.”

“They really did,” Hamilton’s wife says, leaning forward. “I saw it on the Czech version of Instagram.”

“There’s a Czech version of Instagram?”

“Oh yeah. Foto hmota. I think it’s a rough translation.” Veronica looks around the table with wide eyes, waiting for anyone else to confirm. No one does; no one apparently speaks Czech.

“What’s going on?” Logan asks, from the other side of the table. Veronica grins.

“Adéla and Karolína live in Florida now.” Logan’s brows shoot up.

“No way?”

“Way!” Veronica confirms.

“Um,” Jackie interjects. “Who? Who are Adéla and Karolína?”

Wallace leans forward, ostensibly reaching for the bottle of wine. “It’s from Veronica’s stupid show,” he answers, shaking his head. “Some knockoff of Real Housewives.”

“Um, it’s called Verified Partners of the Czech Republic, and it has nothing to do with any American broadcast cable show, because that would be an infringement of copyright law, obviously,” Veronica says, light sarcasm coating her tone. Logan grins fully.

“But—” Jackie says, and she’s not really looking at anyone in particular. “Logan hates reality shows.”

Veronica feels her grin slip. What?

“What? No he doesn’t.”

Jackie turns to her. “Yes he does. I tried to get him into Top Chef for like, ages. And that’s a good reality show.”

“They’re all good,” Veronica protests, not sure why she’s defending her taste in trash TV.

She looks to Logan in askance, and he looks decidedly…nervous. He reaches for his glass of wine, and shrugs as he takes a sip. “It’s a pretty compelling show,” he finally says, and Veronica watches Jackie’s shoulder slump.

Maybe they would’ve talked about it further, except, the dessert comes out.

“It is a really good show,” Hamilton whispers to her, and Veronica looks at the fancy sponge cake on her plate, and decides that it doesn’t really matter.

 

Everyone sits around talking for way too long. There’s an actual coffee service after, which Veronica declines. She notes that Logan does takes some, in a tiny little espresso cup. He sees her staring.

“You want my cookie?” he asks, holding up the little one that came with the caffeine. Veronica debates for about half a second, then nods. Logan hands it over.

“I didn’t realize you were so…” she says, and then thinks better of it. “You’re going to the hike tonight, aren’t you?”

Logan’s eyes are glowing. “You’re not? No, you’re definitely coming with me.”

“In these heels? Oh no. Definitely not.”

“C’mon,” he goads, coffee forgotten. “What if there’s a shooting star.”

“Then I will see it from the safety of my cozy fire. Maybe I’ll take a bath while you’re gone.”

Logan looks quickly away.

Veronica smiles into her cookie.

And then the smile…falters. What is she doing?

She glances at Jackie, and is glad to see that she’s absorbed in conversation with someone Veronica doesn’t recognize. Was anyone else watching? She glances around, and…Wallace catches her eye, but he wasn’t listening either, if that’s genuine interest in his expression.

That…that might have been some flirting. She’s not totally sure. But it was certainly flirting-adjacent.

Veronica leans back in her chair, holding the remains of her cookie. She’s…she’s definitely not interested in Logan. Right? Not like that. She doesn’t want to look at him, so she stares at her hand. Is he interested in her? Probably not, not like that. But she is heterosexually female, and he is probably heterosexually male, and…they’re sharing a shower for the next 36 hours. And they’re both single… Veronica bites the inside of her lower lip, trying to be careful of whatever remaining lipstick there is. She’ll have to reapply.

Veronica shoves the last bit into her mouth, and talks around the crumbs. “I’m definitely not hiking with you,” she warns, and Logan snorts into his tiny cup.

 

On their way back to their suite, again arm in arm, because…well because there are people around, Veronica supposes, Veronica rationalizes that even if it is flirting, it’s harmless. They’re not going to get together, or anything. Their roles are very defined.

“You know, before the hike is the yoga,” he reminds her. Veronica groans.

“Don’t remind me.”

“What, you don’t like yoga?”

“Do I look like I like yoga? No, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.” They’re quiet for a moment, and then Veronica adds: “I tried it once. It didn’t go well.”

Logan arches an eyebrow at her. “Maybe you just didn’t have a good teacher.”

“It was a video on the internet. Pretty sure she was an expert.”

They get to their room, and Veronica hangs back while Logan opens the door. She watches him slip the keycard in and out, and wonders how many times he’s done it before in his life. Then she remembers that he’s living at the Grand.

“Hey, what’s with the hotel thing?” she asks, and maybe she’s a little tipsy? But she’s not going to deny that she’s curious. Logan glances at her, before pushing open the door.

“What hotel thing?”

She walks past him, dropping her clutch onto the nearest surface. “The Grand. You’re staying at the hotel?”

When Logan doesn’t respond, Veronica turns to look at him. The door is closed behind him.

“What, is your castle getting fumigated, or something.”

Logan grins a little. “Who says I don’t have a back-up castle?” he says, and she’s pretty sure that he’s joking. He shrugs a shoulder. “What if I just like the Grand?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “No one likes the Grand. You tolerate the Grand, because it is big and monstrous and fancy.”

His eyes are glowing. “I own part of the Grand.”

Oh.

“...Oh.”

So far, they’ve managed to get around the subject of Logan’s wealth. She doesn’t want to know his net worth, okay? In part, because it would make her feel small and stupid, and for another…well, okay, so that’s basically it, okay?

“Is that what you do then? You’re a…” what are they called what are they called, “a…monopolizer?”

He laughs with half his mouth. “A what?”

“You know,” she says, sliding a hand through her hair. “I dunno. Monopoly? Don’t they have the hotels?”

“A hotelier?” 

“If you say so.”

Logan slides his hands into his pockets. “No. I’m not a hotelier.”

Irrational anger spears through her, then. Why won’t he just tell her what he does? Is that so hard?

“Well,” Veronica says. “I’m going to change.”

Logan nods, and looks to his shoes. “I’ll change after you.”

She doesn’t know why her gaze narrows into a glare, but it does. She goes to her bag, open on one of those folding tables by the far wall, and fishes out her pajamas. She packed them not thinking anyone else would be seeing them, and she almost puts them back inside.

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me for my PJs,” she warns. Logan gives her a strange look.

“Okay?”

“Just saying.”

“Are they particularly funny?”

She clutches them to her chest, and walks backwards towards the bathroom. “No.”

 

Veronica just…likes to be comfortable, okay? She just likes to be comfy. So yes, her fuzzy pajama pants have little bunnies on them, but they were a Christmas present, okay? If Logan asks she’s going to tell him they were a Christmas present. Veronica had planned to wear them with a plain shirt, no bra, but…that’s out of the question. So she pulls on the sweatshirt she brought with her, and hopes it’s baggy enough not to be inappropriate.

She steps out, and Logan has…decided not to wait, apparently.

He looks over when he hears the door open, that is probably what made him turn, and…he’s not wearing a shirt.

No, the shirt he’s about to put on is sort of around his forearms, as if he was just about to pull it over his head, when…he stopped.

He’s got pajama pants on himself, a sort of loose-looking flannel.

All at once he seems to remember what’s going on, and he starts moving again, shrugging on the shirt. Veronica tries to banish the picture of him without it.

It’s surprisingly hard to do.

“Did you want more wine?” he asks, and Veronica glances to the deck outside. “I uh. I brought it in. It’s probably still good, right? Did you want to open something else instead?”

Right. Yes, it’s fine, she thinks, and then she realizes she hasn’t said this out loud.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Logan nods, looking her up and down. Veronica pulls herself up straighter, and looks at the carpet as she moves towards the couch in front of the fire. It’s just down to embers now, but there are logs decoratively arranged in a fancy pile right next to it, and she throws one in, a little haphazard.

“I’m guessing you were never a Girl Scout,” Logan says, voice teasing. Veronica looks over her shoulder.

“Says who? Maybe this is the best way to start a fire.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Logan adds.

Veronica frowns at him. “Pretty sure you’re missing yoga,” she says, petulant. Then she looks at his pants. “And you’re not even dressed for it.”

“What if I thought the fire idea sounded nice?” he asks, rhetorically. “Thought we could watch a movie, or something…” Logan looks around the room, and Veronica does the same.

Ah. No TV.

“Or…a book,” he considers. “Maybe read a book.”

Veronica gives him a look. “Did you bring a book?”

“Of course.”

She gives him a slightly different look. “No way. A book? A real book?”

“Yes, it might surprise you to know that I am, in fact, literate.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and Logan puffs a bright laugh.

“Fine, read your book,” she contends, eyeing the places to read. “I am going to watch a movie on my phone.”

Logan puts up his hands, then walks to his bag. She’s desperately curious to know what he’s reading, but she decides it would be impolite to ask. Or it would be too obviously interested, so she doesn’t. She finds her old glass of wine, pours out what remained from before dinner, then refills it from the bottle.

Veronica turns, and sees Logan on the couch.

He’s all lit up by the flames, and he’s got a book propped in his lap, one ankle crossed over the other knee. He’s stretching out his arms with his eyes on the pages, and the shirt he’s wearing stretches and strains. Veronica bites her lip, and takes the bed.

She was going to anyway, right? Oh, that’s right. She has to make a bed for Logan on the floor. Well, he can figure that out later.

Logan turns when she pulls back the covers.

“What, you’re not going to sit on the couch?”

“You take up all the room,” she argues, sliding between the sheets. “Plus I’m sleepy.” The sheets feel amazing. Veronica glances again at the fire across from her, popping merrily as the wood burns. Even with the windows closed, she can hear the sounds of the ocean breaking against the shore. It’s very…relaxing.

Veronica hunkers down and puts in an earbud. Her glass of wine is on the bedside table. She’s got her bunny PJs on. It’s going to be a great Friday night. 

Logan looks her over with a vaguely pinched expression, gaze seeming to linger. “What?” she asks him, and Logan meets her stare.

“Nothing,” he says. He turns back to his book.

Veronica adjusts a pillow. Fine, she thinks. She starts up a movie.

A minute passes. Then two.

Veronica is just starting to get into it, when the mattress dips on the other side.

Veronica looks up, and sees Logan looking over her shoulder. “What’re you watching?” he asks. Veronica glares at him.

“A movie.”

“What movie?”

She tries to hide it. “Does it matter? How’s your book,” she asks, pointedly.

Logan deflects. “I’ve read it before.” Veronica’s frown deepens. She mouths: Not my problem, and Logan smirks. “Seriously,” he says. “What’re you watching? I’m bored.”

Veronica feels like arguing that it is not her job to entertain him, but, she doesn’t. She sighs and tilts the screen so he can see it.

He squints at it. “Is that the…”

“Yes,” Veronica admits, resigned.

Logan grins. “Oh. Okay. Where’s the other earbud.”

Veronica tries to keep up the frown as she looks at him. She’s watching that Julia Roberts movie, about the friend’s wedding. It’s Logan’s fault! He put the idea in her head. That was…weeks ago, actually. Hm. Realizing he’s not going to back off, Veronica forces a blustery sigh and threads her hands through the sheets for the other headphone. She traces the wire, and then hands it to Logan.

“Sweet,” he says, popping it in and adjusting it for his comfort. “Thanks.”

Veronica shushes him, and turns back to the tiny screen.

 

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep.

She does, though. She does fall asleep. And maybe it’s the coffee that keeps Logan awake, but she sort of rouses enough to realize he’s getting out of bed again, some indeterminate amount of time later. It’s a blurry image, and there’s definitely not enough light to see anything real, especially with what’s left of the fire. She makes a protesting noise, and Logan shushes her in the way that someone tries to keep babies asleep. Veronica gives up. If he needs something from her, he’s going to have to get it himself.

When she wakes up again, it’s to the sound of a shower turning on. She’s still so sleepy that it barely registers, especially with the sound of the distant waves, crashing against the distant shore. Is this some murderer? she thinks, while her body tries to get her to wake. She gazes blearily at the shape of the person getting into the shower.

No , she tells her subconscious. It’s just Logan.

Quieted, she falls asleep again.

Notes:

TBC...

Chapter 12: you are cordially invited to not get ahead of yourself

Veronica wakes up in a bed of clouds.

Her eyes flutter open, and she starts thinking about…about Disney princesses, honestly. Is this how Snow White’s life went? Cinderella? Surely it must be something like this, to wake up in such comfort and luxury.

And…warmth.

Veronica’s lazy grin hitches, as sensations catch up to her.

That’s…that’s very warm. And heavy.

Veronica shoots up in bed.

“What—?” comes a voice from her side, and Veronica looks straight ahead, heart racing.

Logan. Logan didn’t find his own bed last night.

Logan is shirtless in bed beside her.

“Oh shit,” he yelps, and she can barely see the way he jerks away. She has tunnel vision, she can’t look away, all she can focus on is her breathing and the cold empty fireplace on the far wall –  “Oh shit!” he swears again. He scrambles from bed. “I – I didn’t mean to. Seriously, Veronica, I’m so sorry, I – I was just tired after the hike, and, and I only meant to lie down for a minute, and —”

“It’s fine,” Veronica says, even though it isn’t. Her skin still feels all alight with the sensation of contact.

Shit.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again.

Veronica’s gaze drops to the blankets. Her heart is still racing, and she presses the heel of her hand into it.

She closes her eyes. Her mind is supplying all the things she didn’t immediately recognize: Logan, all wrapped around her in sleep. His arm had been a warm, heavy weight across her stomach. His leg had been thrown over both of hers.

Does she believe him? That it was accidental?

She chances a glance at him. He looks…miserable, honestly. In total despair. He’s breathing just as fast as she is. Veronica feels her shoulders drop half an inch. She would feel a lot better if he was wearing a shirt, though. Does he wax? Oh god maybe he waxes. Veronica pulls her knees up, and scrunches her fists over her face.

“I’ll…” he starts to say, and he turns and walks right out onto the balcony.

The louder crash of the waves wakes her up a little more, when it comes in through the open door. Logan doesn’t close it behind him, and when she peeks, she can see him bracing his hands on the railing, his massive shoulders steepled as he looks over the edge.

Veronica bites her cheek, staring at him. Her heart is finally starting to slow down. It just…it surprised her, is all. Is that it? It was just a surprise.

Her body remembers the soft warmth of his skin against hers. Her sweatshirt had ridden up sometime in the night, and Logan’s forearm was flush against bare skin. She reaches between the curves of her body to feel that skin now.

It’s…no big deal. No big deal, right? It’s not like he’s violated her, or anything. And clearly he feels just as bad as she does. Veronica’s brow pinches a little.

She pushes back the remains of the blanket, and puts her feet on the floor.

It’s cold out here, is her first thought, at the first gust of wind. Veronica tucks her hands inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt, wrapping her arms around herself. Logan turns at the sound of her shudder.

“It’s cold,” she says, even though he must clearly know this. He’s still, definitely not even wearing a shirt.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again, and she believes him. She doesn’t look at him, jaw tight, not really sure what to say. She takes the last few steps to the rail, and stands next to him. Not near enough to touch - not nearly so close as that, but.

But.

“It’s fine,” she says, and it’s clear Logan doesn’t believe her. “Seriously, I’m okay. You’re okay, right? Everyone’s okay.”

She chances another glance at him, and Logan’s expression twists. He looks back at the ocean.

“Logan…” she murmurs, and he doesn’t turn around. She feels a small prick of annoyance. “What, did you roofie me?” she blurts, and he still doesn’t turn. “Have I been raped? No. So I’m fine. And you can stop moping,” she adds. 

Logan tenses. She can see him tense with a hundred things to say…and then he shakes his head. His shoulders drop.

“I’m not moping.”

“Well I should hope not,” she argues, rubbing at her nose with her sleeve. “You got a shower, and some exercise, and you got to sleep in the bed last night. I mean, what’s there to complain about?”

He looks at her, over one bare shoulder. Veronica pointedly does not look at his half-nudity. She hikes up her shoulders against her clenched grip. “Now, I am very cold. So I’m going to go inside, because I didn’t even wash my face last night, and I’m going to do that, and I’m also going to pee. Maybe you could ask for someone to send us some coffee, or something.”

Logan makes a sort of strained noise. Veronica looks at him, expectantly. “Yes?”

He twists his lips together, and rakes a hand over his head, looking away. Clearly he’s still waiting for her to like, hit him or something. “There’s a…a tea ceremony.”

Veronica clenches her jaw. Oh. Right.

“Maybe still ask for the coffee,” she suggests, and after a moment, Logan finally…huffs.

By the time Veronica is out of the bathroom, Logan is on the phone. He looks up when the door opens, and it’s an interesting sensation to have him look at her while talking to someone else. He’s clearly trying to gauge her mood.

A part of her is still reliving the feeling of waking up all up in him, all wound together like that.

She’s glad that he’s managed to find himself a shirt.

Veronica gestures to the sink, and Logan nods, saying something else into the receiver.

“What suite are we?” 

He appears to be repeating the question. 

“Um…” he says, looking around.

“The Shalom suite,” Veronica stage-whispers, and Logan covers the receiver so he can mouth: Thank you.

Veronica doesn’t know why she grins a little, but she does. She picks at her toiletries, finding the ones that she wants for the shower. She really needs to wash her face and brush her teeth, but she wants to wash her body more. In part just to get some of the Logan off of her, geez.

Veronica’s gaze loses focus for a moment. Had it really been so terrible to be held like that? Her grip tightens on her toothbrush.

That’s that concept – reiki, right? She’s sure she saw that in a show somewhere. The whole concept of just, like…gentle touch or something. That humans need touch. She’s never been much of a cuddler, honestly. And she’d be lying if she tried to say that she didn’t wake up with flashbacks of situations when she woke up in unfamiliar scenarios, unsure of how she got there and what led to them. She knows she wasn’t drugged last night…but she’s unsure how else to explain the really thorough sleep she got last night. Especially with Logan wrapped around her like a sloth to a log.

Veronica hears Logan hang up the phone, and she looks at him. Her cheek puckers with a frown.

“Could you…” she starts to say, and Logan’s brows are raised with a certain expression of vulnerability. Veronica tries again. “D’you think you could sit out in the hall?” she asks. She knows they went over their whole system, with the eye mask, but.

But.

“Of course,” he answers immediately. She sees him look around the room, and then he grabs his phone, and his book. “Absolutely. Just call or something? Just shout when you’re done.”

Veronica nods, but Logan isn’t even looking at her – he’s just walking right towards the door to their suite, and within seconds he’s disappeared behind it.

Veronica allows for a soft smile. Seriously though. Points for Logan, probably. He didn’t get defensive, he didn’t shout at her…hm. Interesting.

 

Veronica showers quickly, efficiently. Shampoos her hair, scrubs her face, then her body - does a quick shave for good measure, and brushes her teeth in the running water.

It would be rude to hog their room just to get dressed, so she wraps herself in a big fluffy robe, throws a smaller towel over her hair, and then crosses to the front door, and opens it.

Logan is leaning back against the wall, head tipped back and staring at nothing. When he turns to face her, his head just rolling to the side - he clearly looks like someone lost deeply in thought. His phone and his book at by his feet on the ground.

“All done,” she announces, and Logan nods and stands.

“And,” he adds, before gesturing to what had been hidden behind him.

Veronica breaks into a grin. “Coffee.”

 

Logan goes through his morning routine as Veronica drinks coffee and scrolls her phone. She picks out her clothes and changes in the closet. Simple today: dark jeans and a sweater. Nothing fancy. Self-conscious of Logan’s ability to see everything she does to her face, she keeps the make-up minimal, and blow dries her hair to its natural straight. It’s just breakfast, afterall.

Logan still looks tightly-wound.

“You ready to go?”

Veronica watches him for a moment, where he’s hovering by the door, looking around the bedroom part for whatever they’ll need. She realizes that she’s just sort of entrusted him with the keycard, for some reason. Does she have her own? Maybe she should get her own.

But it’s just…there’s a degree of awkwardness between them still. Like Veronica is still going to bolt maybe. And she can’t imagine going through the whole day with him walking on egg shells.

“Veroni—?”

She cuts him off.

His back had been turned to her, and Veronica can be stealthy when she needs to be.

So she walks up behind him, and throws her arms around his torso.

It’s a hug.

A hug, right?

“Whu—” is the noise he makes, surprised, unsure what to do with himself. Veronica holds on tight.

“This is a hug,” she explains to him, and Logan is still a very tense sort of statue. “So we’re even.”

He makes a strained sort of laughing noise, like he’s…trying.

Veronica holds onto him, pressing her face into his back. He smells like…well, like boy. Like man, except, she doesn’t want to think about that. 

Like warm clean sheets.

And something else: something earthy and pleasant.

She really wants to pull away. But she doesn’t. And finally Logan’s hands drop onto her arms, and he pats them almost nervously.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and Veronica finally slides her arms away.

When Logan turns to look at her, she makes sure her expression is indifferent.

“Well?” she says, and she likes that his eyes have softened around the edges. “Who’s ready for some tea.”

They’re late, but it’s fine. Things are slightly less awkward between them…

Until they walk right through the doors.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Mars!” It’s the same desk attendant as from yesterday afternoon. Does she live here?? It’s so early. The woman lowers her voice conspiratorially to talk to Veronica. “I hope that’s okay. I couldn’t remember your husband’s name.”

Veronica would be more polite, except that Logan’s arm had shot out at the first sign of this lady, and wrapped Veronica tightly against his side. The effort to smile feels mostly painful.

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Veronica says, Logan’s grip tight and unyielding. “We’re just here for the tea?”

“Oh we have so many,” the lady continues, with that glazed, pleasant look to her face. “Oolong. Spiced oolong. Green. Spiced green. Black. Yellow.”

“Spiced yellow?” Veronica asks, trying to get an inch away from Logan.

The woman’s face darkens. “Absolutely not,” she says. She gives Veronica a look as if Veronica had just asked for hard drugs. Which honestly feels a little ironic.

Had she just asked for drugs?

“Um. We’ll just get over to the buffet now.”

Veronica feels the hard stare of the woman on her back all the way to the far table, Logan’s grip a vice.

“Okay,” Veronica murmurs, hopefully out of earshot. “Pretty sure spouses don’t do this.”

Logan is grimacing helplessly. “I wouldn’t know,” he answers.

Veronica feels the instinct to grin.

“Okay, everyone,” comes a serene, floaty voice from the front of the room. Veronica glances over, and sees an older woman wearing what looks to be a sort of curtain. “It’s time to connect and reflect…please find your seats with your partner…”

Veronica and Logan look at each other, panic in their eyes. They’re both very hungry, apparently.

“I’ll grab the croissants.”

“I’ll grab the fruit.”

“Is there tea? Should there be tea?”

Logan is too busy sweeping melon into a bowl. “Uh.” He looks around. There are little poof cushions everywhere, next to low tables. Nearly all of them are taken by couples. “No there’s definitely already tea.”

Veronica feels her stomach grumble. “Oh man I could just eat a tea pot right now.”

Logan laughs beside her.

Veronica has a whole plate of baked goods and artisanal cheeses on a plate, and she ignores the stares of everyone else as she aims for a poof near the back. Most everyone is settling in, empty plates already bussed. Veronica nudges aside the clay cups of tea and the pot, still steaming from its spout.

She spies Wallace and Jackie near the front, already facing each other, smiling softly.

For a moment Veronica sort of loses track of her surroundings.

They just look so…so…

Veronica shoves half a small brown muffin into her mouth, then looks at her fingers. Dang. It’s a good muffin. Orangey? And cinnamony? Logan takes the neighboring cushion and she points to it encouragingly.

The serene lady speaks again from the front: “Now if you’ll just find somewhere comfortable, knee to knee.”

Veronica and Logan look at each other with rounded eyes.

“Um,” Veronica whispers. Logan is pulling a paper off a muffin. He eats it all in one bite, and Veronica nearly giggles.

They shuffle into position.

“Hold hands,” the woman says, voice all echo-ey and grave. Veronica would roll her eyes, but she’s too busy looking at whatever else she could sneak in before they have to start doing stuff.

Logan puts his hands out, palms up. Veronica swipes a piece of some sort of loaf and crams it into her mouth. It’s way too much for her cheeks, so she has to chew carefully as she puts her hands into Logan’s.

He’s got a small grin on.

What, she says in her mind, brow furrowed, still chewing in monstrous bites.

Logan shakes his head. Nothing.

“Now, we begin,” the woman says from the front. “Most of you know me already. I am Cassandra. You may call me Moon Mother—”

“Not calling her that,” Veronica grunts around her food. Logan chuckles.

“—and together, we will find deep meaning in our shared love of one another. In the love that connects us, and connects each other. Meet your partner’s eyes. Look deeply.” There’s a pause, so Veronica figures she might as well comply with the direction. “What color are they? ”

Cassandra is wandering through the group, and Veronica glances away to see where she’s going.

“Ah hem,” Logan coughs, and Veronica looks back at him. She swallows hard.

Oh please, she wants to tell him. Her hands are still in his. Logan looks pointedly at the rest of the loaf on the plate.

Veronica grins. She glances again at Moon Mother, whose back is currently turned. Quick as a flash she picks up the loaf piece and shoves it into Logan’s open mouth.

Thanks, he seems to say with his grin, still chewing. Veronica is sure hers is matching.

“Are they brown? ” Cassandra asks, apparently oblivious. “Are they the blue of newborn whales. The gray of bird waste. The green of fresh lichen.”

“Did she just say— ”

“Shhh,” Logan says, matching Veronica’s whisper, his grin fighting through. Veronica turns her wide eyes back to Logan.

She stares into Logan’s laughing eyes. What color are his eyes? Not the color of bird shit, clearly.

They’re…brown. Well. She knew this. She knows they’re brown. They’re a nice shade of brown, surely. Warm and dark and pleasant.

“Your eyes are brown, FYI,” she whispers. Logan leans closer to hear her, then leans back into place.

“Yours are blue,” he whispers back.

“Good to know.”

“Not like bird waste.”

Veronica grins.

Cassandra walks right behind Logan, and Veronica’s gaze snaps up there. Cassandra is giving her a hard look.

Well. Apparently the connecting is supposed to be mostly silent. Veronica sighs, and glances again at the plate of food. Logan pulses her hands, as if to say: soon.

 

They get through the rest of the tea ceremony, which is stupid and embarrassing.

“Tell your lover something that scares you,” Cassandra implores.

Veronica is tired and hungry. “This, this scares me,” she whispers, mostly joking. Logan grins. When he doesn’t answer, she looks at him. “You?”

He squints, the effort lopsided. “Snakes?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “I doubt that.”

“Hey, snakes can be scary.”

“Seriously? How many snakes have you encountered in the last year.”

Logan shrugs. When Veronica is still looking at him, he seems to tighten his jaw, as if debating whether to say anything. Veronica raises her brows.

“I…used to not enjoy heights,” Logan admits. When Veronica just waits, Logan blows out a sigh, expression tight. “For another time,” he explains. 

Veronica reflects on this. Cassandra mumbles some other direction, but Veronica’s not paying attention. “Used to not enjoy heights?” she asks. Logan grins a little.

Oh. He’s keeping secrets.

“You’re a tightrope walker,” she guesses. “An arborist. No. You’re one of those dudes who washes windows on skyscrapers.”

Logan laughs under his breath. She’d almost forgotten they were holding hands until his shake beneath hers.

“Close.”

Veronica suddenly wants to stick out her tongue. Seriously. This is the dumbest game of Rumplestilskin she’s ever played. Why won’t he tell her?

Then there’s the part where they have to serve each other tea (of course), and Veronica has to pay much more attention to his mouth than she’d like in order not to burn him, choke him, or spill tea all down his shirt.

But, this is what marriage is like, right?

Like Logan said: she wouldn’t really know.

It finally wraps up (Logan has to put his head in her lap, which Veronica considers a better option to the alternative. But she still has to lay her hands over his face and not give in to the urge to press down just because, all while trying to picture his face in her heart song), and everyone sort of stays to mingle. Veronica and Logan finally get to eat, which they do - eating has the added bonus of helping them avert potential small talk with others.

“Did they put something on this melon?” Veronica asks Logan, through food.

Logan swallows hard. “They have to. It tastes better than normal melon.”

“This is what I’m saying.”

Wallace walks up to them, and she recognizes him by his inhale.

He’s about to say something, but when she looks at him, Wallace is looking at both of them with wide eyes, seeming to think better of it.

“Uh—” Wallace says. Veronica swallows. “I can come back?”

Veronica rubs at the corners of her mouth. “No, we’re done.” They can take the rest to go.

“We uh. We missed sunrise yoga,” Logan explains, holding his plate very close to his chest. Veronica grins.

“Shucks,” she says, with an exaggerated snap.

Wallace is still looking between them. “Well, uh,” he says, rolling his lips together. “Just making sure you guys are okay.”

“Of course!” Veronica says brightly. “This place is really nice, Wallace.”

“Yeah, but,” he says, and the tension in his gaze lets Veronica know what he’s talking about.

He smells like earth and clean laundry.

Veronica feels a bit less bright.

“Ah. Right,” she says. Veronica gives Logan a meaningful look. “Our secret marriage. The secret matrimony that was frankly unknown even to us until yesterday afternoon.”

Logan is grinning at her, crumbs in his teeth. Veronica has to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“We figured it out,” she assures Wallace, and she hopes he understands just how platonic everything is. “Seriously,” she adds, when it looks like he wants to say something more. He’s clearly concerned for her, because, well, he’s her best friend. “We’re fine.”

“Not my first time sleeping in a tub,” Logan says, jovial. 

Veronica and Wallace both look at him, and Logan meets Veronica’s stare. She knows her eyes are asking him a question, but he doesn’t answer it.

“Well, as long as you guys are okay…”

“We really are,” Veronica says, but she doesn’t break Logan’s stare all at once. When she does, it’s to give Wallace a genuine, warm smile. “Pinky promise.”

Chapter 13: you are cordially invited to chillax

Veronica and Logan walk back to their room in companionable silence, bellies full of good food, well meditated and all that. For now, anyway. Well meditated for now. Veronica’s sure there’s more meditation on the itinerary somewhere.

She hears it when Logan opens his mouth. And then closes it.

“What,” she asks, calm. Ambivalent.

Logan scratches the back of his neck. “I dunno. I just…can’t figure out Wallace’s concern.”

Veronica’s expression tilts. “Seriously?” she asks, because that’s a weird thing to think about.

“Um. I just… Is that what Wallace looks like…jealous?”

Veronica stops walking. When Logan does too, she draws his stare.

“Seriously?”

Logan clearly realizes that he’s said something wrong. 

“No, I just mean—”

“Wallace is my brother. Seriously. He’s getting married. To Jackie, who is apparently your best friend. Maybe this is where you tell me whether Jackie ever gets jealous of you.”

Veronica suddenly remembers a conversation she had with the bride-to-be in a different sort of hallway.

“No, but—”

“I’ve seen Wallace lose his shit a few times over a girl. Maybe twice. And let me tell you, it is stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“You still have teeth, don’t you? Pretty sure he’s not in love with me.”

Logan seems to pale.

Veronica frowns. “Please. It’s probably flattering, but it’s also old.” She starts to walk again, and looks over her shoulder when she passes him by. “Besides, even if he was, I’m not in love with him.”

She’s at least ten feet ahead when Logan blows out a breath, and she can hear his hopping steps as he moves to catch up with her. Veronica keeps her chin high.

“You’re right,” Logan says, and for the second time today, he seems to be apologizing for something. “We already talked about this, and, I get it.”

“Thank you,” she says, seeing the approaching door. A glance from her corner vision shows Logan’s lips twisting together.

She…maybe takes pity on him. He has a vested interest in Wallace’s romantic entanglements, after all. His best friend is going to be walking down the aisle next weekend (holy crap that’s in a week) and if there’s a chance Wallace is going to be an asshole then Logan probably wants to know now. Veronica had honestly wanted to be sure of the same, a few weeks ago.

She’s just also confident that she can make Jackie’s life hell in other ways, should something go wrong.

But – why the hell would it go wrong?

Veronica clears her throat, threading her hands behind her back. “So,” she says, when the door is close. “What’s next for today?”

“Ah,” says Logan, clearly feeling calmer in neutral territory. He pulls the keycard from his back pocket and opens the suite door. Will he want a shower this morning? Maybe he’s a morning shower person. Veronica is a big fan of morning showers. And night showers. Honestly all of the showers.

He unlocks the door and pushes it open for her. Another little gesture of apology maybe? Hm. She walks right through.

“Well, I believe it’s sort of a do-what-you-will day,” Logan continues, picking up the itinerary. Veronica flops down on the unmade bed and pulls out her phone. “There’s morning Bikram yoga—”

“Bikra…what?”

“Like the hot yoga? WIth the sweating?”

Veronica makes a face. “Pass.”

Logan nods. “And a cliffside meditation hour. There’s an afternoon hike to the beach, which is listed as moderate —”

Veronica scrunches her nose. “Yeah I’m a very confident beginner, in the hiking department.”

Logan grins.

Veronica suddenly remembers. “Hey,” she says, interrupting him. “You went on the hike last night? What was that like?”

Logan looks at her. And she wonders whether he’s about to tell her a joke, or something, when he…clearly opts for honesty. “It was really great, actually,” he says, and he straightens. He tries to shrug, keep it casual, but she gets a sense that he really means it. 

Veronica grins. “Lots of shooting stars?”

His eyes glow, interested. “Yes, actually.”

Hm. “Well. Maybe if there’s another hike tonight…you can convince me.”

Logan looks down at the schedule, scanning. His lips twist into a frown. “Well, we can make our own,” he decides, and Veronica feels her insides warm…for not a damn good reason she can think of.

“The only non-physical option here seems to be the spa package.”

She doesn’t know why the word physical option really resonates with her.

“The what now.”

Logan is reading, and his frown begins at his forehead and only continues to grow. Veronica sits up a little. “Logan?”

“Uh,” he finally says, and he pitches a hand at his side. “Hmm.”

“Logan,” she says again.

Logan checks his watch. “The spa package. Massages, et cetera. Probably a steam room. We’d have to reserve a time slot, and they start right now.”

Spa package? Huh. Veronica pictures herself face down on one of those tables, getting a full-body massage to harp music and whale sounds. A face mask with cucumbers over her eyes. Wait, this is a rich person place. A face mask with, like, raw jewels on her eyelids. 

She can handle that.

“You had me at non-physical option,” she says, pointing a finger gun and clicking her tongue.

It turns out the only available option is…now, as someone else hadn’t shown up and their whereabouts are currently being investigated. 

Veronica contemplates this, and decides she’s on vacation, and it’s not her job. Plus she is curious what sort of crystals they’re going to use on her face.

But the downside is that they have no time to prepare. Veronica switches into sandals, grabs a towel and her bathing suit, and holds both against her chest before she and Logan are skipping towards the spa part of this Resort & Spa.

“You sure you want to do this?” Veronica asks, glancing at him as they sort of jog down a hallway. Logan had been so polite on the phone talking to the person on the other end, and she can’t get it out of her head. “Certainly you’re more of a…” She can’t think of a rich person sport. “Uh. Dressage sort of person.”

Logan laughs - he has to stop what he’s doing, bend at the waist, and laugh.

Veronica is grinning. “Hey, that is an Olympic sport, okay. How dare you mock those show ponies. They are horse athletes.”

Logan presses the web of his hand against his eyes. “Oh my god we’re going to be late.” And then he takes off again.

“Polo,” Veronica says, keeping pace. “Are there polo sticks here?”

Logan laughs again, and Veronica is slightly breathless, but she’s on a roll. “Wait, what’s the one where you hit the balls with the mallets and get drunk during the day.”

“Cro–,” Logan says, and he’s trying to keep running and laugh at the same time. “Croquet? ”

“Yeah. How come that’s not an Olympic sport?”

Logan has identified the door to the spa, so he slows his pace. Veronica does the same.

He reaches the door first, and again, he does the absurd thing and holds it open for her. Is this politeness? It feels like weird, boarding school manners-related something. He did technically reach it first though, so it’s probably just that. He’s faster than her.

“Not enough horses,” Logan says, and grinning, they both walk into the spa.

…It’s dark in there.

That’s her first thought.

Veronica has to squint a little, and has the absurd instinct to shade her eyes, as if it will help? Her eyes start to adjust, and she sees that there’s another person in the room, and that there are some low-rising chairs. It’s like an antechamber. A waiting room. Not anything like her waiting room back in Neptune.

Veronica grimaces. Maybe she should paint in there or something. 

Get some of these low-rising chairs.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mars?” comes the floaty voice, and Veronica at first worries it’s the person from before. The voice is different though.

Anticipating Logan’s urge to brace her against his side in these scenarios, Veronica throws out a hand and keeps him at a literal arm’s length.

“Yes?”

“Oh good,” comes the voice. It’s a woman. “We’re so glad you could make it. Please, if you don’t mind, it’s just right through here. Would you like any water? Tea?”

Veronica has the sudden instinct to ask for spiced yellow, just to see what would happen. Logan is squirming against her grip, and he throws out an arm that makes it as far as her shoulder. Veronica hopes it’s dark to the spa lady too. She runs her tongue over her teeth.

“Nope, thanks.”

They follow her, Logan batting Veronica’s hand away, which makes her smack at his hands, and then they’re still pawing at each other and Veronica’s grinning when they round some sort of corner to a hallway with multiple doors and too much incense. The lady brings them to one of them, and inside there are wood-paneled cabinets, a wooden bench, and a chair. It’s like a changing room.

“We’ll just leave you to change,” the woman says, and Veronica’s heart…stops.

She half-turns.

“Excuse me?” she says without thinking.

Her guard down, Logan’s arm snaps around her shoulders. Veronica goes rigid.

“Pudding,” he says, and Veronica frowns. “My, um. My peach tree. You sure you didn’t want some water? Just like, uh. The water we had at our wedding. The wedding that happened. And had all that water.”

Veronica glares at him. Oh jeez.

“No,” she says, with decently mocking sweetness.

The lady looks mildly confused. “Just, um. When you’re done, just - head through that door behind you,” she says, and she freakin bows before scuttling away, closing the door to give them privacy.

Both of them. With each other.

Veronica pushes him away. “Seriously?” she whispers, furious.

Logan drags a hand through his hair.

Veronica has hands on hips. “Just, how much nudity is involved here? And how much of that nudity is expected for us to do together?” she asks him, because she’s sure he knows.

“Probably we could get around it,” he insists, and Veronica’s gaze loses focus for a moment. She forgot that for a massage, there is typically…what, like, a sheet - a whole sheet - between you and the world. The massage doesn’t work so well over all your clothes. Right. Shit. Right, of course. Wait, is it a couples massage?? What does that entail, exactly?? Her gaze snaps to Logan’s anxious face. Is that a thing where you like, massage each other?? Shit. No. No, definitely not. Logan definitely would’ve mentioned if they were going to be massaging each other.

No, that’s definitely not a thing.

“Just…how pissed am I going to be at the end of this?” she asks, carefully.

Logan is rubbing the back of his neck. “We could uh. There’s always pilates. Or meditation.”

Veronica pulls a face. Ugh. Well, no, there’s always the option of just sitting in the hotel room for a couple hours. She could text Wallace, see if he wanted to hang out. Another thought immediately follows: he’s probably busy.

Veronica looks at the door separating them from the world.

And…frankly…she’s curious.

A little, anyway.

She’s never done anything like this. Maybe two massages in her whole life, and one of them was for a case and lasted ten minutes before she had to leap off the table and perform a citizen’s arrest. The other was a birthday present. She’s never really done this…whatever rich people thing this is. And while she has no intention of really enjoying it, she…kind of wants to try it.

She’s definitely not letting Logan put baby oil on her though.

“Just, turn around,” Veronica sighs, and Logan does so without a second warning.

Veronica changes quickly into her bikini and throws on one of the robes hanging on the wall. She stuffs her clothes into the cabinet. Should she bring her phone? She kinda wants to bring her phone, just in case. What if it’s boring? Ugh, she decides against it.

When it’s Logan’s turn to change, she covers her eyes with her hands, twisting her fingers together. He better be wearing a bathing suit , she thinks, shifting her weight. If rich people do all their pampering in the nude she’s going to barf. Probably. No, definitely.

“Okay, all done,” Logan says, and she turns cautiously. Logan is just tying the belt to his robe, and his eyes reflect what little light there is in here.

She notes his bare calves, and his bare feet. She can’t seem to form the question with her mouth: you’re wearing something under there, right?

Logan pushes his clothes into the same locker, then uses the available key to lock it, dropping the key into the pocket of his robe. He seems to have a better idea of what they’re going to do in here. Cucumbers, right?

Non-physical option.

Veronica opens the opposite door, and they continue into a candlelit hallway.

Veronica nearly turns around immediately.

Logan is right behind her, though, so Veronica does the brave thing of taking a step, and then another one, until the hallway opens up into a decently-sized room. It is also lit with candles, and the walls are sort of roughhewn, as if they’re suddenly underground. 

A different attendant is in here, and when she sees Veronica and Logan, her face brightens. She beckons them forward.

“Yes, please,” she says, and as they approach, she starts gesturing towards the ground.

Where there are two mud pits.

Yeah.

Like actual pits of mud.

Veronica is squinting at them. Are they expected to…dig for…treasure in them?

“Please, discard your clothes here,” the woman is suggesting, gesturing now at two wall hooks.

“Our clothes?”

“Yes,” the woman whispers, confirming Veronica’s worst suspicions.

“And do what?” Veronica continues, voice a touch too shrill.

The woman smiles, polite, and gestures to the pits again. Veronica looks at them again. There are little pillows at the far end of each. Almost like it’s a bath. Oh. Right.

The attendant walks out.

Veronica and Logan look at one another.

“I am not getting naked in that,” Veronica tells him.

Logan clicks his tongue. “Well I wouldn’t suggest the robe…”

Veronica frowns at him. She takes off her robe, and hangs it on the hook on the wall. She turns, and stares at the mud pits, hands on hips.

“And we seriously just get in that?”

Logan walks up to her side, and Veronica feels something inside her ease when she realizes he’s also wearing a suit. She doesn’t look closely. Okay, so she peeks.

It’s a blue bathing suit, and it goes to mid-thigh. Not as tight as for some reason she’d thought it would be? Veronica sticks her gaze back on the mud.

Logan tilts his head at her. “Well. We could always go for a run, or something…”

Veronica cringes. “I’ll take my chances with the dirt.”

And this is how Veronica Mars ends up neck-deep in mud.

“Ahhh it’s just so hot!” she complains, and Logan chuckles beside her.

She’s trying to find a comfortable position. Clearly they have put, like, bathtubs into the ground, because she can sort of feel out the edges of it. But the mud is thick, like what she imagines quicksand to be like, and it is heavy? And it is definitely dirt?

“And people like this?”

“Yeah,” Logan explains. “It’s got, like, minerals.”

“Minerals.”

“Well my degree isn’t in…this dirt.”

Veronica grins, lopsided, remembering. “No, I don’t suppose this is ochre.”

“I do not believe it is.”

They glance at each other for a moment, then Veronica settles herself in.

Ugh it’s mud. It’s hot mud, is what she’s sitting in.

She tries not to imagine it getting all over her bikini. Getting under her bikin—

“So, you’ve uh. You’ve done this before?”

She can hear his attempt at a shrug. “Yeah, once or twice.”

Veronica reflects on this for a moment. “I seriously can’t imagine you signing up for this.”

“I told you,” he says, and his hand breaks the surface. “It’s got minerals. And my pores are so…um, porey.”

“Yeah right. Rich people don’t have pores. The oil in your skin simply evaporates into clouds and rainbows.”

He feigns a gasp. “Who told you our secret,” he says. Veronica sticks her tongue out at him. “Careful,” he says with a grin. “This stuff tastes disgusting.”

“I really don’t want to know how you know that.”

“Excuse me, I’m going to start relaxing in my mud now.”

After about two minutes of relaxing silence, Veronica gets bored.

“How long are we supposed to sit here?” she tries not to whine, keeping her voice low in case someone is listening. “Aren’t I minerally enough? I swear I’ve got enough…potassium by now.”

Logan sighs with relief. See? She knew he was bored too.

“No, I think we stay until we become the mud.”

“I will never be clean,” Veronica says with a frown, staring at her fingernails where they poke through the surface.

“What do you think we’re supposed to even do in here?” Logan asks, mild. “Like, what sort of deep conversations are you supposed to have with your spouse like this? I’m not even looking at you.”

Veronica snorts. Then she tries to shift, squishing through thick mud until she’s sort of on her side. It is…not comfortable.

“Better?” she drawls, coquettish.

Logan does a double take, then grins, working until he’s matched her position.

“I expect all of your deep dark secrets now,” Veronica warns him. “Your PIN number. Your mother’s maiden name. The make and model of your first car.”

Logan rolls his eyes slowly. “Oh gosh, where to start. Hmm. Did you know I have a significant phobia of worms?”

Veronica clicks her tongue. “I have bad news for you,” she says, and Logan’s grin shows all his straight teeth.

Veronica bites down on the inside of her cheek. 

Hm.

Well.

No, nevermind.

Seriously, nevermind, it’s got a good air of mystery to it all. She shouldn’t ask. She’s having fun with the not knowing, right?

…Right?

“So…” she starts, and Logan’s expression settles at her tone. “What do you do?”

She’s not imagining it when he obviously goes still.

He wets his lips, which is a risky, risky move. “You really want to know?”

Veronica holds his stare. It’s still just lit with candles in here, and they have an indeterminate amount of time left. What if she has to pee? Oh god what if someone else has peed in this mud. It’s already occurred to her that this tub doesn’t get sterilized between uses, probably. Can’t really bleach a pit of wet dirt.

“Yeah,” she murmurs.

Logan looks away for a moment. He seems to be having some sort of conversation with himself, and she doesn’t interrupt for the whole ten seconds he has it. He meets her stare again. “I’m a…a fighter pilot with the United States Navy.”

Veronica snorts. “Ha ha,” she says, wishing she could splash mud. “I was serious.”

“So was I,” he returns easily. And then he says something even more ridiculous: “Lieutenant Logan A. Echolls, at your service. I fly the FA-18 Super Hornet with the Strike Fighter Squadron 32.” He’s still maintaining eye contact. “Our unit’s nickname is the Fighting Swordsmen.”

The information is processing too slowly. He’s…what? That’s a lot of details for someone who’s joking. He’s already admitted to doing plenty of Wikipedia-ing, but, this is…okay. This is…

“Holy shit you’re serious.”

“I had to swear an oath and everything.”

“But,” Veronica starts to say, and she wishes she were standing, or sitting, or just really not ensconced in mud. “But, you’re like…you’re rich!”

“Yes, my call sign was almost Richy Rich, so. Not my best week.”

Her mind is reeling a bit. He’d…holy crap he’d said back at that engagement party - he’d told Principal Clemmons that he was a pilot. They’d friggen laughed about it!

Shame slithers through her, hot on embarrassment’s heels. Ugh. She’s pretty sure she laughed at him for using that as a line.

Veronica knows what it’s like to be defensive about a job. She’s a friggen private investigator - not really a choice on most ‘what do you do’ forms. But, why wouldn’t Logan have wanted to tell her about it before now?

Are you good at your job?

Yes.

Ugh, right. Good at flying giant combat shooty planes . 

“Well, I…have some time off for the wedding.”

Yeah, time off, as in, like, shore leave.

Veronica wishes she could scrub her face with her hand. 

“That is…so not cool.”

Logan splutters. “What? I mean. Usually… people think it’s…cool.”

“The nickname,” she opines, looking at him again, not really realizing she’d closed her eyes. “Fighting swordsmen? Were the seamen jokes not easy enough?”

Logan is staring at her, his mouth open just a bit, and when her meaning lands, his eyes flare. He starts to smile.

“Seriously,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “I can’t believe you kept that a secret this whole freaking time.”

Satisfied that Logan isn’t going to start crying or something, Veronica turns onto her back and stares at the roughhewn ceiling. 

A combat pilot. That feels…strange, somehow. Strange and also not strange. It makes sense now that he is so freaking fit, but also — Logan has always had lazy, rich person energy. He admitted to being rich. How does…hmm. How does a rich kid end up enlisting in the Navy? And then, realizing it’s not such an easy thing to get through boot camp, to actually…stick to it?

“How—” Veronica starts to ask, before closing her mouth. She twists her lips together. “But your—”

Hm. It’s not quite so easy to broach this subject as thoroughly as her curiosity demands.

“My dad was a movie star,” Logan just dumps into the world, and from his tone, she can guess that they aren’t close. “And yes. The one you’re thinking of. The one who killed himself after murdering my girlfriend, realizing there was so much freaking evidence that he’d never get away with it.”

Well. Definitely not close, then.

“That is very…” Veronica starts, and then she cringes. Oh shit. Echolls. 

Veronica screws her eyes shut again.

She…knows exactly who his dad is, now, because she remembers when it happened, and it was very big news. Seriously? Logan is the son of that guy?

Before Veronica can even get rolling though, her heart sinks. 

She can’t even ask about Logan’s mother, then. The headline was everywhere…

DEAD MOVIE STAR’S WIFE DIES OF ACCIDENTAL OVERDOSE, RULES CORONER

Shit.

Just…shit.

“That is…the shittiest thing I have ever heard,” Veronica says, face all scrunched up, and she hears it when Logan sighs.

“Yeah…” he says, quiet. His tone is darker than she’s heard it up until now. There is clearly a side of him she hasn’t seen yet, and it is of someone who has seen blood shed: his own, and others. It’s the tone of someone who’s fought, and wanted to fight, and probably had not stopped fighting until he couldn’t fight anymore.

She recognizes it, because she knows her voice sometimes sounds the same.

Fleetingly, Veronica almost wonders why he didn’t join the Marines.

“I’m only surprised you didn’t join the Marines, then,” she sighs, matching his tone, sinking into the mud. Logan scoffs.

“I get to keep my fingernails nice in the plane,” he says, and Veronica tries to smile with one corner of her mouth. She turns her face towards him, and finds him already staring back.

Hm.

She…wants to think that, despite the obvious attempt at a joke. Logan probably wants to think that too, honestly. But they don’t just let any kid fly a $35 million fighter jet, no matter who you know or how many…er…military, uh…bunkers you endow. Libraries? There are battle libraries, right? Er. Well, no matter what, you can’t just buy your way in to that job. You can’t just namedrop your way into that job.

Logan would’ve had to try, and work hard, to get that assignment. 

Which speaks to…what, honestly? He admitted to being a decently rowdy teen, so…a redemption arc? Is that what it is? Has he gone through his own sort of redemption arc? Both to showing up his father, whose legacy would always tarnish Logan’s own, and also…maybe something about some irresponsible little rich kid, wanting to prove he could do something worthwhile. There’s always the chance it was motivated by some smarmy PR person, but…Veronica sort of doubts it. 

The whole thing is almost…admirable, honestly.

“What are you thinking?” Logan murmurs, and Veronica realizes he’s been studying her face.

Veronica stares back, then takes a deep breath. Thinking? She’s sort of thinking that Logan’s life has been almost as shitty as hers.

“Just…that I should be asking for more favors, I guess. Seeing as my taxes are paying your salary.”

Logan grins, bright. “Favors?” he asks, and something about the tone of it…warms her more than this stupid tub of mud in the ground.

“Well yeah,” she continues, attempting a nonchalant shrug. “What if I have to move something heavy? Open a jar in the middle of the night?”

Logan laughs. “I’m pretty sure they make devices to help open jars.”

“Yeah but,” Veronica says. “I mean. I basically already paid for one.”

Logan chuckles, and the sound is sort of delicious.

 

Chapter 14: you are cordially invited to keep your hands where we can see them

Someone comes to collect them when Logan is in the middle of describing his first week of basic, and the sensation of getting out is so miserable that the conversation is quite forgotten for now. It’s the squelch of hot mud, honestly. The squelch and the digging of limbs out from the heavy weight of it all. Logan has to help heave her out because she complains she is stuck, but really she just tells him this is part of his civic duties. Logan laughs and helps her out easily.

Hmph, she tells him. At least you’re not slacking on the job.

Veronica is still thinking about this, smiling quietly to herself, so at first she isn’t totally aware where they’re going. The attendant had helped her scrape off most of the mud, so it just sort of sticks to her like a fine sheen of wet, gritty sand. They’re walking out of the dark room wrapped in robes, and then through a curtain and then through a door, until they’re blinking in the sunlight.

Dang. She’d almost forgotten that it’s light outside. How long were they in that cave?

It’s not even lunchtime.

“Right this way,” the attendant says politely, and Veronica realizes they are walking through a sort of an outdoor, fenced hallway now. It almost feels like a carnival maze, except that there is the gurgle of some sort of fountain in the distance. After the heat of the baths it’s downright pleasant to be in the coastal breeze.

Veronica and Logan step into a sort of small walled-off circle, and there are shower heads attached to the wooden walls.

Two of them. Two showerheads.

“When you are done with your rinse, please, continue on to the mineral baths. We will collect you there for the massage.”

Veronica is too consumed by the implications of what they are about to do to listen, let alone respond. Apparently, Logan’s military training has prepared him for this.

“Great, thank you.”

The woman nods. “There is fresh water just on the other side.”

She then just…leaves.

Just leaves them alone in this…private…outdoor…shower.

This couples shower.

Veronica scrunches her face. If she didn’t have mud on, you know, every part of her body she would be rubbing her eyes.

“This really sucks,” she complains.

“Agreed.”

Veronica pushes her hand into her face anyway. She knows the reasonable thing to do right now. She knows what makes the most sense. She just can’t bring herself to voice it. Just stay muddy? Just stay this way forever? Just get mud in their precious mineral bath, whatever that means?

“I promise I can keep my eyes closed,” Logan says, and Veronica feels warmth come to her cheeks.

“We could take turns?” she suggests. She bites down on the inside of her cheek, knowing that there is someone cleaning up in the room behind them, not knowing what lies ahead. What if there’s someone in the next room? What if they’re on some sort of schedule?

“Yeah,” Logan answers. “Um. Okay. You go first.”

“Seriously?” she looks over her shoulder, and Logan is already squeezing his eyes shut tight. He nods, maybe sensing her stare.

Veronica feels her heart speed. Seriously.

No, she wants to say. No, this is stupid, let’s just go back to the room, and we’ll do our silk eye mask thing there, and –

But the idea of walking all the way back to their room with mud inside her bathing suit is…very unappealing. She just wants to be clean. She just wants to be really clean.

“Okay,” she says, and it comes out as a whisper. And before she can even second guess things, she pushes down her bikini bottoms.

Logan makes a loud, strangled sound behind her, and Veronica freezes with hands at her hips and her bottoms around her ankles.

“Logan!”

“You didn’t say you were starting!” he shouts, pained. “Just – warn me!”

“I am warning you! I’m partially naked!”

The words die in Logan’s throat. She hears his distressed grunt, and warmth spreads…everywhere. Veronica straightens, and definitely does not turn around. She…

She’s not breathing right. Okay. So he’s seen her butt. Big deal, right? Everyone’s got a butt. Hers is no different than a hundred girls’. Right?

She wants to look over her shoulder and confirm this, but…she’s terrified. No. She’s already come this far.

And weirdly, a part of her sort of trusts that he’s not looking at her anymore.

Which is stupid. She finally just looks over her shoulder anyway, and finds his back to her. Logan’s got his arms over his head like a sort of cage; an extra layer of protection against her nudity.

Veronica…sort of…grins. It’s weak, whatever it is, stretching her lips.

She washes quickly, peeling away her bikini top to get out the rest of the grime. She’s ringing out the bikini bottoms when she hears Logan’s sigh.

“Oh please,” she teases. His steadfast cloistering for her modesty has made her brave. “Like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

Logan doesn’t respond.

Veronica continues: “Oh, so this is your first time.”

The stifled sort of noise sounds like it could have been a laugh. If he weren’t so tightly wound.

Veronica grins. “I knew you were just joking before. You’re totally a monk,” she says.

There’s too long of a pause.

“Not a monk,” he finally murmurs.

Something about his tone…makes her pause, and stare at the wall in front of her. And that…the softness of its implications…Veronica feels the warmth spread and multiply.

She pulls the bottoms up her legs. They feel only marginally cleaner.

“Okay,” she finally says, quiet. “Your turn.”

Veronica keeps her back to him, and tilts her face into the stream of water. She closes her eyes.

She can hear the shifting of weight as Logan probably checks to make sure she’s not peeking. Then another pause to make sure she’s not going to go against her word.

And then she hears the unmistakable squelch of a wet bathing suit hitting the floor.

Heat pulses within her again. She can’t really help it. Can she? Maybe she can help this. It doesn’t have to mean anything, obviously. It doesn’t really matter. So what, so he’s naked? Who cares. Not Veronica. She’s definitely not picturing all the times she’s seen him partially or mostly naked in the last few weeks. 

It sort of occurs to her that he’d showered in front of her while she was asleep last night. Huh. Oh yeah. See? No big deal. That’s not something you would do in front of someone you were romantically interested in. If you actually cared what the other person thought of your naked body, you definitely wouldn’t slip into the shower without turning the lights on.

She really only saw the dark outline of him, really. The fire had been out by then. It had just been a naked Logan, in shadow, against the moonlit sky outside.

Nothing.

She’d seen…like…one butt. Not even the whole thing, probably. And maybe she hadn’t seen it after all, maybe her mind is just sort of adding the butt to where the butt would go. It would go at the end of that strong, very muscular back. Right between those narrow hips. Right above the powerful legs. Yeah. Right in there.

Veronica shifts her hips, sliding her thighs together.

What, so she’s never seen a naked man before? Like this is something new? Wasn’t she just reflecting on the absolutely aromanticism of the human tush?

She shakes off the feeling - literally - and tilts her face back into the water. No big deal. It’s no big deal.

She hears the sounds of him working the wet bathing suit up his legs, and feels the urge to sigh with relief.

“Okay,” he says, voice low. Veronica still doesn’t turn. “I’m decent. Promise.”

“Pinky promise?” she asks.

Logan huffs a laugh. “Pinky promise,” he confirms.

Veronica turns around in the water, making a conscious decision not to look below the level of his neck.

Logan seems to be doing the same. His face is sort of set like wet cement, his lips pinned shut as he stares into her eyes.

“Ready?” he asks her, and Veronica nods.

They shut off the water, sidestepping large drains. Veronica thinks that if she were actually wearing a wedding ring she’d be real nervous about it coming off right there, but the grates are probably so wide for all the, you know, mud. 

She walks beside Logan down a path, picking up glasses of water with lemon and probably edible flowers. “Any hint of what’s next?” she asks, almost sounding tired.

Logan looks at her.

“I just,” she clarifies, “you said you’ve done this before.”

Logan nods. “Hopefully there’s a pool…” he says, probably thinking of all the times he’s done this before. “Not too hot, either.”

“Tepid?” she asks, partly a joke. Logan grins.

They walk into a private chamber with a sunken, small pool, some probably fake rocks creating a small waterfall with some greenery. 

Veronica dips her toe in.

Yup. Tepid pool it is.

Feeling hot from the shower and hot from the mud, Veronica steps very willingly into it.

It feels…amazing. 

There’s…yeah. There’s really something to this, she thinks. She could really get used to this – she could become a person who does this. Maybe Absalom is hiring , Veronica wonders with a smirk. Probably they let the employees go in all the time.

“What’re you thinking about?” Logan asks, up to his neck beside her. It’s just the two of them in this little pool, and no attendants in sight.

Veronica grins at him. “Wondering if the Moon Mother needs an assistant.”

Logan laughs.

“Moon Baby,” he jokes, and Veronica glares at him with a splash. Logan holds up his hands. “You started it!”

“Moon Baby ,” she repeats, annoyed by his superior joke. She tsks and rolls her eyes.

Logan grins at her and dunks his head.

He comes up from below looking at her, and for some reason she holds his stare as he wipes his nose and mouth, shaking his hair to the side. She remembers that he does this sort of thing somewhat often. That he surfs. In those wetsuits. In those tight swimsuits.

Veronica wants to look away, but she can’t.

“How long are we supposed to stay in here?” she asks, and Logan doesn’t respond all at once.

When he does, it’s with a shrug. “However long we want. There’s no time limit.”

“I didn’t bring any snacks.”

Logan grins. He looks as if he’s about to say something else, but he thinks better of it, biting his lower lip, then flipping onto his back in the water.

“What?” Veronica goads, wading closer. The water only goes up to her shoulders. There are little benches around the perimeter but she knows if she sat on them she’d be underwater. And Logan is definitely avoiding eye contact. “What were you going to say?”

Logan shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says with forced lightness.

Veronica levels an amused glare. “What, Logan?”

His eyes are dancing with restrained mirth, but he holds his ground. “Nope, not going there.”

She sort of thinks…it would be really stupid if…if he was about to make a joke about snacks. Isn’t that the vernacular kids are using these days? [I am/you are] a snack? And if Logan…

Her skin feels somewhat tight and warm. I’ll be your snack, he could have said, which would have been completely inappropriate and completely ridiculous.

And yet she can’t stop herself from smiling at the idea.

Veronica goes up to her nose in the water. Logan is still paddling on his back, but just in case he turns around…she doesn’t want him to be able to see her grin.

When the water starts to feel cold they get out, and dry off with the waiting fluffy white towels, rolled into the shapes of long-necked birds. Veronica feels like she mostly successfully ignores Logan as he pushes the towel around his body, focusing instead on herself.

He’s not interested, she reminds herself. And what’s more – neither is she. She’s not interested in having a boyfriend, and certainly not a rich one. No matter how strong and handsome he is. No matter how many times he holds out a fluffy white robe for her, and she steps right into it.

 

Veronica is feeling all of the relaxing things when they make what she hopes is the last little trek. She’s ready to go flop in a bed somewhere and nap the rest of the day away, honestly, and by the look of Logan’s long strides and loose limbs, she thinks he might feel the same. 

But of course they’re not done yet, because this is for rich people, and rich people like to get their money’s worth, so the next room they walk into has the two tables Veronica’s been looking for since the beginning of this little outing. How long has it been? An hour? Probably more than an hour since they got there.

Two women are ready and waiting for them, both smiling and gesturing to a massage table each.

It’s a…pergola? Is that what it is? She swears she’s seen things like this on This Single Boy is Looking for Wife. It’s a basic wooden frame, and they’re outside, and there are big white curtains moving gently in the breeze.

Veronica’s not sure why she tenses slightly here, but she does. She’s not sure if Logan’s noticed this or not, and if that’s why he puts an arm around her shoulders. It’s not the panicked gesture of closeness she’s experienced a few times before; this one is more…casual. He rubs her upper arm through the fuzzy white robe, and Veronica finds herself not at all annoyed.

“Please,” they say, gesturing again. There are fresh glasses of flower/lemon water here, and Veronica moves away to drink down her glass, catching Logan’s stare with alarming frequency as they navigate their assigned spots. One of the women says, “We’ll give you a moment to get comfortable,” and then they leave.

Veronica slides her hand along the table. It’s heated, which is going to feel really nice in a minute.

Logan is bracing both his arms on his table. “I usually do this part naked,” he admits, and Veronica’s skin feels tight again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, well. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to do it naked.”

“I wouldn’t really know.”

“You’ve never had a massage before?” he asks, sounding a little surprised. Veronica runs her hand back and forth on the table, holding her water against her shoulder.

“Twice,” she admits. Grin poking into her cheek, she looks away. “The first time, I kept my sports bra on.” 

Logan grins laughingly. But his eyes look darker, somehow.

“And the second time?” he prompts, and the air between them feels strangely taut.

They’re…they’re flirting, Veronica realizes. This feels a heck of a lot like flirting. Why else would it matter to her fake spouse what she wore to massage number two? Seriously.

It finally occurs to her that they were basically supposed to spend this whole day naked. Like it’s some sort of nudist colony, or something. Naked for the mud bath. Naked for the shower. No one to see them in the pool room, so, probably nudity was allowed there too.

…What…what do they expect, honestly, from all that nudity? Veronica’s hands tighten, both on her glass, and in a fist on the table. Heat and embarrassment sweep right through her.

She looks away again. “I’m going to keep my bathing suit on,” she decides, and before she can gauge Logan’s reaction, she puts the water on the ground, drops her robe, and slips between the warm sheets, turning her face away.

Her heart is beating too fast.

Friendly, she reminds herself. This is all very friendly. They have to share a room again, in a minute, and this is just them being friends. Nothing romantic. Nothing even close to romantic. Logan is just being boy , and he just so happens to be boy who has seen her butt. That’s all that’s going through his mind. Seriously.

Ugh.

Seriously.

She takes a surprisingly hard swallow, and doesn’t calm down until she’s heard his small sigh, and the sounds of him moving onto his table as well.

Veronica wakes up with a slight start.

She blinks her eyes in the bright sunshine, filtered through curtains. Where is she? She focuses her attention on Logan’s face, set in silent laughter across from her. Veronica can hear the ocean. The ocean and some sort of long-ringing series of chimes.

A hand pats her calf, and Veronica jumps a bit.

Oh right. This massage.

Veronica brings a hand up to her mouth immediately, feeling for saliva. She frowns at Logan. The last thing she remembers is the masseuse asking if the pressure was good for her. She’d mumbled a yes, her face in that little hole, trying really hard to keep on ready-alert for all the parts of this experience that would expose her nudity, or strange hands that would dip too close to some private area, or…something?

But…the pressure was nice. It honestly was. And the woman was so professional. And before too long Veronica had felt her thoughts drifting…her body relaxing…and then…

“Is it over?” she asks, pushing herself up with her hands.

“Yes,” comes Logan’s voice, and he’s still grinning at her. She presses her lips together, and Logan seems to realize that she doesn’t find it funny. He coughs into a fist. “Sorry, right, that uh. That happens all the time.”

Veronica rubs her chest, just beneath her collar bones. Not to me , she wants to say, but she doesn’t. She simply swings her legs over the bench, finds her robe nicely folded on a nearby table, and pulls it on. “Thanks,” she tells her masseuse, who nods politely.

Veronica glances back at Logan quickly, trying to avoid eye contact. He’s also putting on his robe, and there’s a big wet spot on his table from where he kept his bathing suit on. That’s something, at least. For some reason, that’s a relief.

“This way?” she asks the masseuse, and the masseuse nods politely and starts leading Veronica down a sloping path.

“There are showers,” she tells Veronica, “but, the baths have healing mineral properties. We suggest you don’t bathe for several hours.”

“Sounds fine,” Veronica says casually, thinking she’s really ready to be fully clothed again. Logan is somewhere behind her, probably with his own masseuse. She’s glad they didn’t end up having to rub each other down. 

Gosh, it feels like a hundred years ago that they started this, and in reality it’s been like, two or three hours. Jeez – three hours . If you’ve got the money, maybe it’s not so hard to fill your days with ridiculous activities. After this, croquet. Maybe then another massage. Then it’s time for dinner at the Four Seasons before snuggling into bed with all your nighttime money.

The masseuse walks Veronica inside again, and having no idea where they are, Veronica is nonetheless pleased to have a door open, and to find her dressing room from earlier.

There is the chair. And the bench. There is her cupboard, holding her jeans and cell phone and shirt.

Logan’s voice says thank you again, from behind her, and there’s the click of a door being shut. 

They’re alone again. In another tiny room.

Veronica feels her shoulders rise.

“D’you…” she starts to say. “Do you think you could hang out in the hall again?”

“What?” Logan says, and Veronica looks over her shoulder at him. When she doesn’t repeat herself, Logan’s confusion grows. “We’re uh. We’re supposed to be married.”

Veronica’s lips press together. “That didn’t seem to be a problem when I was getting dressed this morning. You sat in the hall then.”

The confusion on Logan’s face transforms into something closer to annoyance. “Yeah…” he says, kind of drawn out. He frowns at her, seeming to hold himself back from asking any other questions, and Veronica feels her heart beating inside her chest, her hands pulling into fists again. He tilts his head. “Did—” he starts to say, and his shoulders seem higher too. “Did I do something…wrong?”

Veronica looks away. She stares at the baseboards, feeling tension rise within her. She just wants some dang privacy, all of a sudden. She wants some friggen space. And he won’t give it to her?

“Fine,” she says, too harsh. Logan exhales loudly.

“No, it’s okay,” he starts to say, but Veronica’s not even listening to him. She rips off her robe, throwing it to the chair, and when she looks at the cupboard, she realizes she doesn’t have the key.

Closing her eyes tight, she holds her hand out for it.

It comes too slowly.

When Veronica opens her eyes, she’s staring at the middle of Logan’s enrobed chest.

He murmurs, “Talk to me,” and it draws her stare up to his concerned face.

She feels herself recoil. Not physically, because Veronica Mars doesn’t back down from a fight, but…inside. She wants to push him away.

“I just…” she grits out, and she’s not sure how to phrase it. Her hands ball into fists. “I just need for us to be…friends.”

“Friends?” he echoes, his eyes open a little wider.

Veronica nods tightly. “Yes. I just need to know that we’re being friends here.”

He searches her face. 

It’s such a small room, with no windows to the outside.

Finally he sags, stepping back. “Of course we’re friends,” he says. Logan crosses his arms, and shrugs.

“Yeah?” she presses.

Logan looks at her. He adds a gently teasing tone when he says: “Pinky promise.”

Veronica feels something within her…ease.

Her shoulders drop. Okay.

Okay, she thinks.

Just friends. Definitely just friends. She exhales, and turns to the cupboard, shoving in the key. When she collects her clothes from under Logan’s, she turns and finds him staring at the ground with half a frown. “D’you…d’you really want me to hang out in the hall?” he asks. “I hate to claim weakness, but, I don’t really want to have to lie my way around the questions involved there.”

Veronica pulls her clothes tight to her chest.

“Yes, I do,” she says, and again Logan spends a beat just studying her face.

And what’s his hangup, anyway? So, she’s serious. Of course she’s serious, and she should be. Logan isn’t her husband, he’s not her boyfriend. This really shouldn’t even be a talking point for them.

“Don’t you…” Veronica starts to say, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. “Doesn’t that make the most sense?”

“I have literally no idea what makes sense, anymore.”

Veronica shrinks inside.

“But, you’re right, and honestly, it’s fine.” He looks at her. “It’s what friends do,” he says, and Veronica has no idea why that…hits wrong, somehow.

Logan ducks into the hall, and when the door closes behind him…Veronica wonders if she should turn the lock.

She decides she can extend him at least that much trust.

Chapter 15: you are cordially invited to not cramp easily

 

Veronica dresses quickly, pulling on dry underwear and cool, dry jeans. Her sweatshirt feels fluffier from the inside now. Being in clothes in general feels like a nice warm hug. 

…Was it just this morning that she was throwing her arms around Logan, and giving him a hug? 

Jeez. That feels like so long ago, now.

When she opens the door with a ducked head a minute later, Logan looks up immediately. He takes her in, quick and efficient, and Veronica has new context now given his military training background. She steps out of the way and tips her head in the direction of the open door.

“Your turn,” she says.

Logan’s face is mostly unreadable as they trade places.

Veronica leans against the wall in just about the same spot he had occupied. She tucks her hands behind her butt, staring at the floor. It’s been a weird day, right? It’s been a weird day. And maybe pretending that Logan is her husband is starting to…wear on her, honestly. 

And why? Is it just that she’s just so obviously single? Is it that…even if she was looking for a boyfriend…someone like Logan would be so wildly out of her league? Not in the, you know – well, okay, Veronica knows she can get it, okay? — but just in the…he can not only afford his own helicopter, but he can probably fly one too. 

Not really in her realm of cheap pizza and vacations that only double as work trips, which was really just the one vacation honestly, and literally only to the other side of the Mexican border (still needed her passport) and…Veronica…has no real aspiration to do anything more than that.

Maybe a few years ago she had aspirations of grandeur. But…not anymore.

Steps move down the hall in her direction.

Veronica looks up, and sees an attendant she’s seen at some point today. She can’t remember from where.

Veronica tenses.

“Um,” she tries to explain. “We’re just, uh, saving something for the wedding night!”

The woman laughs. “That’s so cute. That’s exactly what he said!”

Veronica feels herself cringe, and thankfully the other woman is already too far past her to see it.

Logan opens the door and finds her easily.

“Ready?” he asks, and Veronica realizes she’s still cringing.

She takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” she says, and she pushes off the wall.

Back outside, Veronica takes a moment to breathe the cool coastal breeze into her lungs. It’s a mix of redwoods, saltwater, and sunshine, and it does a lot to calm the frenzy of her emotions. It’s been a long morning.

“Are you hungry?” Logan asks from her side. She looks towards the ocean, and shakes her head. No, she’s not hungry.

And maybe she surprises herself when she says: 

“Let’s just…walk for a while.”

Logan doesn’t even have to say yes.

The grounds here are massive. She hadn’t properly seen them yesterday at check-in, or all their goings-on since. There are manicured gardens and unmanicured forests, stone paths and dirt trails. She’s sure there’s a map somewhere, but…Veronica doesn’t necessarily feel the urge to go seek one out. It’s not hard to orient herself from the perspective of the ocean and the trees, and most of the single-story buildings merge towards the central compound.

“Did you want me to show you where we walked last night?” he asks, normal mischief checked. She glances at him.

“No, not now.”

Logan nods, and a second glance shows that his features are twisted.

Veronica…sort of understands what he might be feeling. Honestly, she does. She’s been accused of being hot and cold a few different times. And it’s not like she’s…uninterested.

Embarrassment flashes through her, all the way down to her thighs, and her mouth starts moving so she can stop her brain from thinking .

“It’s just been…a lot, you know? What with the whole…I dunno, married…thing?”

Logan nods, looking at the ground before his feet.

Veronica bites the inside of her cheek.

“But, I had…” she swallows, heart a little thump thump thump in her chest. “I had fun today.”

He looks up at her, sharp.

“I did,” she insists, tying her hands behind her back. “Seriously, this could all suck a lot more than it has. You’ve been a…a good friend, Logan.”

Something dances within his gaze, and Veronica has to swallow again.

She takes another bracing breath, and then pulls back a loose fist, and gives him a good-natured punch to the arm.

Logan chuckles.

Then he straightens, and wraps an arm around her shoulders. It should be too much contact given how recently she was railing against him, but she sort of…doesn’t mind.

“I’ve had fun with you too, bobcat.”

They take the long way back to their hotel room, which has been freshened while they were out. Bed made, fluffed towels, new pile of firewood, the works.

Veronica pours herself a glass of wine without questioning the urge to have one, and then brings it out on the balcony for some quality phone scrolling time. Logan hangs back in the room for his own decompression, and when she goes back in some half hour later, she finds him sprawled out on top of the covers, arms wrapped tight around a pillow…totally asleep.

Which is how Veronica Mars finds herself smiling down at him, almost fond.

It feels like a total cliché, but it’s not…it’s not weird, okay? It’s not weird to just…um…monitor someone. What if he stopped breathing? She should pay attention.

He’s a cuddler, apparently. 

Logan twists around the pillow with the same ardor as he’d wrapped himself around her last night. And while she nearly rolls her eyes at the memory, it’s undeniably…sweet. 

Logan’s wide lips are parted, soft and relaxed. She’s so used to seeing them in motion; a teasing smile, showing his teeth, or pressed into a firm line when he’s trying so hard not to say something he’d probably regret. The long nose and long face…light eyelashes fanned across his cheeks.

Veronica’s hungry, though. That’s why she came inside in the first place; it’s well past lunch time, and after their long walk she finally has an appetite. Veronica debates for a moment whether to wake him, thinking he’s probably hungry too…and decides against it. She’ll bring him back a sandwich, or something. 

She finds the keycard on the nightstand, and she pockets it with her phone. Logan’ll text if he wakes up and gets bored, right? He’ll text if he wakes up and thinks she’s been abducted.

Veronica closes the door quietly behind herself and realizes she doesn’t know where to go. She looks back at the door, considering whether to go seek out that itinerary. Surely there was something planned, right? Some sort of lunch? 

Picnic and hair braiding, perhaps? Singing kumbaya?

Veronica heads towards the front desk, but gets turned around, and ends up outside.

Huh.

Maybe she should seek out one of those maps after all? Er. She’s not usually so disoriented, and it’s unnerving to be confused now. Maybe she’ll text Wallace. He’s probably eating something.

The thought of him hits deep, all at once. She’s…she’s barely seen him this trip. They drove in together, and she’s barely seen him. Well, it is his bachelor-dome weekend, but, all the same…hmm. Maybe he’s bored. 

She pulls out her phone and continues walking, not really paying attention.

[Having fun?] she asks him.

The text takes a few minutes to show up, and she’s found a bonsai garden by then and continued on.

[Yeah!] he writes back, showing her a picture of Jackie with cucumbers on her eyes. Veronica grins.

She waits for him to ask more…to ask how she’s doing? But he doesn’t. Veronica sighs, then returns her phone to her back pocket. Her stomach grumbles. She crosses her arms over her chest, and looks around. 

There’s a deck nearby with a long line of reclining lounge chairs, set up like the teeth of a comb. The deck looks over a long expanse of grass leading to the ocean cliffs. Veronica has very little idea where she is, but she heads to the chairs. It seems as good a place as any to start.

The sun is still high in the sky, and halfway down the row of chairs there is a lone person, lounging under an umbrella. Veronica feels as though it is entirely too chilly to be out and about in a bathing suit, but this person apparently does not have the same concerns. Veronica’s just walking past this sunbather, looking around for an employee of some kind, when the voice calls out in greeting.

“Veronica Mars?”

Veronica spins to a stop, looking around. She focuses on the lounger, who is trying to sit up a bit. There’s a half-full bottle of champagne on the table next to her and a single glass.

“Uh,” Veronica says, tightening her grip on her arms. “Maybe?”

“It’s me,” the lounger continues, sitting up all the way. “Gia!”

Veronica watches with widening eyes as Gia Goodman pulls down her sunglasses and grins at her. Veronica hasn’t seen Gia since high school.

“Whoa,” she says. Gia’s smile spreads wide.

“Oh boy, Veronica Mars,” she says, like the words are a particular delicacy. “I heard you were here.”

Veronica shrugs as much as possible. “So I am,” she says. She tilts her head in the direction she was trying to walk. “I’m just looking for lunch.”

“Oh you missed the picnic,” Gia explains, her eyes lit up. “Come, sit with me! We can get table service.”

Veronica glances at the bottle of wine Gia has been working on and doesn’t move.

“Oh they serve, like, crackers I’m sure,” she continues, waving at the bottle. “Or I could get you another glass…?”

“Crackers sounds great,” Veronica says, and Gia twists and turns as if looking for something.

“Hey!” Gia shouts, before clicking her tongue. “Hello!”

Apparently there’s a window open near enough with people prepared to respond to such requests, because someone in a uniform comes walking briskly out of the nearest building.

“Yes, Mrs. Halderman?”

“Yeah we need another glass…and another bottle,” she says, mischievous, grinning at Veronica. Veronica clears her throat.

“Is it okay to order room service to, uh, here?” she asks. “Chair service?”

The server smiles. “Yes ma’am.”

Ooo. She’d rather not hear ma’am again.

“You guys got burgers?”

He brightens. “Absolutely.”

“That would be great,” Veronica says. “And maybe…er…” she tries to think what Logan would want, and realizes she has very little random knowledge about him. What are his preferences? Mayo or mustard? Pickles or onions? Maybe she should just get him some crackers. “Whatever the healthiest sort of…wrap…thing, you have on the menu. That one to-go, if that’s okay.”

The server’s grin deepens. “Absolutely,” he says, and then he disappears.

Gia grins at Veronica over the rim of her champagne flute, like a cat with cream.

“I heard you were here with Logan Echolls,” she says, and Veronica eyes her warily.

“Uhh..” how does she know this? How does she know Logan Echolls?

“I know everything,” Gia explains, somewhat smug. “It’s all the hot goss. Logan Echolls bringing a new date .”

Veronica knows she’s supposed to keep shit like this to herself, but she enjoys deflating rich people smugness even more than she loves having a bed to sleep in at night and food to eat. “We’re not together,” Veronica explains. “There was a mix up. We’re just doing this so we won’t get kicked out.”

But it’s far less satisfying than maybe it should be when Gia’s mirth sort of slips, a bit, and her gaze turns contemplative. “Interesting.”

“I didn’t see you at dinner last night,” Veronica says, hoping to change the subject. Gia looks up at her again.

“Oh right, we got in late,” she says, stretching out. “We were in Cabo yesterday, first flight got canceled, had to fly into San Jose, blah blah blah.” Veronica nods, and Gia tries to crack her own neck. “Ugh and I feel like shit , of course. We were supposed to hit the spa this morning, but…” Her eyes gleam with meaning, “my medications sort of had me oversleeping.”

Veronica doesn’t know if that’s a euphemism for sex or for actual medications. Either way she doesn’t really want to hear anymore about it.

“You got married?” she asks, remembering that the server called her Mrs. Halderman, that Gia keeps saying we like Veronica should know who her husband is.

Gia’s gaze swings towards the coast, her good mood sort of shriveling. Veronica follows her stare.

In the distance a man hits golf balls into the ocean. He’s wearing head to toe white: white shirt, white pants, white shoes. She can’t exactly tell how old he is from here, but his hair is thinning a bit? And he golfs?

“He seems…nice.”

Gia very dramatically rolls her eyes. “Nice . Nice , ugh. I’d give a kidney to have anything but nice.”

Veronica does not think about that at all. Does not think about the man sleeping in her bed.

“What’s wrong with nice?”

“It’s fucking boring, is what it is. You see him? You see me? It’s freezing here, and I’m basically asking for it, but there he is…out there swinging that golf club.”

Gia’s husband hits a ball into the wind and it goes flying behind him. It’s decently lucky that he didn’t get a ball to the face.

“He’s the one who knows Logan and Jackie,” Gia continues, arranging all her long limbs on the chair. “Went to high school with them.”

“Ah.”

“Funny, right? We went to high school with Wallace, and Luke knows the son of a movie star and the daughter of a billionaire.”

“I don’t think Jackie’s dad is a…a billionaire,” Veronica scoffs, but now that she’s said it out loud, she’s not totally sure. “Hey it’s not like you’re poor,” Veronica points out.

Gia’s lip is cinched as she stares out at her husband.

“I basically am,” she says. “What so I have the cars and the house…but do I have a jet? Am I in Morocco right now? No and no. Poor. Practically poor.”

Veronica imagines that Gia hasn’t been actually poor in a very long time. Most likely ever.

“What do you do?” Veronica asks, trying to be casual. Gia doesn’t even look at her.

“I’m on several committees,” she says airily. “Not UNICEF or anything, but, some local charities in LA, San Diego. I organized the most fabulous luncheon last October with Madison Sinclair. So excited to be working with her again for this.”

“You’re—you’re helping out?”

“With the wedding? God, no!” she laughs, and Veronica tries to force one, too. “No we’re going to collab on some jewelry I’m designing. Did you see how many followers she has? Ugh, jealous.”

Veronica tries for another laugh, sure this is some joke. Gia’s mood darkens.

“I should be in Morocco right now. Everyone’s in Morocco right now. That’s where Susan Knight is. God, what a bitch. Won’t stop showing pictures of her stupid suite at the Ritz, god. She’ll be at the wedding,” Gia sneers, and Veronica cringes internally thinking that this will be the high school reunion she did not ask for. “And she’ll be gloriously tan when she gets there, I’m sure. Ugh!” Gia pats her own stomach, frowning. “I’m still as white as a sheet. What bronzer do you use?”

Veronica frowns. “Uhhh…”

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter, I’m seeing someone on Tuesday.” She perks up a little. “I don’t care how much sun Susan gets; I’m still going to be a bronze goddess next weekend. And I’ve got teeth on Wednesday and body sculpting Thursday…I’m going to look so hot.”

Veronica picks at the fraying knee of her jeans.

Hearing the silence after a moment, Gia looks at her. “You want my teeth guy? I’ll give you his info, so long as you promise not to give it to those bitches Susan or Madison.”

Veronica tucks back a deeper frown. “Thanks,” she says, trying to give a gentle brush off, but Gia nods distantly.

“Susan wants to do a mardis gras theme for our next Feeding the Children gala. Seriously? Mardis gras? Sooooo tacky. Soooo three years ago.”

Veronica feels her eyes widen. “I was gonna say,” she deadpans. She’s not sure she’s contributed more than three words to this conversation, and is really hoping she can just collect her lunch and go.

Coincidentally, her burger chooses that moment to bustle out of the kitchen. Veronica’s stomach twists in anticipation at the smell alone, and she can’t even be annoyed by the fact that she’s definitely going to have to eat it here as she takes the plate from the server and balances it on her lap. It comes with some sort of salad, not fries, but, she’s going to eat all of it. They put the box of Logan’s lunch near the end of her lounge chair.

Hands wrapped around the burger, Veronica pauses, and looks up at Gia. “You want some?”

Gia’s upper lip is still faintly pulled back. “No.”

Veronica shrugs, and takes a massive bite.

Oh yeah.

“It’s uh,” Veronica says around swallows. “It’s really good.”

Gia is still watching her like she’s not supposed to be at the adult table. “I bet.”

Veronica chews in earnest for a few minutes while Gia sips her wine and watches Luke continue to hit balls. Or mostly he just sort of walks around the ball on the tee and lines up shots that will all end up in the ocean anyway.

“So,” Veronica finally says, feeling anxious and wanting to finish quickly. “When did you guys get married?”

Gia sighs. “Last year. We got a column in the LA Times.”

“That’s…that’s great?”

“It didn’t have a photo, but, we got the column.” She refills her glass of champagne.

“Ah that’s…not so great.”

Gia gives her a slightly pained smile. “It’s all bullshit, Veronica. Marriage is bullshit.” Excuse me? “You think Luke was my first choice? Or even my second? Please. I did great in college. But,” Gia stretches, “Luke’s dad owns a pharmaceutical company. They have like 400 mil in assets, and, I wanted a bigger boat.”

Veronica hopes she doesn’t look as startled as she feels. “Is that a…euphemism?”

Something about Gia’s expression darkens again. “I wish,” she mutters with a glug of wine, and Veronica senses there is something Gia doesn’t want to admit right away. And then she goes ahead and overshares anyway.

“We have a…progressive understanding,” Gia drawls, dramatic. “We keep our personal lives separate. And the men we both enjoy…don’t overlap.” Ah. Right. “Marriage is just a stupid contractual relationship, anyway,” she continues, after another long sip of her wine. “It’s basically a more personal sort of merger.” 

They both stare at her faraway husband, lining up his next shot. He swings, and misses. There’s a decently amusing scene where he doesn’t realize it all at once, does a double take at the ball, surprised, and then checks to see if anyone was watching.

Veronica takes another bite of the burger.

“God he’s the worst.”

“He’s not…” Veronica says, watching him switch clubs to something with a bigger end bit. “He can’t be all bad.”

Gia stares at her. “You know that thing where you’ve got, like, really good take out, or your chef’s made you your favorite? And you spend all day thinking about it, about the amazing dinner you’re going to have, and you finally get home and you go right to the fridge because you’re starving and you’ve been waiting for it and …it’s not there.” Veronica swallows some burger. “And you turn around, and your fat fucking husband is eating it right in front of you like a god-damned animal?” Gia takes a disgusted sip of her wine, and Veronica is finally understanding just how drunk she is. “That’s what marriage is like.”

Veronica’s stare loses focus as Luke hits another ball. 

“…What did he eat?” Veronica asks, out of morbid curiosity.

Gia takes a sip of wine. “It doesn’t matter.”

Veronica frowns. It’s weird, seeing Gia again. It’s weird to hear so much about her life in such a short amount of time. Back in high school Gia had been rich and beautiful and standoffish. Not mean, per se, but just sort of…well, rich and beautiful. Those things haven’t changed about her, apparently, but Veronica can’t help but sense that there is a morbid lack of something like joy in Gia’s life.

Veronica picks up her plate.

“…You want some of my burger.”

Gia stares at Veronica for a bated moment. Then her plate. And then she capitulates easily.

“God yes,” Gia says, and Veronica grins, very crudely ripping it in half, giving Gia the uneaten part. Gia is either significantly drunk or not a germaphobe because she chows down immediately.

“Oh god I should not be eating this,” Gia says between bites. “This is an hour on the rowing machine.” Another bite. “Two!”

Veronica laughs. “Gia, you are quite the cliché.”

“Oh shut up,” she grins back. “My marriage sucks. My life sucks. Take pity on me.”

“I’m sharing my burger aren’t I?”

“We should ask if they have brownies here.”

“Excellent idea.”

Gia grunts a sort of moan. “Who’s your personal trainer?” she asks, eyeing Veronica’s stomach in a way that makes Veronica shift on the chair.

Uh. Veronica panics. “Um…Betty…Crocker?”

When Gia doesn’t laugh, but just nods, Veronica feels like she should explain. “Give me her number later,” is all Gia says, and Veronica figures she might take this one to the grave. 

They finish the burger to the tune of Gia’s sort of moaning silence, and Veronica even accepts Gia’s offer when she pours Veronica her own glass of wine. They sip it while Gia prattles on about the car she’s ordered and how there are delays with the leather she chose, and then Gia’s husband starts walking up the hill so Gia wants to escape to her room with the rest of the second bottle of wine, and Veronica says goodbye.

Thinking that Logan’s lunch might be getting soggy, Veronica decides to head back to their room.

The conversation with Gia sort of haunts her as she walks.

Is that…is that what it’s like to be rich? To be a rich spouse, specifically? No real job, but, a certain preoccupation with life? It almost seemed like living her life was Gia’s job. Organizing parties and vacations, tanning and teeth appointments and whatever… With everything so readily available, and nothing to work towards…Gia had turned her daily existence into an occupation, and didn’t seem to enjoy anything about it in the same way no one really seems to love their job. 

No, Veronica doesn’t envy Gia’s life. Parts, yeah. Of course it would be nice to have a freaking boat. Or just, like, the money around to have a boat. But she certainly wants no part of that style of living, the investment in the superficial because it’s literally the only thing left to invest in. The idea that jetting around the world or living a life of such obvious luxury could ever become mundane is…depressing.

She’d almost feel bad for Gia, and Logan, and Wallace in his eventual new life, except for, you know, the obvious. 

Would she become like Gia eventually? What would she do with that sort of leap in tax bracket? 

Would she quit her job and organize luncheons? Live at The Grand? Wait for her spouse to come home every night and not even have to cook? To have to do nothing but sit around and…wait for something to happen?

She’s so distracted by all of this that she doesn’t even realize that Logan is about to run into her.

“Whoa!” she shouts, when a large human body is right in front of her.

Logan is grinning with his hands out in front of him, like someone calming down a horse.

“Whoa there yourself,” he says calmly, and Veronica’s heart is racing.

“I uh,” she says. She presses her lips together. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” he counters with an easy smile. Her heart rate doesn’t slow down. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Nope, definitely not, she thinks. Definitely wasn’t thinking about a crazy hypothetical where I’d have to deal with all your money in my life. Her heart rate spikes, and Veronica shoves the box of food at him.

Logan takes it, raising an eyebrow in askance.

“Thought you might be, er, hungry,” she mutters, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact.

“Thank you, wife,” he says, grinning at his stupid joke, and Veronica feels her shoulders…ease.

Right. Of course. She’s not interested in Logan. She’s just pretending to be his wife all weekend. That’s how she got there, thinking about being with him. Ha! Right. She feels better now. 

Logan opens the box and nearly groans with appreciation. “Awesome, thank you. I was starving.” Veronica nods, watching as he picks up the speckled tortilla wrap and takes a big bite.

“I didn’t know if you liked…pickles,” she explains, trying not to watch his tongue flick out and clear away some sauce from the corner of his lip. It’s rude to watch someone eat, after all. She turns in the opposite direction and starts walking.

“I do,” he explains helpfully, matching her stride. She’s glad to note that he put on a sweater, but is annoyed that it suits him. Probably all his clothes suit him. Probably he has a personal stylist, or something, and has never known the displeasure of ordering something adorable online and looking awful in it.

“How’d you find me?” Veronica asks, while Logan eats.

He swallows a bite down and shrugs. “Just lucky I guess. Thanks for letting me sleep, by the way. I uh. I haven’t taken a nap like that in a while.”

Veronica hums acknowledgment. “Have any good dreams?”

Logan chokes on his next bite. “Um,” he says, coughing. “That’s um. I don’t know why you’re — no. Um. No? No.”

Veronica doesn’t know why she has to work so hard to keep the grin off her face.

“Well,” she says, changing the subject. “I solved the mystery of our felicitous spa opening.” Logan is eating quite fast, so she doesn’t wait for him to respond. “Gia and Luke Halderman overslept.”

Logan groans acknowledgment while swallowing. “Oh right. I forgot they’d be here.”

“You went to school with Luke?”

“I did indeed.” He gives her a look. “I was, ah, very surprised to hear he was engaged. And even more surprised that he actually went through with the wedding.”

“You were there?”

“At the wedding? Sure. Luke and I were close in high school.”

Veronica ties her hands behind her back. “I hear he’s worth 400 million in assets.” Logan snorts. Then he sort of does a frowning double take at Veronica.

“His dad’s company?” he asks, and there is a strange note of hesitation in his voice. “I mean, maybe…”

“And Gia’s life is the most boring thing I have ever heard of,” Veronica finishes, and the tension leaves Logan’s gaze. “I hear they’re doing mardi gras at the next Hungry Children gala. Doesn’t seem like it quite sets the right tone? Or maybe it does.”

Logan grins. “Nothing quite says starving kids like beads, I read that somewhere.”

“All I know is that being rich sounds like an absurd amount of work, and I honestly pity Wallace a little for what he is marrying into.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Logan says easily. “We pay people to handle the pity.”

Veronica is just about to laugh, when they round a corner of shrubbery and encounter the desk agent from yesterday afternoon.

Veronica and Logan both pull up short, and this time, Veronica doesn’t even try to stop him as she side-steps directly to Logan’s side and his arm clamps around her shoulder.

“Hello,” Logan says, way too casually. 

The woman’s face brightens when she recognizes them, then settles into a sleepy calm.

“Hello,” she answers. “Enjoying the grounds?”

Logan cuts Veronica a glance. “Oh yeah,” he says, and Veronica doesn’t think he has much experience with espionage. Which is stupid, because she’s sure that should’ve come up in Army training. Navy training. Whatever. “There was this, um, green…plant we saw. Didn’t we honey?”

“Oh yeah,” Veronica says automatically. “It was just so…green.” Honestly Veronica should be better at this, too. Just, maybe she’s not used to faking things with Logan, is the problem? Oh she can’t think about this now. “Real great.” 

“We were just…um…what were we doing, sugargums?”

“Just…” Veronica is thinking too fast, and she is getting pressed farther and farther into Logan’s side, “just…um…seeing the…green plants. The grass. That’s green.”

“The grass behind you?”

“Um,” Veronica says. Logan’s arm tightens around her. “Yes. I am a…” oh shit, oh shit, “a…grass…biolo…gist.”

A fucking grass biologist? Is that what she said??

“Yeah,” Veronica doubles down. “There’s definitely a um. A rare species of grass that I have heard, um, grows, in the um. Shade. And sun. Sun and shade. But mostly in sun. And that it prefers…hills. Sun and shade with hills. And - salt water? Definitely salt water. My bumpkin, um, anything to add?”

Logan is staring right ahead, and Veronica is not sure he’s listening to her.

“Nope,” he answers. “Grass, just looking at the short stuff on the ground.”

The desk clerk doesn’t seem to have a problem with this. “I love our grass here. Let me walk with you, and show you my favorite spots.”

Veronica and Logan share a glance. To be fair, they weren’t going anywhere in particular anyway, but also to be fair – this sucks. 

“Sh…sure,” Veronica says, and she shoulders out of Logan’s grip. He blindly smacks out for her hand and then grabs it in a tight fist. Veronica nearly rolls her eyes. She catches Logan’s eye, then gestures at the clerk with her free hand, whose back is definitely to them, who has already started walking back the way they came. Unnecessary, she is trying to say.

Logan is giving her very wide eyes, and Veronica’s lips flatten with annoyance. Oh fine.

She exhales, then starts following after the clerk, hand in hand with Logan Echolls.

“It’s such a lovely time of day, too,” the clerk continues, while Logan shoves the remains of his lunch in a very fortuitously placed trash can. “Golden hour, they call it, don’t they? Ahh I just love it here.”

Veronica is trying to maintain blood flow to her fingers. “That’s great. Yeah.”

“I live here, you know,” she goes on, oblivious to what’s happening behind her. “When I came to this place I was just a drug-addicted nineteen-year-old sex-trafficked sex worker, and now,” she gives them a dreamy smile over one shoulder. “I mean, this is just heaven on Earth, isn’t it?”

Veronica isn’t exactly sure what to say, and she’s sure her stilted expression of a half-open mouth shows this. What the hell?

“Uh…” she says. “Yeah.”

Logan gives her a harsh look and Veronica shrugs at him helplessly. “I mean, yeah?” she agrees, more emphatic. “Love the grass,” she adds, except she mentioned that already.

“We have so many beautiful buildings here. The Eastern studio is my favorite for sadness.”

For…what?

“Yeah, I…bet.”

They’re walking into an open sort of valley, with a path that runs right through the nadir. The greenery here really is stunning.

And towards one side… “Is that…” Veronica starts, squinting.

“Oh yes,” the clerk confirms, stopping so she can half turn back to them. “That’s our chapel. The most beautiful light through the stained glass windows. Right now all the seats inside will be rosy and golden and beautiful.”

Veronica swallows hard. “Why..uh. Why d’you all need a chapel here?” She sort of already knows the answer, and wishes Logan wasn’t already holding her hand because it’s starting to sweat.

The clerk smiles, shaking her head almost helplessly. “Sometimes the spirit moves our couples to get re-married,” she explains, fond. “More often, betrothed couples choose to forgo their planned nuptials and become legally wed right here, with our resident licensed and ordained minister. In fact, there he is now. Hi Billy!”

Billy is just walking out of the chapel, and he waves when he sees them.

“Hi Tsering! Beautiful day for a wedding!”

Veronica feels cold panic rise all the way up. She tries to force a laugh and it doesn’t come out right. “He, uh. He says that all the time, right?”

Tsering looks at them, gravely concerned. “No, he doesn’t. It really is a beautiful day for a wedding.” Veronica doesn’t say anything. She thinks her hand could probably slip from Logan’s easily now except she’s too anxious to try. Tsering brightens. “We even have floral packages!” 

Veronica and Logan glance at each other.

Logan clears his throat. “Well. Shucks. I mean. We are just. Definitely married.”

“Sooo married,” Veronica agrees.

“Like, a hundred times we got…married already.”

Tsering smiles, enchanted. “Oh yeah? Where?”

Veronica clears her throat. “Uh…Mexic…aly.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

What the hell did she just say? Mexicaly??

“Yeah. Mexic…aly. It’s a…wedding place. You might not have heard of it. It’s…real big.”

“A big wedding, I get it,” Tsering says. Her expression turns decidedly cold. “If for whatever reason you weren’t married. Or engaged. We could really take care of that for you right now.”

Billy is still standing at the chapel doors, almost like he’s waiting to see if he’ll be needed.

“We stock veils in multiple sizes.”

“ That won’t be necessary,” Veronica says, shaking off her anxiety. She pulses Logan’s hand. “Because we’re already so married. You know what? I think it’s actually time to get ready for dinner. Ready, um,” oh god she’s so sick of nicknames, “hedgehog?”

Hedgehog?

Logan coughs painfully. “It’s because I have a soft underbelly,” he explains, just in case Tsering was (very reasonably) confused. The corners of Veronica’s mouth pull down in a helpless cringe. Whatever.

Veronica’s heart rate doesn’t slow until there are at least three turns and a few hundred yards between them. She shakes out of Logan’s hand and flexes her fingers, trying to get the muscles working again.

“You are really not good at this whole spy stuff, are you,” Veronica says, and Logan barks a laugh.

“You’re the one who called me hedgehog.”

“Well, what am I supposed to call you!”

“You didn’t have any pet names for previous boyfriends? Come on. It’s not that hard. Babe. Honeypie. Penguin-Pop.”

“You made that last one up.”

He grins at her. “It was a test. See, I knew you were a big softy.”

She drops her lower lip, fighting amusement. “I am not.”

“Yes, I can already tell. Veronica Mars, you’re a marshmallow.”

Her jaw drops further. Oh if there were a fountain nearby, she’d push him right in.

“Rude,” she finally says, crossing her arms as she walks. “You are so definitely sleeping in the bathtub tonight.”

Logan laughs, hearty, until he sort of splutters to a stop. “Wait. Was I not – were we –”

Veronica grins in a way she hopes he can’t see. “Nope! In the tub! I will spare you a single pillow. I hope you don't cramp easily.”

 

Chapter 16: you are cordially invited to mix signals

They head back to the suite together just as the sun is setting. Logan is rubbing his stomach like he’s hungry, and sure enough, as soon as they’re in the room he goes for the gift basket, finding the four different nut mixes. Veronica sets about picking out her clothes for dinner, which Logan takes as his cue to take his phone out onto the balcony.

It’s nice, how he just goes. She doesn’t even have to ask.

And maybe that’s what she’s thinking about as she looks at the clothes she’d brought with her.

It’s not like she packed for a black tie dinner, or anything. Obviously she didn’t pack for that. But she brought…a dress. And while it’s going to be chilly, sure, she’s got a sweater. And there will be heat lamps, probably. Maybe it’ll even be indoors. Yeah, indoors. 

Honestly the dress is the practical choice. It’s got a practical square neck that cuts right across the hint of her cleavage. And of course it’s very practical, how tight it is, because what if she had become afflicted with leeches, or something? And someone would surely need to tell her whether there was something under her dress?

Something like the lines of her underwear.

Right. It would be most practical to wear the appropriate underwear.

Veronica does her hair and make-up, picking out the nice earrings she brought. She’s just curling the last of her hair when the sliding door swishes open, and Logan pokes his head inside with eyes closed.

“All done?” he asks the room at large. “I, uh, just need a sweater.”

Veronica grins. “It’s been half an hour,” she teases, and Logan takes that to mean he can open his eyes. He does, and then his gaze moves until he sees her, and then his gaze…stops.

And lingers.

Veronica turns back to the mirror, being careful not to burn her hair. She’s ignoring the way her blood thrums to life. That is very impractical, honestly. Her blood doesn’t need to do that. So what if Logan is looking at her like he’s never seen a woman in a dress before. Of course he has. The Moon Mother was wearing something very similar to a dress just this morning. It was more like a tent, but, a very dress-shaped tent.

“I’m almost done,” she murmurs, unintentionally quiet.

Logan swallows very audibly.

“We’ve got time,” he says, and Veronica feels warmth move to her face.

“We’ve got time for you to get dressed, right?” she asks, and Logan shakes his head, as if clearing something from it.

“Right, yes. My um. My um. I came in here for. Um. Pants?”

Veronica is really struggling to keep the grin off her face. “You’re wearing pants.”

“So I am.”

She puts the hair curler down. “Your sweater,” she reminds him, and their eyes meet in the mirror. Veronica notes that hers are glassy, and Logan’s are dark.

“My sweater,” Logan agrees, and he finally looks away, probably to find it. “I’ll just get it, and um, we can go.”

Veronica turns back around, and puts her hands on the counter behind the small of her back.

“Yeah,” she says, and she sort of watches him as he moves his long body around the room, finding his sweater on the little bench across from the fireplace. The sheets are still rumpled from his afternoon nap. 

Veronica is suddenly glad that she’s wearing blush, because she’s sure her cheeks would look a little rosier regardless. Watching him pull on his sweater reminds her that she needs one too, so she goes to get hers from the closet, where she’d hung it up yesterday so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. She puts on her earrings and the only nice shoes she brought, and decides to leave her phone. Veronica decides to leave everything, honestly. The pockets in this dress are crap, and Logan will bring the key.

“Ready to go?” she asks him, and Logan seems to be making a determined effort to look at her face. He nods.

“Yup.”

And then he does something stupid: he holds out an arm.

“What, is this cotillion,” she drawls, attempting a joke. The corner of Logan’s mouth stretches into half a grin.

“We won’t know until we get there,” he volleys, and Veronica’s own grin spreads.

She takes his arm. “You’ll want to find a different partner then.” She looks up at him. “I’m really awful at fancy dancing.”

He raises a brow. “And unfancy dancing?”

She lowers her chin, looking at him through her lashes. “A lady never tells,” she says, and Logan laughs.

Arm in arm, they head for dinner.

It’s in a sort of garden this time, which is great, because tall walls of flowering shrubbery line the dining area, deflecting the ocean breeze. There are globe lights strung everywhere: along the greenery, across the starry sky.

It’s…beautiful, honestly. Little candles in hurricane vases on the tables, dotted with more flowers. It’s beautiful, and…almost intimate.

Her hand unintentionally tightens on Logan’s arm, until she sees Wallace waving his whole arm at her from the other side of the party.

Veronica breaks into a grin, and her grip loosens. “I’m just going to—” she starts to say, hooking a thumb towards Wallace. “I’m going to talk to Wallace?”

“Yeah,” Logan says, with what sounds strangely like reluctance. “You want a drink? They got a bar.”

“Sure. Red wine? Or honestly, whatever’s fine. White. Pink. Green.”

Logan nods. “Got it.”

Veronica turns, and walks to where Wallace is waiting for her.

He’s grinning so wide, it’s hard not to grin back.

“There you are!” he says, enveloping her in half a hug. “Ugh, I’ve been missing you, kid.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve been transported elsewhere. I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t at the hike to the peak. And James brought a ball; we got to shoot hoops for a bit in the parking lot.”

Veronica nearly laughs. “What did you use for a hoop?”

“Birds nest? Honestly I wasn’t sure. We just picked a spot and went for it.”

Veronica finally does laugh. “Oh Wallace, I’ve missed you!” she says, grabbing his shirt and shaking him a bit.

He grins down at her, so fond. “Hey, did I pick anyone else for my bridesman? You’re my girl, Vee.”

She hums, letting go of his shirt. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married in a week.”

His grin flashes. “Oh man, neither can I. In a good way though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like,” he sighs. “It’s good. Jackie’s dress is going to be amazing. There’s just gonna be…so many people.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like, the mayor is going to be there. What is that?” he asks, rhetorically, clearly excited in an adorable way.

“Ask him to lower my taxes,” Veronica says, barely joking. “Not like, yours. Just mine. And there’s this pothole on 39th that I swear almost cost me half my car. Look, I’ll make a list and we’ll just start ticking things off.”

“Think I could get him to pay me more?”

Veronica grins. “I mean, probably.” Teachers’ salaries are crap. 

Wallace laughs, soft; embarrassed and pleased.

“It’s going to be a great wedding, Wal.”

His lips close over his teeth, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“And I mean, look, if this is the bachelor party, you know I’m a fan of how you’re doing things. Not one stripper? Impressive.”

Wallace rolls his eyes, grinning. “Who says that’s not going to be my grand surprise?” he asks, and Veronica’s jaw drops as she looks around.

“Please tell me it’s your mom.”

Wallace shouts some laughter and shoves her lightly. “Vee! I’m going to have that in my head all night.”

“You’re the one who brought up strippers! This is on you, my friend. Your mom is agile and you just know she’s got moves.”

“Oh my god I take it back. You’re not my best lady anymore.”

“Oh, is your mom available? I hear she’s here tonight.”

Wallace groans. “This is why,” he says, but he’s smiling, “you are not invited on Thursday.”

Veronica balks. “To the rehearsal dinner?”

“No, goof,” he says. “Me and the guys are doing another bachelor party after. And you are not allowed to go.”

She smothers the groan. “Oh Wallace. Please tell me Jackie knows all about this miniature golf outing you’re going on.”

Wallace laughs. “Ha ha. We’re just going to a couple bars. The guys are all peeved it’s just going to be you and me up there.”

“Hey they are welcome to borrow my dress.”

Oh shoot. Veronica just realized – she has to find the email with the tracking number. Her dress hasn’t shown up yet.

“Hey, trust me, I bet some of them would try. Apparently there’s something with like, the best man and the maid of honor or something?”

Veronica feels color drain from her face.

“What?”

“I tell them it’s stupid. But they think it’s like, tradition for the two helper people to hook up and they think Jackie’s friends are hot. It’s like, this total missed opportunity thing. Or at least that’s what they keep whining at me.”

Veronica’s wide eyes narrow into a glare.

“Not me,” Wallace clarifies easily, with baleful innocence. “I don’t think they’re hot. I am a one-woman man.”

Veronica arches a brow.

“A…two-woman man?”

“Your mom is going to be so pissed she overheard that.”

Wallace laughs.

Veronica glances to the side, and sees Logan approaching with two glasses.

And it was probably just Wallace’s stupid comment, but for some reason he just looks…different.

It’s the lighting, probably. 

Logan’s gaze is so steady as he looks at her, the warm brown seeming so much darker in the limited light. And those lips of his; his tongue darts out to wet them, and then they part as if he’s going to say something. He’s just so tall, and muscular - the sweater he’s wearing hardly feels like an entirely fair choice, considering how many people have to see him in it.

Veronica jolts, and realizes she’s been staring.

“I’m sorry what?”

Logan’s looking at her with barely restrained mirth. “They uh. Didn’t have green. Just seven different kinds of red, and four different whites.”

“Oh right,” Veronica says, and she reaches out for what she assumes is her glass, heart thumping in her chest. She takes a hasty sip, then glances at Wallace, because thank goodness for Wallace, and thank goodness no one can probably see that there’s color back in her cheeks full-force. “Wallace, please tell me you’ve got a signature cocktail?”

“Not yet,” he says, face crinkling.

Logan groans. “I think the cringiest one I’ve seen was the Free Milk,” he says, with a roll of his eyes.

Wallace echoes the groan. Veronica still feels like her chest is mildly too full.

“You’ve been to a lot of weddings?” she asks, because it feels like a nice, banal thing to say. The problem is that Logan looks at her again, and she wasn’t exactly ready for that.

He shrugs. “Enough, I guess. Seems like everyone I know got married in the past five years.”

“But not you,” Veronica says, and she wishes she could take the words back immediately.

He looks at her for a moment, and then a strange sort of smile starts around the corners of his lips. “Not me,” he agrees.

What is wrong with her?

“Yes, but,” a voice says, and everyone turns and finds Jackie joining their little trio, glass in hand. “It’s not like you were celibate.” She’s looking at Logan, and Veronica’s ears feel hot at the idea that Jackie could have overheard the last of their conversation. “Have you talked to Carrie recently?”

Logan looks at her, a tightness bleeding into his expression. “No,” he says slowly, like he’s being indulgent in his response.

Jackie looks back at him. “She texts me, sometimes.”

Jackie and Logan share a look. A look so long, Wallace and Veronica have time to glance at one another.

“Good for you,” Logan says, ambiguous. 

Veronica gets the distinct feeling that Carrie is an ex.

And that maybe things didn’t end very well.

The thought sort of sits uncomfortably in her belly, for no good reason. She’s still trying to reconcile the idea that she keeps inadvertently thinking of Logan in a romantic light when clearly things are so decidedly platonic between them; reaffirming the fact that Logan is not, as he said, a monk… Oh it’s just too confusing. She just feels off, so Veronica takes a good gulp of the wine.

“Wallace says you’re not doing a signature cocktail,” Veronica cuts in, and successfully distracts the conversation.

Jackie rolls her eyes. “So tacky. And it’s not like I can drink anyway. Pretty sure nonalcoholic cocktails don’t really hit the same way.”

Veronica shrugs. “Logan said he saw one called Free Milk once,” she says. “Really hope they served that as just like, actual milk.”

Jackie grimaces at Logan. “Oh my god, wasn’t that Dick’s wedding? It was milk and vodka, and I think it gave everyone salmonella.”

“Well, it was sitting out in the sun.”

“That marriage did not last long.”

Logan snorts. “About as long as the food poisoning, I think.”

Jackie sneers somewhat dismissively. “Well he’s happier now, so, whatever.”

Logan points a finger around the glass he’s holding. “Did you assign him a handler for the wedding?”

Jackie’s eyes brighten. “Okay, that’s an amazing idea, I need to go talk to someone immediately.”

Wallace laughs, and Logan grins as Jackie makes a hasty exit. 

Veronica looks at the two remaining men with questioning eyes. Wallace meets them. “You’ll understand when you meet him,” he explains, shaking his head. “He’s…something.”

“He’s not here?”

“I’m not sure this place could handle him,” Logan cuts in, probably politely. 

Veronica purses her lips. Interesting.

“Hey, I see someone who owes me money, I’ll be right back, yeah?” Wallace says, and before Veronica can protest, he jogs away. Veronica frowns. Owes me money?

And then she’s alone with Logan.

Uncomfortably, she remembers thinking of him and his sweater.

She clears her throat, desperate for a topic of conversation. Unfortunately, the only thing that comes to mind isn’t great.

“So, um, Carrie, huh?”

Logan looks at her, sharp. “Uh. Yeah,” he says carefully. Holding her stare for a moment, he releases a breath. “We dated for a while.” He frowns. “We dated for a few years, actually. Sort of on and off.” A too-casual shrug. “If it wasn’t me being gone for six months or a year at a time, it was her being a complete alcoholic.” Logan rubs his thumb over his glass, looking away.

Veronica feels the absolutely absurd urge to reach out and touch him. She can’t for the life of her remember if platonic friends do that. They do, right? But she’s overthinking it too much to pull off the gesture genuinely. She sighs instead. “My mom, too,” she says, and Logan looks back at her, assessing. Veronica swallows. “I haven’t seen her in…years. She sort of just took off when I was in middle school, was in and out for a while. She says she’s sober now, but…you never know, I guess.”

She wonders whether Logan is also reliving the worst memories of dealing with an alcoholic. There were too many evenings of Veronica’s mom sobbing or vomiting on the kitchen floor. Too many fights between her parents, too many fights between the three of them…too many events her mom had missed, or the general absence of living with someone consumed by their addiction.

“She had another kid,” Veronica says, with half a shrug. “I have a little brother. We send each other birthday cards.”

Logan is watching her too closely. 

…It occurs to her, too late, that she doesn’t find his stare uncomfortable.

And then he raises his glass. “To the world being complicated, and sometimes shitty,” he says, and Veronica releases a puff of laughter. 

“I wouldn’t recommend that as your speech on Thursday,” she says, and Logan grins. Veronica clinks his glass and takes a sip. Whichever of the seven wines this is, it’s good.

They angle themselves to look out at the party, inadvertently closer.

She can…smell him, from here.

Breath swells under her ribs, wondering if he can smell her as well.

It doesn’t matter.

That she’d put on perfume. It doesn’t matter.

“Were all these people here last night?” she asks, for something to say. Logan is finishing a sip of wine and hums.

“Pretty sure. You know anyone else?”

“Not really. Harry I haven’t seen since high school. Some of Wallace’s basketball friends I know, because we went to high school together too.”

“What about your other friends?”

She angles her head without moving the rest of her body. “What other friends?”

He looks a hair uncomfortable. He tries to shrug it off. “Someone I haven’t met yet?”

“Why would you meet my friends?”

“Maybe I’m curious.”

She gives him a decidedly strange look. Well, it doesn’t matter. “Don’t you have enough friends?”

He looks out at the party, sort of abruptly. “I’m pretty sure there’s some saying about how you can never have enough friends.”

Veronica balks, a little. She’s pretty sure there’s a decent cap, and the cap is something like…two. She’s got Wallace, she’s got Mac (when she’s in town), and she’s got Parker, who was a better friend before she moved to Colorado. But maybe Veronica will visit Colorado one of these days. Maybe Parker will come back to California. Unlikely, seeing as she has a really fancy job there, but, you never know.

“How many friends do you have?” Veronica asks.

Logan frowns in a contemplative way. “Well,” he says, “define friend.”

“Not like, Instagram followers. Someone you’d…call in case of emergency.”

“Oh, then yeah, like…two.” Veronica cracks a smile. “But if we’re talking people we’d call if we were in town, or who text random memes sometimes…then,” here he almost seems to be bragging, “probably a lot more.”

“Oh, so that’s what passes for friendship these days,” she drawls, half a grin. “Memes, and coincidental visitation.”

“Sure,” he says, with another casual shrug. “I mean, when you get arrested, you only get the one phone call. Probably best to have options.”

“Even better to call someone who will actually answer,” she counters. “Not one who will text an apologetic GIF the next day.”

Logan laughs. Veronica grins. And when his laughter quiets, they lapse into a moment of comfortable silence.

“Well,” Logan says, and she sees him wet his wide lips again. “What kind of friends are we?”

She…doesn’t know… Something about the way he asks… It makes her pulse skip a bit. Her breath feels a bit shallow.

“Um,” Veronica starts with, because she wishes she had something more intelligent to say. What kind of friends are we? She can’t think of what would even constitute a response. Acquaintances? Painting each other’s nails friends? Going into business together sort of friends? “I would…I would answer your call…probably.”

Would she?

“In a, um, professional capacity, of course,” she adds, and isn’t sure why the words feel so brittle and ridiculous in her throat. “You know, because you’d probably need some legal counsel.”

Logan chuckles, soft, and it sounds vaguely strained. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I would definitely need legal counsel.”

“I’m sure you have military lawyers aplenty though,” she reasons, and she swallows. “So. You probably wouldn’t need me.”

He looks at her, and he’s just so close, and he smells so nice. Did he put on cologne? Is that what it is?

“I would definitely want it,” he says, and his voice sounds almost thick, and Veronica feels warmth flush through her body. She wants to look away. She wants to blink , but, it’s hard.

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing against a dry throat. “Friends. I mean,” she pushes a hand into her hair, looking back out at the party. She takes a quick, steadying breath. Her palms are sweating. Her heart is racing. What is she doing? What are you doing? “If you wanted to, you know. If you wanted to, um. Invite someone…over to our room, or something. You could…you could totally put a sock on the door.” Veronica feels her shoulders ease. “Yeah,” she continues, feeling brave. “Of course you could. That would be fine.”

The silence from Logan doesn’t make her fully relax. There’s music playing somewhere, and it is soft and melodic. “Seriously?” Logan whispers, and Veronica’s skin feels tight.

Her expression is strained as she looks at him. “Isn’t that what friends…do?” she asks, and Logan seems to oh-so-reluctantly return her gaze. He’s searching her face, she realizes, and she tries to keep her features as settled as possible.

She wets her lips. Logan’s gaze darts to the movement, and Veronica turns away.

She takes a long sip of her drink. “I’m going to go talk to Wallace,” she decides. She wants to run her hand through her hair again, but it would mess up the soft waves. A very curt glance at Logan, and she propels herself forward.

Her chin tips slightly down when she’s a few steps away.

What is she doing?

They hashed this out already. Logan had been clear: they are friends. Friends accommodate the dating habits of each other. Logan could bed whomever he wanted, and their bed here is amazing - Veronica can attest to that fact. She just doesn’t know why it is such a strange thought; why it makes her so anxious. Probably just that it’s her bed they were talking about; if Logan wanted to invite anyone over she’d probably have to find somewhere else to sleep, right?

At least change the freaking sheets first?

She remembers the rumpled sheets they’d left behind.

A gong sounds, and Veronica turns towards the sound, clear on the other side of the party. People start to move more purposefully around her, and Veronica realizes that it’s now dinner time. She looks around, uncertain. She should just go back and sit next to Logan, right? That’s probably expected of her.

“Vee!” Wallace calls out, and he already has a table. It feels like something is stuck in her throat. She makes a beeline for her friend. He’s at a long table with a bunch of seats, and she takes the chair Wallace has been holding for her beside his own. His basketball friends take up most of the other seats, and Jackie is seated on Wallace’s other side.

“Where’s Logan?” Wallace asks, looking over Veronica’s head. Veronica tries to shrug. “Ah, there he is.”

Veronica looks up at the sign of movement.

Actually, there are plenty of people moving. He shouldn’t stand out.

Logan is on the other side of the table, but not even directly across - he’s a few to the right, standing behind the closest vacant chair. She’s not even sure they could make conversation from where they’d be sitting, but, Veronica looks to the occupied seat next to her. It’s one of Jackie’s cousins, and she’s already talking to the person on her other side. There aren’t any seats closer.

Veronica meets Logan’s gaze, and wishes she could look away.

He seems to feel something similar, holding her stare even as he settles his weight into his chosen seat. He nods to Wallace, she thinks, because she sees Wallace move his hand in her peripheral vision.

“You want me to trade with him?” Wallace asks, close to her shoulder.

Veronica shakes her head. No. No, it’s fine. “It’s fine,” she says. She tries for an ambivalent smile as she turns back to him. “Sort of needed a break from him anyway,” she says, and Wallace seems to believe her. He grins, rolling his eyes.

“Just one more week,” he says, and Veronica doesn’t know why that thought is…so depressing.

Dinner passes well enough. Wallace laughs plenty; everyone wants to make him happy, for obvious reasons. Veronica finds that she is putting in a valiant effort to be affable, teasing Wallace where she can get away with it, pulling out a few golden anecdotes of teenage Wallace that make him grin in that secretly-pleased way. Jackie laughs at the stories, anyway.

Really, Veronica’s feeling good. She’s feeling fine, honestly…until the dessert course is passed.

She’s already feeling full, and the idea of getting more full is unpleasant. She looks towards Logan, wondering where they’re going after this…

And sees Gia Goodman sitting beside him.

Veronica’s breath stills in her throat.

How long has Gia been there? Veronica has been trying to avoid looking at Logan all dinner, pleased that she kept her count to something like thirteen. 

Seventeen times, fine. But honestly it could be so much more.

Gia is leaning towards Logan in a way that makes her intentions almost comically clear.

What had Gia said earlier that afternoon? She and her husband had an understanding?  

Where is Luke? 

Veronica scans the crowd, but can’t see him. People have been getting up and down, mixing, trading seats. Whoever was sitting next to Logan before is gone, and…

And Gia taps a finger against the back of Logan’s hand.

It’s gentle, and Veronica’s gaze snaps to Logan’s face. He’s looking at his hand, and there’s a small smile around the corners of his wide mouth.

Veronica is not at all prepared for the purely acidic feeling that fills up her lungs.

It’s - it’s nothing, she argues. It’s fine. You mentioned the sock, this is - this is fine.

She blinks too rapidly, looking too quickly at Wallace. Her face feels warm.

Desserts are placed on the table, some sort of cake something that has Wallace groaning in appreciation. He’s giving Jackie a kiss, and she’s gloating a little in her seat. Veronica glances at Logan again. He’s turned himself more fully in Gia’s direction, and is ignoring his cake. Gia’s not. She’s scooping up a bite with her fork and really making a show of the way she’s eating it, closing her wide mouth over the tines as she drags it through her painted lips.

Veronica’s stomach turns.

“Um,” Veronica says, bracing her hands on the table. “I just realized, I um. I left my phone in the room.”

“You okay?” Wallace asks, brows raised. Veronica realizes she’s never turned down cake in her life.

“Yeah. I’m just full. I’ll be back,” she says too quickly. She pushes herself up to a stand, her chair skittering on the stone floor. It draws a few stares. “Not feeling well,” she says to Jackie’s cousin.

Veronica doesn’t look to see whether Logan is looking at her. Probably not, right? He’s clearly busy.

She looks at the identical hedge entrances, and picks the one that takes her away from the table the quickest. She’s nearly to the wall, stepping around other people having conversations, when she realizes…her pockets are empty.

Oh shit.

Her terrible stomach sinks.

Logan has the key.

She could go to the front desk and ask for another, but, she’s got no proof of identity either? That might come up? No, she’s being stupid. The easiest solution is just to go get the keycard from Logan. That’s obvious. What’s also obvious is that she doesn’t want to go back there.

Veronica Mars? Backing down from a fight?

She clenches her hands at her sides, and turns on her heel. She fairly stalks towards the table she vacated, adopting a lighter profile as she slips around people, and ducks behind Logan’s chair.

“Hey,” she says, and it’s a miracle, Gia isn’t there at the moment.

Logan nearly jumps. “Hey,” he returns. “You okay?”

Why is everyone asking her that?

“Um. Yeah,” she says, trying to ignore the memory of Gia and Logan looking at one another. She swallows, and looks at Gia’s chair. “I just need the room key.”

“What?”

“The room key,” she repeats, and her very skin feels uncomfortable. He’s going to make her say it?

“You’re going back to the room?”

“Should I not?” she asks, and then she’s flush with embarrassment, because, maybe there are people here tonight who think they’re together, because they’ve been lying and telling people that they’re together, and Logan was just so obviously flirting with another woman in front of everyone. Oh Veronica just wants to sink into the ground. The suite is a good second option. “If you and—” she starts to say, and she can’t finish. “I just need the key.”

Logan is looking at her with wide eyes. He still hasn’t touched his cake, she realizes. Wasn’t he starving before dinner? Maybe it’s bad cake.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, leaning forward so he can slip it out of his back pocket. He holds it out, biting his lower lip. Veronica looks away. He’s in the middle of saying something, but she purposely doesn’t listen as she swipes the card from his hand and stands in one fluid gesture. She turns to walk out, and sees Gia come to an abrupt stop right in front of her.

Gia’s eyes go a bit wide, clearly confused. What does Veronica’s expression look like? She has no idea; she can’t think that far ahead. She wants to loosen her shoulders, but she wants to escape more.

Veronica steps out of the way, and doesn’t turn around again.

 

She’s back in the cold open air and well away from the party when she pauses, just for a moment.

Just one moment, she promises herself.

Veronica realizes her hands are trembling a bit. It’s so unlike her. She shakes them out immediately, rolling her shoulders. So what, Logan is on the market. He’s available. He’s available, she reminds herself. It is no big deal.

Pressing her lips into a determined line, Veronica walks back to the suite.

 

They’re doing a maid service in the hall leading to her room, which Veronica thinks is strange, because it’s sort of late for that. Maybe they tried to visit these rooms earlier but they were occupied? She can’t think that far ahead.

Veronica taps the keycard, and has to do it three times before the door opens.

She takes a deep breath in the dark room.

She’s probably in deeper than she realized.

Logan is attractive. There , she’s admitted it to herself. He’s attractive, and they’ve been around each other a lot, especially in the last 24+ hours. She remembers him staying with her in the car, and then so gamely agreeing to pretend to be her spouse. She remembers him this morning, apologizing for his forwardness - feeling so bad about it. Clearly, he doesn’t want to push the bounds of their friendship any more than she does. Right?

The word comes to her, unbidden:

Seriously?

And the oh so small way he’d said it.

It’s…it’s strange, that she’s never seen him flirt before tonight. Right? They’ve been together at so many parties; so many opportunities to meet someone. He’s the bridesman, after all. According to Wallace’s friends, he’s a hot commodity. Why hasn’t she seen him flirting before?

Why hasn’t she seen him flirting before?

The answers are there, in the deepest edges of her mind, and she really, really doesn’t want to address them.

No, better to get together a bag, just in case, well, in case she needs to be somewhere else. Yes, that’s practical.

She goes for her suitcase, suddenly glad that no one has tidied their room today. She grabs her pajamas and stuffs them into the shoulder bag she’d brought with. Then she goes for the vanity, finding her make-up remover, face wash, toothbrush, toothpaste.

…Should she get clothes for tomorrow?

…Should she just change now?

Where is she going to go? Maybe she can nap on the lounge chairs Gia was using earlier.

A hot stab of emotion spikes right through her.

Oh no.

Yes, she can camp under the stars. Maybe Logan won’t even need all that time. Yes, what, maybe an hour? She cringes, hands tightening. Oh god, something is wrong with her.

There is a light tap at the door.

Veronica straightens at once.

“Yes?” she asks, unsure if she’s loud enough. It’s probably just the cleaning crew. She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so much faster though. Maybe it was beating fast already.

“Coming,” she mutters, tense. She crosses the room, swallows, and opens the door.

Logan is standing on the other side.

Chapter 17: you are cordially invited to delay the inevitable

Notes:

I think there are...four versions of this chapter in various spots on the internet. So just FYI you have to pretend that this is the best.

Logan is on the other side.

She’s looking at Logan.

Why does it shock her so much?

“Yes?” she asks, vaguely breathless.

Logan inhales. “Can I come in?” he asks, and Veronica remembers what she’s doing.

“It’s your room too,” she says, stepping back. Logan walks past her, and Veronica pushes the door closed behind him. When she turns he’s looking around, maybe noticing her open suitcase, the open closet doors.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, and he sounds, honestly…alarmed.

“No!” she says, a bit too loud, and then wishes she could swallow the word right back out of the air. “Um,” she amends. “No. I was just…packing a go-bag.”

Logan looks over his shoulder at her. “A go-bag?” he asks, brows raised.

Veronica clasps her hands together. “Yeah. In case, you know. There needed to be a sock on the door.”

“Veronica,” Logan groans, turning away. He looks at the floor, and Veronica frowns at his back. What, she’s being unreasonable? She’s not being unreasonable.

She wets her lips. “Gia’s not your…type?” she asks, and it would be too easy to interpret her tone as hopeful. She’s only hoping to be able to sleep indoors tonight, obviously. Logan shakes his head. And then he turns around to face her, his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“She’s not my type,” he confirms, and Veronica realizes she didn’t turn on enough lights. Just the one in the closet, the one next to the sinks… She can’t see the full extent of Logan’s expression, because he’s too much in shadow.

And the question she doesn’t want to ask leaves her lips. “How come you never flirt in front of me?” she says, and Logan takes a big, surprised breath.

“What?”

Veronica swallows against a rough throat. She knows she hasn’t stammered. “You never flirt in front of me. You’re single, and you don’t go home with other girls. Maybe none of them are your type.”

They stare at each other. They stare at each other and listen to the crash of the waves against the distant shore.

“You definitely don’t want to talk about this,” he contends, and he’s…right.

She really doesn’t.

Veronica presses her hands to her face, then takes one away to press it to her stomach.

“I missed dessert,” she says, changing the subject.

Logan clears his throat.

“Yeah. Um. Wallace definitely ate your cake.”

She frowns. Dang him.

There’s a moment, and then Logan releases a tangled breath. He asks tightly: “You want to call it a night?”

Veronica takes stock of her nerves. All amped up to be out of Logan’s way while he had wanton hotel room sex with another woman has made her skin feel like it’s covered with ants. No. She wouldn’t be able to go to bed if she tried. Plus it’s only like, eight o’clock. Maybe seven-thirty.

Veronica forces a sigh.

Which is how she ends up in a very tiny hot tub with Logan Echolls.

To be fair, it wasn’t supposed to be so small.

It was supposed to be big, like, with seven other people in it. It wasn’t supposed to be in a private little garden with low romantic lighting and yes there is champagne thank you for asking, and Veronica and Logan are each holding a glass while staring very resolutely at the bubbles in their very tiny tub.

“Do you—”

“So this is—”

They say at the same time.

Veronica and Logan glance at each other. They’re shoulder to shoulder in this thing, which would be fine if…no, actually, none of this is fine.

Logan clears his throat. “Um. What were you going to say?”

Veronica grips her champagne flute tighter.

“Nothing.”

Logan sighs, and tilts his head back.

“This sucks.”

Veronica does the same. “It really does.”

Logan is silent for a moment, and then he groans. “I really thought there’d be…”

“More people?”

“At least one other person,” he agrees, and then Veronica presses her lips together because she doesn’t like this line of conversation.

Another beat of silence and then Logan says: “My leg is starting to cramp.”

Veronica weighs the idea of saying something waspish, because it’s not her fault that Logan is the size of a tank, with all his bulgy superhero-type muscles. Naval aviator muscles. Oh geez.

“I can—” she tries to offer, shifting her weight a little. Except her bikini-clad hip twists against Logan’s short-trunks-clad hip, and he shuts up entirely, and she’s worried she knows why, and everything is the absolute worst.

She blows out a sigh. “Look. Look, okay, so, we’re here, and, well, we’re both here, and it’s too early to go to bed, so, let’s just…get comfortable.”

“Right,” he agrees.

She pushes herself out of the hot tub and perches her weight on the ledge. The small, enclosed garden they’re in doesn’t do much to shield her from the ocean breeze.

Within ten seconds, she shivers.

“Veronica,” he says warningly, and hearing him say her name makes her warm up entirely.

“What,” she asks.

“You’re going to freeze up there.”

“No I’m not.”

“It’s too cold for this. We should just go back to the room.”

“No!” she says too quickly, panic making her blurt. “Um.” No. No, the room was too small, and the bed in it was too big. “No, um. This is fine.”

To prove that she is in fact fine, she slides herself back into the hot tub, resting the heels of her feet on the seat ledge. It makes her knees stick out over Logan’s lap and her back hurts almost immediately.

Logan is frowning. 

“Look, just—”

She flinches at the feel of his hands on her legs, gripping her champagne flute so tightly over the water that she’s sure the glass is going to break. That would be better than bolting, which is what  she wants to do instead.

Logan slowly eases her legs across his lap, letting her feet rest on the opposite ledge.

“There,” he says. “That’s better.” He looks at her with earnest, searching eyes, and Veronica feels her lips twist and her brows pinch.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

There’s another beat of silence, and Veronica blows all the air in her lungs out in a blustery sigh. “Yeah,” she agrees again, forcing her shoulders back. “It’s fine.”

“Just think of me as Wallace,” he says, and Veronica frowns at him.

“You know there’s no way I would let Wallace touch my legs like that,” she says, and then Logan’s smirk sort of melts off his face and Veronica panics. “Um, so it’s really good that um. That. What I mean to say is that—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says without any breath, and Veronica takes another strong sip of her champagne.

Another beat of silence, and then Veronica blurts some more: “Tell me all your deepest fears,” she begs.

Logan puffs a laugh. “What?”

“It’s — too quiet. Just. Tell me something. Anything.”

“Anything?”

She nods. “Yeah. Like.” She can’t think of anything. “What’s your social security number?”

Logan laughs again. “Your mother’s maiden name,” he volleys, and Veronica feels something ease.

“The make and model of your very first car,” she teases, and Logan grins, shaking his head.

“You don’t want to know.”

Veronica grins. “Let me guess: it was obnoxious as hell.”

“It was yellow,” he agrees, and Veronica very nearly laughs.

They both find themselves smiling at each other.

Veronica wets her lips. “I might need some more champagne for this,” she says, with a nod of her chin towards the bottle, sitting on a table within reach.

Logan looks over his own shoulder, and Veronica inhales at the sheer musculature of the movement. Whoops.

She sinks further under the surface of the water.

He glances back at her, as if confirming her want, and Veronica nods emphatically. “Big glass,” she says over the water, and Logan smiles with some mild confusion.

“Big glass coming up,” he says, and he moves his whole hulking body around so he can reach it and open it. 

Her glass doesn’t even overflow, the way he does it. It reminds her of how he’d opened the bottle to begin with: some complicated twist of the bottle instead of just thumbing off the cork, so there wasn’t even the comical spurt of alcohol.

It’s clearly not the first time he’s opened champagne.

He puts the bottle back on the table and picks his up his own untouched glass.

“Well,” he says, “I guess this beats playing video games on a Saturday night.”

Veronica takes a quick sip of her drink. “Is that what you’d be doing tonight? Playing video games?”

Logan shrugs one shoulder. “Probably.” He looks at her, and Veronica wonders why he’s not drinking. “What about you?”

Veronica sort of wishes this tub was bigger so she had more room to move away. Just some sort of space would be nice. In part because he’s hot – no – um – it is hot, in the tub, but also, just…she just hates personal questions. She hates them. Veronica sips the wine again.

“Probably working,” she says, after swallowing.

“Working?”

“A case, or something. I dunno. Saturdays don’t really signify when you don’t really work a 9-to-5.”

Logan props his head on his fist.

Veronica nearly flinches in her effort to look away from his bicep.

“What sort of hours do you generally keep, anyway?”

Veronica recognizes this as a very generous attempt to keep their conversation light and impersonal, and yet, her brain just keeps supplying images of Logan moving his big muscular arms around, and wondering what it would feel like to have them all wrapped around her . She swallows again, recognizing that these thoughts are decently inevitable. They’re nearly wound together already, and Logan is wearing his short bathing suit, and Veronica is in the same bikini she was wearing earlier, and she had half a glass of wine with dinner, and then the whole thing with Gia happened, and, well. Okay. These thoughts are just completely inevitable.

“It…varies,” she says, distracted. Logan nods, and takes a sip of his champagne.

There is a moment of somewhat uncomfortable silence.

And they both talk at once.

“So this wine is goo—”

“What kind of grapes do you think are—?”

They share a look.

Logan breaks first, with a loud exhale. “Okay this is awkward.”

Veronica nearly flinches. “It is.”

“You would definitely not be doing this with Wallace.”

“I—” Veronica tries to say. Her shoulders slump. Okay. He’s right. “I…don’t know.”

Logan is silent at this, so Veronica looks at him. He’s staring at the surface of the water, a frown on his face.

What’s ironic is that…she’d wanted to avoid this conversation by coming here.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she begs, and Logan still doesn’t look at her. She reviews the usual topics. Family? Ugh . College? Er . Careers… She could ask more about what it was like to be in the Navy, but… But…

“I…flirt, at parties.”

Logan’s confession makes her limbs go still. What is he talking about?

He finally shifts his gaze, and it meets hers, all at once, and she’s nearly sitting in his lap.

“I flirt.”

Why does her heart beat faster? Why does her chest feel too full?

“No you don’t,” she challenges, and her voice goes a bit breathy.

Logan just stares at her, and then quietly… 

“If you say so.”

Veronica looks away. She takes a sip of her wine, feeling the cold liquid spear down her throat. “Tell me about your last girlfriend,” she says, feeling like an absolute idiot, feeling like a mess, feeling stupid and – Logan splutters, some sort of laugh.

“My last girlfriend?”

Veronica shrugs a shoulder, then turns to face him again. “Call it curiosity.”

“And curiosity did such wondrous things for the cat,” he counters. He holds her stare, and then realizes she must be serious, and he shrugs, looking at the surface of the water again, appearing to choose his words.

“My last relationship lasted about five years, on and off. Mostly off. Carrie.” Veronica knows who he’s talking about, and, she sort of hates that she’s holding her breath. “We’d known each other since high school and reconnected after. She sort of…fit my pattern.”

Veronica is staring too intently at the side of his head. “Pattern?”

He looks up at her, his eyes serious, his lips set. “I seem to have a thing for emotionally destructive women.” Those wide lips of his twist to the side, sardonic. “The more they toy with me, the more I just…eat it up.”

“Like a cat with a…cat toy,” Veronica concludes, and Logan snorts.

“More or less.” He tilts his head to the side again. “I think I like…fixing people. Or trying to. It makes me feel less…damaged.”

Veronica feels the instinct to shut him down, to insist that a rich Naval pilot, with a fancy car and a fancy haircut seems to be a far cry from damaged , but…his parents, and…well.

Like calls to like, maybe.

“Your turn,” Logan says, and he sips from his glass.

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Since when did this become tit-for-tat?”

“Since you started with the cat metaphors.”

“You started with the cat metaphors.”

“Hey, we could go with ‘I showed you mine, you show me yo—”

“Ah, no, cat metaphors are fine, thank you.”

Logan grins softly. Veronica adjusts the hem of her bikini top, and Logan’s eyes seem to burn with the effort of not looking down. Veronica swallows, and wets her lips. She has to clear her throat before she can speak.

“My college boyfriend. That was my last relationship.”

“You haven’t dated anyone since colle—? ”

“We stayed together,” she heads him off. “Broke up for good about,” she does the math, squinting, “nine months ago, more or less.”

Logan is silent, so Veronica sighs. “He wanted to stay in New York, I was establishing myself here, and I guess he thought that I was always coming back.” She leans her head back onto the rim of the hot tub, looking at Logan under slanting lids. “I wasn’t going to go back. And once we realized that our long-distance relationship was literally more of a label than anything of substance, we just…stayed apart.”

Logan doesn’t say anything all at once. “He didn’t try to…get you back?” he asks, and Veronica finds that a strange question to ask.

“We were engaged,” she says. “I think mailing a ring via USPS’s slowest method possible sends the right message.”

Logan is silent for what feels a long time. “And you didn’t…there wasn’t anyone since?”

“Jeez Logan,” Veronica says, grinning. “What am I, a machine? Did you not hear the thing about how I’ve had only one boyfriend since college?”

“Yeah but…”

Veronica picks her head off the hot tub, and looks at him. The smile is still playing around the corners of her lips.

“But?”

He looks at her for a beat too long, frowning in a pointed way. “I don’t think Wallace would finish that statement.”

Veronica’s blood…warms. Maybe it’s just the hot water.

“And you’re not Wallace,” she says, and maybe it’s just her self-sabotaging tendencies coming out, but —

But her leg is still over both of Logan’s. And they’re just staring at each other for a moment.

“I’m really not,” he agrees.

Veronica swallows.

“You think I’m someone worth dating?”

Logan, very hesitantly, finds her ankle under the water with just the tips of his fingers. It’s just a brush, really, and the fact that she doesn’t pull away while holding his stare…seems to act as encouragement.

That’s all it is, really; just the brushing of his fingers against her skin.

"Yes."

She doesn't breathe. "You shouldn't say that."

“Would you prefer I deny that I find you attractive?”

She wants to say yes. She wants to say maybe. But the truth is…

“…No.”

His gaze darkens then. Milk chocolate to the 78% stuff her dad insists he likes but then lets sit in the cupboard for months. Maybe that’s why her dad says he likes it; in part to appear macho, and in part because it means he won’t eat it. 

She watches as Logan swallows.

“Talk to me about something,” she asks him, holding her glass of champagne with both hands, feeling his fingers brush against the skin of her calf, and her shin. She doesn’t want him to stop. She doesn’t want to leave.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

Veronica can’t answer that. “Whatever you want,” she says.

Logan looks at her for a beat, his fingers softly kneading the soft tissues and tendons of her ankle, and then he tells her about his family. What it was like growing up with his dad, and his relationship with his mom and his sister. Veronica listens, sipping her wine, and lets Logan touch her lower leg. He seems to do it almost absently, a nervous little habit.

It feels…amazing.

And then almost by accident, his palm is just moving up her leg, and it hits her knee, and Logan stops. He’s got fingers above and below her kneecap, and Veronica’s heart stutters, wondering what he’s going to do next. Wondering what she wants him to do next. She realizes he’s not talking anymore, and she meets his gaze with wide eyes.

Can he tell how fast her heart is beating? Can he feel the goosebumps on her skin?

“I think, um. I think I need more champagne.”

He doesn’t look away all at once. His hand is still at her knee.

“Yeah?”

Veronica buttons her lips. She nods quickly.

Logan searches her gaze, then nods too. “Okay.”

He pulls his arms out of the water to reach for it, this giant push of movement that startles her back into her own little spot in the hot tub. The bottle’s been on this little table behind his shoulder the whole time, for the most part ignored. It is clearly ridiculously expensive.

Logan’s hand is wet.

...That’s what she remembers too late.

He goes for the bottle, and he’s working on picking it up, and all of a sudden there’s a grunt and an expletive that makes her whole body bunch, and all of a sudden she’s making a half-shout-type noise and lunging across his lap for the bottle.

That’s what she was doing.

Logan’s hands are wet.

Because all of a sudden she’s got one leg on either side of Logan’s. And the bottle is definitely smashed all over the ground. Neither of them are looking at it.

Veronica is hovering over Logan’s lap, her breasts at the level of his chin, and they’re both looking at each other as if waiting for the bomb to explode.

Warmth curls and coils in every nook and cranny of her body, watching him from this angle.

His eyes look so dark. She can smell his breath: sweet from the champagne. His lips are popped open with surprise, and soft from drinking the wine.

Oh god.

Veronica lurches back.

“My hands are wet,” Logan says, and Veronica feels very acutely her heart thumping against her ribs.

Oh my god.

She reaches for the rim of the hot tub, somewhere behind her.

“Yeah,” she answers, not even nodding. She tries to swallow, but her throat is too dry.

In one quick twist she’s turned herself around and hoisted herself out of the tub. She’d get points for agility if this was a competition.

It’s definitely not a competition.

She doesn’t even feel the cold as she steps towards her robe, folded carefully on a bench. She yanks it on, slips her feet into the slippers.

Veronica.

A voice is saying her name, and she knows it’s Logan, but she can’t hear it. Oh god, what is she—

“I’ll, um. I’ll see you back at the room,” she says quickly, and without even looking she bolts for the garden path.

Veronica, he says more emphatically, but Veronica isn’t listening, because she has to do something about the feelings in her body. The absolutely dangerous, wicked feeling in her blood and soft tissues, asking her to go back to that hot tub, asking her to reach out to Logan’s soft wet hair, and let him move his soft wet hands.

Oh god.

She starts to run.

Her shoes slap on the pavement as she skips through the halls, finding herself back in the building, a building she recognizes.

She’s thinking about Piz. And the way he’d cheated on her. Wasn’t sure we were still in a relationship, he’d said. I was! she’d yelled back. She’s thinking about the way he’d tried to win her back and the seven ways he’d tried, each one a nail into the coffin of her self-confidence, and her independence, and their stupid, absurd relationship.

Never again, she’d sworn to herself, and she’d totally meant it. Her dad would never have grandkids. She’d live alone the rest of her life. Casual acquaintances only.

And then…

And then here’s…god damnit, here’s Logan, and he’s messing entirely with her head, and her plans.

The suite door is in front of her. She doesn’t have the key.

Veronica slides her hands automatically into her pockets, and her hand touches the hard plastic of a keycard. She pulls it out with wide eyes. She’s panting. When did this get there?

She opens the door and smacks on the lights.

And then stops four feet inside the room.

…This is some kind of joke.

Clearly, god is laughing at her.

There are rose petals everywhere.

On the bed. In a trail to the bathtub. A new basket sits on the bedspread, and even from a few feet away she can see that it’s filled with massage oils and bubble bath and edible versions of things that should not be edible.

She remembers that she’s at a bachelor party. This is apparently the rich-person version of penis-shaped confetti and novelty condoms.

Oh god.

Novelty condoms?

The door clicks open behind her, and Veronica whirls around.

It’s Logan.

Of course it’s Logan.

“I didn’t do it,” she swears, and in the back of her mind she realizes this is what the late-night maid service was about.

Logan seems to not even hear her. He’s panting himself, and staring directly into her eyes. It’s not like she could look anywhere else.

“You left,” he says.

Veronica twists her hands together in front of her. She’s still panting. “No I didn’t.”

“You left,” he insists.

“I’m here,” she argues.

Logan closes his lips together, trying to swallow.

He takes another few steps into the room, the door closing behind him. Finally, his stare breaks, and he glances around the room. He frowns at what he sees, and Veronica doesn’t know what to say at all, so she says nothing, wringing her hands.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he says, and she almost laughs.

“For what?”

He looks back at her, coming to a stop just a foot and a half away. She has to look up to meet his gaze properly. “I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “But I’m sorry.”

Veronica puffs a laugh, and looks away.

Her heartbeats feel like little stabs of electricity; her chest feels full of it. She can’t seem to sort out her feelings, or her nervous system. And damnit if all she can think of are Logan’s wet hands, and his soft wide lips, and the way he’d looked up at her.

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” she says emphatically, shaking out her hands, fisting them at her sides.

“Okay?”

She looks up at him, resigned.

“I’m just going to kiss you.”

She’s absolutely positive Logan isn’t breathing.

“Okay.”

“That’s it. Just one kiss.”

He doesn’t move at all. His hands are still at his sides. He’s pulled on his shirt, and it’s all wet in places from him being shirtless in the hot tub, and Veronica swallows.

And then she rises up onto her tippy toes to touch his mouth with her own.

Logan inhales sharply when she does, and Veronica leans back quickly. The whole room feels like one of those globes at science museums with the lights that makes your hair stand on end.

She hasn't broken eye contact yet. “Okay. So. Here’s the thing. Here’s just the one thing. I’m just going to kiss you with tongue.”

“Okay.”

Logan leans down to meet her this time, and Veronica puts her arms around his neck, breathing into a searing kiss. Maybe from her prompt, maybe because they were going to anyway, but Logan opens his mouth for her and she has to leash her moan, because…oh shit, it’s an amazing kiss. She’s had bad first kisses and this is not one of them.

“Okay, okay,” she says, pulling back out of his embrace, and Logan looks purely dazed and confused and not willing to do a damn thing about it.

“Okay,” he echoes. She's still panting but not from the sprint. Veronica swallows.

“I’m just going to see you without the shirt.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, that’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Just in case you have any moles, or…rashes, or…something.”

“Right.”

Logan reaches down to the bottom of his shirt and pulls it off in one motion.

“Right,” Veronica echoes, staring at his chest, staring at all the smooth lines and muscles. Her mouth literally waters. “Well. You should probably check me too.”

When Logan doesn’t immediately move, Veronica glances up at him. He doesn’t look like his brain is actually in function. He starts when she makes eye contact.

“Right, yes, okay, of course.”

“But that’s it,” she says.

“That’s it,” he agrees.

Veronica and Logan stare at each other in this warm, electric room…and then they collide.

Chapter 18: you are cordially invited to keep it together

Veronica is having the absolute sexiest dream.

It features Logan Echolls, which is weird, but…boy, she cannot complain. He makes her toes curl. He makes her hair curl. He makes her believe in absalom.

Which is why it’s so strange when she wakes up to bright sunshine, and finds the very same Logan Echolls wrapped around for the second morning in a row. Did – did he have the same dream? Is this part of her dream?

It seems that if she were still dreaming, she wouldn’t be quite so aware of how distinctly naked she is.

The reality jolts through her all at once, and Logan jerks awake.

“Fffmup,” he says, half into her boob.

Her very bare boob.

“Logan,” she says, with a creeping grin.

“Yes,” he answers, matter of fact. She waits until he meets her eyes. Something about her gaze bleeds awareness into him and his eyes go wide, and then he looks down at her bare boobs, and there’s a very lovely moment where she gets to gloat at the fact that he seems so surprised.

“Good morning boobs,” he says, and Veronica very nearly laughs.

“Excuse me?”

“Hold on, I’m talking to your boobs.”

Veronica laughs for real.

“Hello skin,” he says through a smile, his voice all soft and warm. He kisses her sternum, and then her collar bone, and then her neck. “Hello neck.”

“Logan, I’m up here,” she teases.

“Working on it. Hello lips,” he says, and then he kisses her, morning breath and all.

Veronica can’t even be mad about it. This kiss is familiar in the way they’ve been kissing all night long, and it takes no time at all for the kiss to turn to more and more and more.

“Okay, so,” Veronica starts, eating nut mix in bed with Logan. They’re too naked and weak to go get proper breakfast. “We should talk about this.”

“About the nut mix?” asks Logan. “I think it’s vegan.”

“No, not about the nut mix,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him. The sight of his naked chest – a naked chest she apparently has permission to reach out and touch any time she likes – it still isn’t old. She bites the inside of her lower lip, trying to focus on his face. “Um. About…this.”

Logan’s chewing slows, until he swallows. “Ah,” he says. “You’re wondering about my…intentions.”

“No!” Veronica yelps. “Uh. I mean. No. Not—okay, just, let’s just put that conversation away for now.” He looks at her curiously. “What I mean to say is, that, well, I just think it would be appropriate to maybe not…so much…broadcast, what’s going on…here.”

Logan loses his smile. “You’re having regrets?”

“Uh,” Veronica says, because she’s reliving every single moment of the last 10-odd hours and she’s going all curly again. “No. No, I just think that there are very good reasons to maybe…keep it between the two of us.”

Logan waits for her to continue.

“Because of Wallace,” she says, “and Jackie. It’s their day, after all, and I just think it would be awkward if we were being all, um. You know.” She makes eye contact, and tries for a jaunty affect. “You know,” she repeats, adding a wink that she doesn’t pull off.

Logan frowns.

Veronica is not handling this conversation very well. She wipes her hands on the duvet cover.

“Um. Secrets are…hot?”

Logan’s eyes dart down, to where her own chest is hidden behind a pillow, to her bare shoulders peeking out on either side. Veronica feels heat bloom in her cheeks and elsewhere. Oh no not again.

“Secrets are hot,” Logan agrees, before ripping said pillow away.

Frankly, Veronica has never been a big fan of secrets.

From a very practical perspective, they really get in the way of her work. People trying to hide things creates tedious hurdles. Confronting people about said secrets is usually a big mess.

And on a personal level, secrets just sort of suck. Her mom had another kid and didn’t tell her about it. Her fiance cheated on her. Her dad likes to hide the good chocolate in the back of the cupboard and then sigh that they only have the healthy stuff left.

But her feelings on secrets have evolved over the last twelve hours. 

Melting into the back seat of Wallace’s car as they prepare to leave the resort, she’s finding it hard to keep the smug little smile off her lips.

Both oblivious to this new world Veronica’s living in, Jackie sits shotgun in front of her, looking radiant and relaxed while texting on her phone. Wallace is trying to pick some music.

Veronica’s secret is currently opening the other rear passenger door and looking right at her from across the dark interior. Veronica’s smile melts into a grin. She can’t help it.

Secrets are great.

“So what did you guys do all night?” Wallace asks, twisting to look at them from the driver’s seat. “I feel like I barely saw you yesterday!”

Veronica wets her lips, looking away from Logan. It’s hard to ignore the purely physical reaction she’s having to his presence in this small, enclosed space. Her mind is just spooling with all of the nudity since last night, and just the smell of him makes her want to leap over and grab him. “We, uh—” Don’t say fucked like bunnies don’t say fucked like bunnies — “hopped…around.”

She could swear the way Logan is coughing into a fist is him smothering a laugh.

Veronica inhales deeply to avoid saying anything else, but it quickly turns into a yawn.

“Sorry,” she says, when she sees Wallace staring at her. “Just, didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

She absolutely will not look at Logan, nor will she kick him in the ankle as he looks sharply out the window after buckling his seatbelt.

“Oh my god that’s right I forgot you guys were sharing a room!”

Veronica’s grin slips, in part because - how the hell could he actually forget something like that. Jackie looks up from her phone as if having the same thought.

“Logan where’d you sleep last night?” Wallace asks, grinning. “I know my girl Veronica didn’t let you sleep in the bed!”

“She did not,” Logan says, turning a steady look to Wallace, and Veronica fights to keep her jaw from dropping. “I slept…a bit of everywhere really.”

Veronica very nearly whacks him with something heavy.

Wallace is nodding. “Oh man. This one time, in college, we went to my uncle’s cabin with a friend, right. Same thing! Only one bed! You better believe that I slept on the couch, and it was the worst. Swear to god a spring nearly castrated me.”

Jackie grins, and pats him on the cheek. “Babe,” she says, with mock sweetness. “Please never tell that story again.”

Wallace tries to look to Veronica for support, but Veronica is too busy laughing into her wrist. She blames the lack of sleep. A glance to Logan, and she finds him looking at her… Grinning like he’s on the verge of laughter himself…just so absurdly handsome with his shining eyes and color in his handsome cheeks, and— And her stomach does a flipflop right then and there, just for the hell of it.

She gets dropped off second, and then sits on top of her bed staring at her phone, debating whether to text him.

Her phone lights up for her.

[I don’t have your address]

Veronica feels a thrill go through her. A thrill goes right through her heart. She starts typing immediately.

[sending flowers?] she writes.

[singing telegram] he answers.

Veronica laughs. She bites her lip.

[I want to see you today] he writes next, and Veronica feels her chest swell. [Can I see you today?]

It makes her feel brave. [Who says I’m not visiting you?] she jests.

There are ten seconds of silence.

And then her phone starts ringing.

Veronica doesn’t know whether to laugh or laugh loudly when she answers.

“I checked the door,” Logan moans. “That’s not fair, you can’t just do that to a man in need.”

“In need? ” Veronica echoes. “Pretty sure all your needs have been plenty fulfilled in the last 18 hours.”

“It’s all your fault. I have new needs now. I’m like a sand dial, gotta turn you upside down.”

“That analogy…” she says, nearly laughing through her teeth, “makes no sense.”

“Hey, I’m on very little sleep here.”

“Are you sure you’re safe to drive?”

There’s a quick pause. 

“I mean. I’ll take a taxi,” Logan says. Veronica grins. “Or a boat? Train? Canoe?” Veronica does laugh now. She can hear Logan’s matching grin. “I’m begging you. You have me literally on my knees.”

She desperately wants to ask for a picture. Ohhhh how she wants physical proof of this.

“Fine,” she says, and she’s pretty sure Logan stops breathing. “3217 Vista Mer, apartment two.”

“3217 Vista Mer apartment two,” he starts repeating, like a mantra. Veronica laughs, and he repeats it again.

“You have like ten minutes max,” he warns. “I’m getting my keys. And a granola bar.”

“That granola bar better be for me!” she laughs, and she hears Logan’s dark grin.

“Oh,” he says. “Absolutely.”

And that’s how it starts. There’s nothing like the good start of something, Veronica thinks, as they nap in the afternoon, and get take out, and watch movies, and have an absurd amount of sex.

 

It takes Veronica four hours on Tuesday to realize she’s only shaved one leg.

 

“You’re out of shampoo,” Logan says, holding up the bottle Tuesday morning.

“What?” Veronica says, too shrill over the sounds of her shower. She grabs the bottle from him and her shoulders relax. “No, I’m not. There’s a whole bunch still in here.”

“Yeah, but, it’s all stuck to the bottom. You got some more somewhere? I’m offering to be the magnanimous one and brave my poor toesies on the tile floor.”

Veronica feels the instinct to grin, but, it’s outweighed by Logan’s ridiculousness. She unscrews the bottle cap, and holds the shampoo under the stream of water, letting it run in. Logan watches her with the patience of someone who thinks you’re being an idiot but is too polite to interrupt you.

She pulls the bottle out of the water, covers the top with her other hand, shakes it vigorously, then upends it into her palm. A big glob comes out, and Logan’s eyes widen with wonder.

“Oooo, so that’s how you get the rest out,” he says. 

“It’s like magic,” she says, mimicking his tone. 

Logan turns glowing eyes and grinning lips at her.

And she doesn’t even get to the conditioner before the water runs cold.

It’s Thursday morning, and she’s sent Logan out for breakfast burritos. The way he protested so adamantly and begged her to go with him would’ve been cute if she wasn’t so desperate for the silence, honestly. 

She’s…happy. She’s been undoubtedly happy, these past few days. She’s gotten absolutely no work done, but it’s been nice. Wallace’s getting married this week. She can take a few more days off. 

Tidying up around her apartment makes her smile. There’s the sock she’s been looking for since Monday night. A condom wrapper haphazardly tossed behind the couch. A shard from the (plastic) potted plant that broke. Some playing cards she’d been (poorly) hiding when they played poker.

She wonders if she should take Logan to meet her dad. In a more official capacity. That would be weird, right? That would be weird. Plus she’s busy – she’s got the rehearsal dinner tonight, and she should really check in with Madison to see if there are any more last-minute tasks she could do to make up for her utter lack. Veronica remembers taking Logan on one of her Madison errands, and wonders if they would be nearly as productive now. Likely not.

She can’t really complain.

A thought snags Veronica’s brain, but it’s gone too quickly for her to remember what it was. She goes to her bedroom, throwing clothes into the hamper, opening her closet to put things away.

Her…closet.

Hm.

Veronica stands in front of it for a moment, looking over her clothes, when all of a sudden, it hits her.

The dress.

The bridesmaid dress.

Oh no.

Oh shit.

Veronica lunges for the hallway and practically leaps to the kitchen, where her phone is charging. She opens up her email, frantic for the delivery confirmation. Maybe one of her neighbors got it? Shit! Maybe it’s being delivered today. Oh shit.

She finds the email.

She taps the tracking number.

And her stomach hollows out when she sees that her dress is in…Tallahassee.

Veronica shoves her hands into her hair. This…this is bad. This is so bad. She tries to think about what’s in her closet, what she could do. She could spend the rest of her day running around looking for something suitable, or she could get something else delivered…? Two day shipping and it could show up…on the day of the wedding, right? Oh shit! How the hell could this have happened? Veronica knows exactly how this could have happened, and he’s currently out in the world, making sure she gets mild salsa and extra sriracha packets.

This is a…this is a disaster.

Veronica rubs her chest, fighting the rising panic.

And then her hand…slows.

She looks up, searching the air.

Oh no.

That’s – that’s a bad idea. She winces. No, she – she can’t.

…She could.

Veronica hangs her head. All the money she’s made working for Madison these last few weeks, she could…she could definitely afford the dress. The dress. The one she tried on weeks and weeks ago, with Logan, at that absurdly fancy store. She bites her lower lip, checking the time. Considering traffic, she could get there exactly when it opens, probably.

Veronica decides not to think about it anymore, and grabs her keys.

How has it been so long since the last time she was here? So much…so much has changed, somehow. Veronica smiles politely to the woman who unlocks the doors and lets her in, the blast of freezing cold air another shock to her system. Maybe they need it to be cold to like, protect the fabrics, or something.

She sort of tries not to skip to the rack the dress had been on before.

It’s not there.

She pushes through all the clothes – she goes through it twice – and then starts looking around, her brow pinching. No. It’s gotta be somewhere.

Veronica sees Theo standing behind the register, folding something.

“Theo!” she shouts, and he looks up at her as she skips to where he is, raising a brow.

“Yes?”

“Theo. Um. Maybe you don’t remember me. I was here a few weeks ago.”

“Yes, I rem—”

“Look, I’m sorry, but is that dress still here?”

“What dress?”

“Yes. The, um, a…purpley one? The one I tried on?”

“Oh,” he says. “You mean your dress.”

What?

Veronica pulls up short. “Uh.”

“It came in last week.”

What the fuck?

“Theo,” she says, with the patience of someone about to lose her mind, “what are you talking about.”

He’s giving her a really annoyed look. “The…dress. The one you tried…on.” He’s talking to her like her mind is already gone. “The one we…ordered, and had…tailored,” he says, before rolling his eyes in very dramatic fashion. “I called Logan, okay. It came in last week, like I said.”

Veronica realizes a very different feeling is filling her up now. The vacuum of surprise has left her open, and in its place is only cold, hard…

Rage.

“Show me?” she says, with terrifying sweetness.

Theo, to his credit, seems to understand what it looks like when a volcano is about to erupt.

Veronica had taken one glance at the three very polite, very carefully worded texts Logan had sent her, and knew he wouldn’t be skulking outside her door with a bag of Mexican-American breakfast food.

Which was better, honestly.

It’s so much better to catch them off-guard.

Veronica is holding the dress over one arm, close to her chest. Rich people don’t send dresses out the door in plastic wrap, apparently. Apparently fancy dresses get their own garment bag, emblazoned with the fashion house’s coat of arms. She stares at the numbers illuminating in turn above the door as the elevator steadily ascends.

The fact that Logan lives at the Grand lends both an air of ridiculousness and absurd unreality to this whole thing. Seriously? His condo just opens up from the elevator? He gave her his keycode?

Yeah, it was so she could run down to get the Thai food and then run back up, but he should’ve known she’d remember it. That’s really on him, okay.

The elevator doors open to his place, and Veronica steps inside.

She takes a shallow breath.

“Logan?”

He comes walking into sight from around the corner, and his mouth breaks into this really beautiful grin when he sees her.

“Hey, bobcat,” he says, all smiles. There’s a tenor of nervousness she sees quickly ebbing from his posture. “I was, uh. Hoping I’d see you soon.”

Veronica hasn’t moved since she saw him, and when Logan makes a few steps towards her, he seems to recognize this.

“Um,” he squeaks, “bobcat?”

She holds the dress aloft in one hand. And shakes it. “Logan!” she grits through her teeth.

Logan winces fully.

“Oh shit I forgot about that.”

She glares glass daggers at him.

“You forgot?”

“Right, well, yes, I can explain.”

“I’m waiting.”

“So, I, well, I thought your love language might be gifts —”

“It is not, continue.”

“And then I thought I would be very impressive by buying you a fancy thing.”

“I am not impressed, continue.”

“And then I sort of figured that out anyway, and then I forgot about it, and then the store called last week and I remembered, and then I forgot about it again.”

Veronica sighs with her whole body, sagging, staring up to the ceiling.

Ohhh rich people. He just forgot? He just forgot about a dress that cost more than her monthly rent?

Gross. Seriously? Gross. There are people dying of malnutrition all over the world and he buys her this…really beautiful dress. Hey. Yeah. People are dying all over the world of malnutrition. What if Logan doesn’t donate any of his money? What if he’s not some humanitarian like he should be? If she could be his…sugar baby (oh god she wants to take a shower after thinking of that term) maybe she could just funnel the money into a Feed People in Africa type of fund. It would make both Logan a better person…and Veronica a better person for tolerating him.

She looks at the dress.

And for tolerating his acts of kindness.

“You really don’t have to keep it,” he says, and she can see he’s taking more cautious steps towards her.

She levels a tight look at him. “I really don’t have a lot of other options,” she explains. When he raises an eyebrow in askance, she shakes her head. “Forget about it. I’ll—” she wants to say, I’ll pay you back, but…she knows she can’t. And with them actually tailoring it to her measurements, she probably couldn’t return it anyway. Maybe she could sell it online, on one of those apps that resells fancy clothing, but, it might be…rude? Oh god, she’s so out of her depth here. Paging Miss Manners, what do you do when your boyfriend buys you lavish gifts and you think it’s inappropriate?

Wait.

Her boyfriend?

“I thought a lot of things since this morning,” Logan admits, and she realizes he’s very close to her now. She looks up at him, dejected, resigned, somewhat miserable, and sees his drawn expression of concern. “I have to say,” he continues with a wince, “it was really hard not to blow up your phone, and I am really glad that you’re here.”

And…damn him.

Damn him, except, a little, teeny tiny smile starts at the corners of her lips, threatening to give her away.

She tips her chin up. “You thought I wasn’t coming back?” she taunts.

Logan slides her hands around her waist, dipping his nose to the side of her neck. “I really did,” he admits, and warmth spreads all over.

“Poor baby,” she teases, putting a hand against his chest. Not to stop him, just to feel. “Were you feeling all alone?”

“Had no one to count all my money with,” he jokes, nuzzling the side of her neck. “One dollar, two…what comes after two?” he asks, and when he realizes that she’s frozen again, Logan jerks back.

“Not a good time for that joke,” he guesses.

“Not a good time for that joke,” she agrees.

 

Chapter 19: you are cordially invited to rehearse

It’s time for the rehearsal dinner.

“Are you ready for everything?”

Veronica isn’t listening. She’s staring all the way across the room at Logan, who’s just arrived and looks pretty freaking amazing in a tux. Broad shoulders, so tall, clean-shaven. Mm. Yeah.

They drove separately, of course, because they’re smart. They’re smart and they’re going to get away with this.

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

Wallace is looking at her strangely. “I was wondering if your speech is ready.”

“Oh! Oh right. Yes. My speech. Definitely I have…words ready. A song? I definitely wrote you a song.”

Wallace grins with his whole face. “Be serious.”

“I am!” Veronica goads, glancing at Logan one more time. He has some sort of product in his hair that makes it look soft, shiny, and very grabbable. He hasn’t seen her yet. “I wrote you a sonnet. It’s like, seven stanzas.”

“A sonnet has only fourteen lines,” Wallace points out, grinning along with the joke.

“Yeah, well. I wrote you seven of them. Seven sonnets.”

Wallace laughs again.

Veronica barely hears him.

Across the flow of the party, a hundred-something bodies milling around between them, Logan finally sees her.

She’d taken special care to dress tonight, for…obvious reasons. She hasn’t worn this dress in years. 

It’s too clingy, and totally impractical, and she got it for 80% off at a clearance sale geared for teens and tweens. And tonight she’d just glanced at it, fresh from having Logan’s hands all over her, and…she just wanted him to take this particular dress off of her.

That’s what she wanted.

Logan is looking at her.

And it seems that hubris is really not her problem tonight.

His dark eyes seem to eat her up whole even from a few hundred feet away. Veronica grins deeply and wants to wave him off. He’s being too obvious.

She turns away and goes for a sip of her drink. What was Wallace saying a second ago? Something about national anthems?

Thank god, he’s staring at the passing hors d'oeuvres.

“Pretty sure Jackie said one of these has pigs in a blanket on it…” he’s murmuring, and Veronica cannot control her grin as she tries to swallow the mouthful of champagne.

She feels him before she can see him.

“Hey Wallace,” Logan says, voice a shade rough.

Wallace turns to him, face breaking into a grin, and they clasp hands and pat each other on backs - the man version of a hug, or whatever it is.

“Great party.”

“Thanks! I did…nothing to plan it, frankly.”

Logan laughs; the sound is forced and polite. He glances at Veronica from the corner of his eye.

Veronica really focuses on maintaining the veneer of innocence. She watches Logan suck in a breath.

“Hey, any chance I could steal Veronica for a second?” Logan asks, and Veronica feels heat flash through her. What are you doing.

“Yeah?” Wallace asks.

“We just,” Logan wets his lips. “It’s for our, uh. For the um.”

“For the sonatas,” Veronica says, and she really is trying not to stare at him. She forces herself to glance at Wallace. “The sonatas for tonight.”

Wallace looks confused. “Uh. Yeah, I mean. Sure, whatever you gotta do.”

Logan and Veronica turn towards each other, making eye contact again. Oh this is stupid. This is so delightfully, deliciously stupid.

Her whole body is electric, standing at his side. Oh they have a secret. Secrets are hot. She just can’t do anything about the grin forcing its way across her face.

They’re near some dark hallway by the kitchens when Logan drops his voice.

“I need to kiss you now,” he says, and Veronica’s heart is racing. 

“You do not,” she whispers back.

“I do. And I’m pretty sure the only door around here with a lock is the gender-neutral bathroom.”

Veronica wets her lips, careful of the lipstick that matches her dress. “You will do no such thing,” she warns him, not believing for a second that they’re close to them anyway.

They walk deeper into the dark hallway, and Logan quickly moves her to the wall. He does that thing – that thing straight out of a movie – hand on the wall near her head, ducking into her space, his other hand going right to her side. He’s going to kiss her. Right in this hallway.

Veronica pushes her fingers against his lips.

“Absolutely not,” she says brightly, her pulse thumping inside her body, her whole skin alight. Logan makes a pained noise, and Veronica’s grin spreads. “Absolutely not,” she repeats, ever the voice of reason. “Tonight isn’t about us, and we promised that we wouldn’t overshadow Jackie and Wallace’s day.”

Logan brushes her hand away. “Who says anyone even cares about us?” he murmurs, grinning slyly down at her. Veronica has to force her expression to come close to seriousness.

“I care. I care about Wallace’s friendship.” She rakes her gaze down his body, to where his tuxedo pants are buckled with a sleek leather belt. “You’ll just have to wait until later tonight.”

Logan’s gaze is a brand on her face; its dark heat burning her up. And then his eyes close, and his head falls a little, and he groans.

What?

“I have plans tonight,” he explains, and Veronica…feels all that heat inside her…stumble. It’s not unlike the feeling of missing the last stair.

“Oh?”

Logan leans back so he can see her whole face again, and he looks disgruntled. “Or, I guess. We have plans tonight. Me, Wallace, a bunch of his buddies from basketball and the school…” He sighs, and his hand tightens on her waist. “ We’re going out tonight?”

Veronica tries for a laugh. She’s trying not to be disappointed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and he brushes hair across her forehead. Veronica fights the urge to pull away. “We planned it a few weeks ago. One last guys’ night out.”

“Some would call that the bachelor party, which, we already did,” she argues, and she really hates the coldness that is creeping into her tone. What’s with her?

Logan nods. “I know. It wasn’t my idea.”

“So don’t go,” she suggests, staring brazenly at him.

Logan looks down at her. He tracks her lips, and her nose, and her eyes.

“You don’t want me to go?”

What …what sort of question is that, really? Didn’t she literally just suggest…

Veronica looks down.

She…she hates the feelings tangling inside her. The urge to shove him away, to deny that she has any interest in the first place. The pure bitterness of it.

She takes a sharp breath through her nose. “No, go,” she says, with forced disinterest. “It would be good for Wallace. He’ll have fun.”

Logan is watching her closely, the frown to his features so slight.

“I’d rather be with you,” he says.

Veronica is turning her head away. That’s really not helping her feel better. Maybe because even though he says that, he’s still going to go to the party. The afterparty , so to speak, because they’re at a party right now. They’ve been to parties for the last six weeks. Wait, why wasn’t Veronica invited? Why isn’t she going along with them? Isn’t she the groomsmaid?  

Unless, you know, this is their opportunity to do all the skeezy gross things that come with traditional bachelor parties. Maybe they’re going to a strip clu—

Veronica squeezes her eyes shut tight. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter. Whatever Logan wants to do, whatever Wallace wants to do – it clearly doesn’t concern her.

“Veronica…” he says, knowingly. Veronica shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “It’s fine. Yeah, go to the party. Yeah, I don’t care.”

Logan full-on frowns at her now. Which is fine, because she knows that she’s full-on frowning at him.

It seems so ridiculous that not two minutes ago she was ready to combust with wanting him.

Veronica ducks under his arm, starting a brisk walk towards the light. She hears Logan’s soft curse, the sound of his shoes hitting the floor as he skips to catch up with her.

“Veronica,” he says, and she completely ignores him. Another soft expletive and she sees the flute of champagne she’d left on a table on their way towards the dark, and she picks it up in one smooth swoop as she tracks the room for someone else to talk to. Someone not Logan. Someone else.

“I didn’t—” he starts to say, but Veronica pulls herself up short. Logan nearly runs into her back. 

“I have to go talk to Madison for a minute,” she says, spying her across the party talking to someone. Veronica’s heart is still beating too fast inside her chest, and she feels off-kilter, a bit wild, somewhat reckless – she needs space , god damnit, and —

She glances up just to make sure that he’s not going to follow, probably. That’s maybe the only reason why. Logan is staring at Madison with a frown on his face that makes her brows twitch together. What? No. No, he would have— no — forget it, it’s nothing — Don’t even go there right now —

Veronica takes a shaky breath and starts walking in Madison’s direction, and Logan doesn’t follow.

It doesn’t even matter, really, is her thought as she swallows another big mouthful of champagne on her way around tables. Veronica wonders if this wine is considered good by people who care, and she wonders if any of those types of people are here tonight. What’s the point? What’s the honest to god point of ‘good’ wine. Do you like it? Drink it. It’s gross? Don’t drink it. Talk about the most useless, pointless hobby in existence. 

She wants another glass.

“Hey Madison,” she blurts without introducing herself, and Madison’s gaze shifts mid-sentence. 

Her features register little-to-no surprise, as if someone like Veronica wouldn’t register on her scale of things to notice anyway.

“Can I help you?”

Now Veronica realizes she has to think of something else to say. Um. Okay. Well. She finds herself twisting halfway around and then realizes her mistake too late, and then has to think way too fast.

“Um. Yes. I have something to tell you. A um. A um. A…secret.”

A what? A secret?

Madison’s gaze narrows, and Veronica glances at the stranger present. This person has very round eyes and is starting to glance at Madison. Madison looks at them. “Can you excuse us?” she asks, and the other person disappears immediately. To Veronica she says, “You were saying?”

Veronica swallows, wishing she had more champagne. What kind of thing would Madison want to hear?

“There’s a bachelor party tonight.”

Madison looks at her with disappointment. “I know . And I’m not invited to this one either , okay, so like. Just don’t rub it in.”

Veronica shrugs. “I’m not invited either.”

“You’re not?”

Veronica moves to stand at Madison’s side. When she looks out at the party, she can’t see Logan anymore, which is a relief.

And a…disappointment, somehow. A disappointing relief.

Why is that?

“So that’s the secret, Veronica? There’s another party tonight?”

“Um. No,” she lies. She really should be better at this, and has to make sure her face doesn’t screw up as she thinks of something to say. “You’ve got a…” Damnit, all she can think about is Logan, “a secret admirer.”

Madison levels her with a bored look. “Be serious. Really? A secret admirer?”

Veronica doubles down. “Yup. Can’t tell you who.”

“Oh come on. ”

“Dead serious.”

Dead liar.

Madison is staring at her as if thinking the same thing. “We’re not in high school anymore, Ver-on-i-ca,” she says, drawing out her name. “Why can’t they just come out and tell me?”

“Well,” Veronica answers, with logic, “because they don’t want to take the spotlight away from the couple. So uh. You gotta wait until after the wedding.”

This seems to work towards her credibility.

“Huh.”

Veronica nods. “Yeah. I mean, I told them I’d feel you out, in case you were interested.”

Madison stares out at the party. “Is it Duncan?”

Ugh. Gross. “Can’t tell you.”

“What about Demarius?”

“Told you, can’t say.”

“AJ?”

“Ziiiip, my lips are sealed.”

“Is it Logan?”

Why does…why does that squeeze her heart, just a bit?

Her throat’s gone a bit dry, and she has to swallow a bit. “Nope,” she says, and the syllables hurt all the way.

Madison’s shoulders drop. “Dang. I was kinda hoping it was Logan.”

Veronica’s heart beats just that much faster inside her chest. She follows Madison’s stare, and finally finds Logan across the party. He’s making polite small talk with someone’s grandfather, maybe, and the light catches in his hair in all the worst ways.

Did they fight? Are they fighting? Are they over? She’s not really anywhere near her depth here, and her hands unconsciously curl into little fists. Maybe she should text him.

“You got any work for me?” Veronica asks Madison, and Madison doesn’t answer all at once, distracted by Logan’s handsomeness.

“What?”

“For the wedding. Anything I can do?”

Madison turns to look at her. She’s clearly distracted, hopefully thinking too much about someone who’s fictitiously interested in her. Madison’s classically beautiful features feel almost mocking, somehow. “No,” she answers, coming back to their conversation. “No, everything’s pretty much sorted.”

“Seriously?”

Madison nods, holding her flute of champagne to her lips. “I’m good at my job, Veronica,” she says, and Veronica snorts a little.

“Touché.”

“The only thing left is to pick up the marriage license tomorrow and then make sure everything goes smoothly on Saturday.”

“You don’t want me to get the license? I know where City Hall is.”

“Ha ha, like I’d entrust you with literally the fifth most important thing about this wedding.”

The fifth? Veronica doesn’t ask.

Madison is squinting back at the party. “Suzanne?” she guesses, which surprises Veronica. Suzanne is one of Jackie’s friends from work and she’s been at most of these things. Veronica has spoken to her exactly twice and cannot remember what they talked about either time.

“You’d be interested in Suzanne?”

“Who wouldn’t be interested, jeez.” Veronica nods, tilting her head. She has a point. “I’d definitely take up Demarius, though.” A cheshire cat grin is poking its way across Madison’s lipstick.

Veronica reviews what she knows about him. Single, boring, Wallace’s friend from college, played basketball for the Greek national team and speaks about eight words of the language. Maybe a little bit perfect for Madison Sinclair.

“I…said nothing,” Veronica reports, with a sort of mock-innocence that makes Madison’s grin bloom.

“Well, whatever, because maybe I’m enjoying my life,” she says airily. Her tone shifts abruptly. “Now, go find your seats. We’re about to start the first course. And your speech better be perfect, Veronica. I’m expecting these to go on the highlight reel.”

Veronica rolls her eyes a little. Yeah, yeah. Okay.

 

Sure enough, the music shifts and people start making their ways to their assigned seats. Which would be fine, except it brings her…far too close to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Maybe six feet away from the table she looks up from making sure that she’s not going to run into anything…and her gaze snaps directly onto Logan’s.

For a moment she feels suspended in time.

He’s talking to someone. Kind of. He’s mostly staring at her. Again she remembers the thoughts she’d had putting on this dress. It’s a red so dark it’s almost black, with shimmering little threads sewn in every once in awhile. She looks so good in it. And she’d imagined Logan’s hands starting at her calves…moving upward…

Her cheeks warm, and she quickly looks away. 

Someone is waving at her – it’s Wallace – and he’s waving her towards a chair next to him. Jackie is on his other side at this main table. Ah right. She’s the groomsmaid. Not that it seems to matter later tonight. Hey, that’s right. Veronica frowns, and she takes the seat he’s holding out for her.

“So, which strip club are we going to tonight?”

She gets the satisfaction of Jackie’s head whipping right around, and Wallace’s expression of shocked surprise.

“She’s kidding,” he tells Jackie. Logan is still another few chairs down and can’t hear them. Wallace looks back at Veronica, and Veronica crosses her arms over her chest in her seat. Wallace frowns back at her. “What, you’re pissed that you’re not going to get drunk and play pick up?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been working on my dunk.”

That makes Wallace grin despite his better efforts, probably because he’s picturing how many stepping stools she’d need to get her 5’1” self up to the hoop. He shakes off the grin.

“Seriously,” he says, and Jackie is clearly listening with one ear while talking to her cousin. “I just thought you wouldn’t be interested.”

“Hm,” Veronica says, glancing at where Logan is starting to make his way to Jackie’s other side. Hey. How come they’re not called the…the best woman, and the man of honor? Doesn’t that make more sense? Whatever.

Wallace sighs, and takes his own seat. Veronica watches his profile, very much not looking at Logan, who is so much taller than everyone especially when they’re all sitting down. “You ready?” she asks Wallace.

“Hm? Ready for – oh, for Saturday? Yeah man,” he’s grinning again, and Jackie’s cousin gets out of Logan’s chair and lets him take it. Jackie half turns towards Wallace to join their conversation. Wallace looks at his fiancee. “Born ready,” he insists, reaching out for Jackie’s hand and squeezing it. Jackie smiles gently, trying to hold back her happiness.

And then something weird happens.

Wallace reaches for his water, and the smile on Jackie’s face…fades.

What?

Jackie turns away too quickly for Veronica to really figure out what’s going on.

And then dinner starts. Veronica is seated between Wallace and Wallace’s younger brother, so at least she has someone to talk to with Wallace during the friggen eight-course meal. Something like that. She loses track when they bring out a single spoonful of lemon and rosemary sorbet. Darrell Fennel thinks it’s gross and won’t eat it, despite being in college.

She nearly forgets about Logan being eight feet away from her, except that it feels like everytime he chuckles the sound goes directly to her ears, and…every so often she glimpses the top of his hair a bit…and that’s not nice. She doesn’t like that.

It’s probably over.

Right?

It’s probably over.

Dessert finally wraps up, and a few minutes after Veronica has pushed chocolate mousse around on her plate, Wallace stands and dings on his glass with the side of his fork.

Oh right. It’s time for speeches.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Wallace starts, to the general quiet of a very large crowd. “I…I’m not a big talker, really, unless I’m looking at a crowd of 14-year-olds.” This gets some mild laughter, and Wallace grins. “I feel so lucky to be here. Jackie, I…” he breaks off, looking at her. His lips button, and his eyes take on a shine. “I can’t really put into words how much it means to me that you’re doing this with me. I love you, babe.” This gets the appropriate aw reaction, and he leans down to give her a kiss. Veronica watches Jackie’s face, Veronica’s own smile hitching. Maybe she’d made it up, earlier? Maybe she’d made it up.

Jackie looks right back at Veronica when the kiss is over.

Veronica feels her brows quirk together.

“Ron,” Wallace is saying, and it draws Veronica’s attention. “You’re up,” he whispers with a wink, and Veronica remembers her speech.

“Oh right, my limericks,” she says, and Wallace laughs.

Veronica grins and stands. She takes a deep breath, staring out at the crowd. She really wouldn’t mind if they all turned into 14-year-olds right now. That would probably be easier. She recognizes district court Judge Kaur at a table near the middle. Jeez. Veronica voted for her twice. Okay.

“Um,” she starts, and glances back at Wallace. He’s grinning up at her.

Right.

Wallace.

Her very best friend.

Veronica’s smile turns softer, and she starts her speech.

It’s vaguely traditional, in the way that these are supposed to be. Hi, I’m Veronica, I’m the groomsmaid, and it’s because I have way too much dirt on Wallace that he felt safer having me where he could see me (ha ha, this is so funny), and then a transition to how she knows Jackie, and Jackie and Wallace together, and how they’re great together, blah blah blah. These things have a pattern to them, you know? And Veronica’s not about to start bucking tradition. Not today, anyway.

She finds her glass of champagne. “To Jackie and Wallace,” she says, and it’s echoed with some cheers and everyone drinks.

And she makes the very crucial mistake of looking over at Logan right before she sips.

She just, she just doesn’t know what to do with the way he’s looking at her. It makes her whole insides clench. Veronica inhales sharply through her nose and drinks.

It’s Logan’s turn to speak.

Veronica takes her own chair, her cheeks warm, not looking at him at all.

“Thanks, everyone, for coming together for this. I’ve known Jackie for more than half my life…” Veronica stops listening. She’s trying to sort out her feelings, and the fact that her pulse thrums through her veins is not helping. They’re – they’re over, right? People who are over don’t look at each other the way Logan was just looking at her. She can picture it again if she closes her eyes.

The longing, and the, the pride or something? What was that? And the sadness? Sadness she understands, because, they’re supposed to be over, and now…oh god, now she doesn’t know what.

“So, we’re all here for love, right?”

Veronica looks up. She scans the crowd: whatever Logan’s been talking about has half the audience with tears shining in their eyes and dreamy smiles on their faces. Veronica turns towards Logan. He’s holding his glass of champagne down by his waist, his free hand in his pocket.

“Because what’s better than that?” he continues. “What’s better than that butterflies to the stomach…can’t wait to check your phone…close your eyes just to picture their face feeling?”

Veronica feels her brows draw together, feels her insides go all twisty and warm. “The kind of feeling that makes you run to meet the delivery guy and tip him all the cash in your pocket. The kind that you wake up thinking about. Go to bed thinking about. Feeling like the stop lights are plotting against you as you drive across town to their apartment.” Logan pauses for emphasis, or something, and then he smirks. “That’s the good stuff.” There’s a mild titter of laughter from the room, and Veronica realizes she’s got her napkin fisted in both hands. “So raise a glass,” Logan instructs, like they’re a very patient class of strangers, “to Jackie and Wallace. For showing us what the good stuff looks like. For getting married at all. For…bringing us all together.”

She’s totally reading into this. Right? This is ridiculous. It’s not about her. It’s not about her at all. He probably wrote that…months ago. He wouldn’t be talking about her.

But nevertheless, she feels all her irritation…thaw.

Which is mildly annoying, that she’s so swayed by a few nice words, which might not even be about her anyway. She glances at him, and he’s drinking his champagne.

Music swells from somewhere, and suddenly Madison is sneaking behind Veronica’s chair and whispering in Wallace and Jackie’s ears. Wallace nods, stands, and extends a hand to Jackie. “C’mon babe,” he says, and then he leads her to the dance floor.

And there’s no one between Veronica and Logan anymore.

Veronica had already been turned to look at them, so now she’s looking at nothing but Logan, sitting back in his seat.

And she sort of forgets anyone else is there at all.

She wets dry lips, and leans forward a bit. “That was a nice speech.”

Logan doesn’t respond, just leans his elbow onto the back of his chair, sliding a loose fist to the side of his face. “You didn’t eat your mousse,” he points out, and Veronica wonders when he noticed.

She sighs. “Yeah, well.” She doesn’t have anything else to say. She can’t even come up with some stupid joke to say. Are we over?

Madison literally jumps into Veronica’s peripheral vision. “You have to dance now.”

“Jeezus, Madison! Where did you come from!”

She’s not going to answer the question. “Both of you. Dance with them, please.”

Veronica sends a panicked glance at the small dance floor in front of their long table. It’s like a mini-wedding, almost, a one-fifth scale. Jackie and Wallace are swaying to the music.

“Aren’t they supposed to be, like, alo—”

“Go. Stop asking questions.” Madison sends a far more pleasing smile at Logan. “Save the next dance for me, yeah? Duty calls…” She trots off past Logan, dragging her hand along the back of his chair as she goes. Veronica sucks in half a breath.

She glances back at Logan.

“Well?” he asks, evenly. Veronica frowns. This feels like a bad idea. Maybe they don’t have to—

Logan stands, and extends a hand. Veronica bites the inside of her cheek. She can’t think of a way to get out of this in any way that won’t piss off Madison. 

Whatever. It’s one dance, right?

Veronica unclenches her fingers from the napkin, and hesitantly takes Logan’s.

Her skin goes tight all over at the contact, and the way that Logan’s eyes blaze lets her think that he feels something similar. She drops his hand and turns, walking to the dance floor. She knows that Logan is just a step behind.

When they get to the periphery, she notes that Madison has cajoled the parents and the more mobile set of grandparents to join Wallace and Jackie. It’s…nice. Madison is honestly doing a decent job with all of this.

Logan’s palm appears again in her peripheral vision, and with half a frown, she takes it again. The same feeling blooms right through her abdomen: a sort of squeeze, followed by pure warmth. And then when Logan puts his other hand against her lower back, moving her onto the floor, taking the right stance, moving her with the music…

“Cotillion?” Veronica guesses, after a moment.

Logan doesn’t even laugh. “Private lessons. I can do a decent merengue.”

“If you don’t have tap shoes I’m not even interested,” she says without thinking, smirking. Logan’s soft chuckle just…wraps all the way around her, honestly.

Veronica feels her shoulders sink.

The song feels interminably long.

“I don’t have to go,” he murmurs, for her alone.

Veronica feels that squeezy insides feeling again, frowning. Is that what she wants? Is it that simple? Or is it that he didn’t tell her? 

Something viscous flares inside her, but she quickly quiets it down. No. She believes that it was just an honest…well…it doesn’t matter. Maybe they’re not over after all.

“No,” she sighs. She can smell his shampoo. “It’s fine.”

Logan leans back, meeting her eyes. “It is?” he asks. His eyes shine with an earnestness that doesn’t register in the rest of his expression, almost like he’s half-cognizant of the fact that they’re in public and he’s decent at controlling his emotions. Hm.

Veronica raises her brows with feigned suffering. “Yes, I suppose I can…be patient.”

The corner of Logan’s lip quirks up. “Your defining trait,” he teases, and Veronica has the instinct to poke him.

“I can be very patient,” she argues.

Logan grins. “This from the same girl who burned her mouth on egg rolls – twice in a week.”

Veronica’s mouth drops a bit. “I was hungry!”

She suddenly remembers where they are and looks away, schooling her features into nonchalance.

Warmth is coiling pleasantly in her stomach, and she glances at the table, wondering if someone cleared her dessert away.

Wallace and Jackie drift through her vision, and Veronica watches them for a moment.

It’s easy to forget that Jackie’s pregnant. Probably because they’re supposed to be pretending she’s not, probably also because she’s not even really showing. It’s crazy that this time next year that Wallace will have…a kid. Dang. Like a real one. It’ll be like, what, walking by then? She has no idea. Maybe it’ll still be wrinkly. Either wrinkly or walking, something like that.

Wallace dips Jackie very slowly while she gives him a warning finger. He rights her, then holds her against his body. Jackie is smiling, and then she settles her head against his shoulder, and…

And all of a sudden, in the most fleeting of moments…

Jackie looks so, so sad.

And she’d think she was just imagining it, except the song changes, and Wallace turns her in a full circle and Jackie makes eye contact with someone and her face lights up with the most artificial look of joy, and Veronica knows she’s imagined none of it.

“Do you want to keep dancing?” Logan is asking her. Veronica glances at him. “I uh. I admit that I really…really don’t want to dance with Madison.”

Veronica snorts, then leans closer. “One more song,” she says, and she can feel more than see Logan nod. They’re probably dancing way too close, but she’s finding it just…whatever. That’s what she thinks.

They’re not over yet.

After three songs, Veronica doesn’t like her shoes anymore and lets Jackie’s auntie cut in. She heads to the dessert and coffee table, picking out a cookie that has J & W on it in the most ridiculous script. She takes a giant bite and considers tea.

Jackie shows up at her shoulder, looking down at the cookies.

This surprises Veronica. 

“Hey Jackie,” she says. Jackie either doesn’t hear her or is pretending not to hear her.

Veronica looks around. There’s no one close by, really.

“Um,” she continues, “you want a cookie? They’re pretty good.”

Jackie doesn’t answer, but looks up at the wall with a hard look, and then turns abruptly and starts walking towards a door that leads outside.

What?

Veronica has the strangest feeling that…she’s supposed to follow?

She swallows the cookie that’s in her mouth, and decides to come back for the tea.

Outside it’s still April in Neptune, California.

It’s chilly, almost, with a tickly sort of breeze. It reminds Veronica of the more blustery breeze towards the coast, and then she starts to think about last weekend, and she finds the cold much more tolerable afterall.

“Jackie?” she says, aloud.

There’s the sound of shifting gravel, and Veronica turns to the side and sees Jackie leaning against the exterior wall.

Veronica wonders if she could get another bite of cookie in, but then decides it’ll have to wait. She approaches Jackie, and when Jackie doesn’t move away, Veronica figures her original guess was correct.

She wets her lips, then matches Jackie’s stance against the wall.

A thought flashes through her.

Is this about – is this about Logan?

Does she know?

“Everything, um. Everything okay?”

Jackie’s head tilts back against the wall. “Do you think Wallace is happy?”

That thought totally spins her off course.

“What?” she can’t help but ask, because the question is absurd.

Jackie doesn’t respond. She doesn’t turn to look at Veronica.

“Jackie,” Veronica starts, trying to be patient. “Are you kidding? Of course he’s happy. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

Jackie’s eyes shine in the dark, and Veronica’s eyes widen, because it honest to god looks like she’s going to—-

“Hello? ”

Veronica spins around.

It’s…it’s Logan.

“Y-yeah….?” she answers.

Logan turns sharply in her direction. His shoulders sag when he sees her…and Jackie.

“Jack,” Logan continues, walking towards them. He tries for half a smile. “Couldn’t find you for a minute there. Your dad was looking for you.”

Veronica looks back at Jackie, and sees her nod, coming off the wall with a giant smile on her face. “Just, wanted to ask Veronica about the wedding night,” she jokes, with a brightness that totally throws Veronica. Veronica swallows quickly.

“I definitely told her to expect lots of balloon animals,” she jokes, and Jackie snorts.

“Well yeah, if you’re not using balloon animals, you’re doing it wrong,” Logan echoes, making Veronica look at him. His gaze is on his friend, quietly assessing behind a bland sort of smile. Jackie punches his arm with a soft fist.

“I’ll go find my dad.”

She walks past him, and when the door opens and closes, Logan sighs. “Is she okay?”

Veronica is not totally sure how to answer that question. “I think so,” she answers, honestly. She can’t remember a time when Jackie wasn’t okay, honestly. That’s sort of her defining feature. Veronica has never seen the woman cry. Not in college when she’d failed her first midterm. Not when she’d passed the bar. Not even when she slammed her hand in a drawer this one time looking for an ice cream spoon.

Maybe it’s the hormones? That’s probably it. And Jackie’s allowed to have her hormones without having a bunch of guys poke around in her business. Yeah. It’s women stuff.

Logan’s shoulders rise and fall. He turns to Veronica, and there’s a long moment where they’re just looking at each other.

“I, uh…” he starts to say, and he wets his lips. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

She doesn’t like the stab of disappointment that goes through her again just thinking about it. She takes a shaky breath, then shrugs with one shoulder.

“You can make it up to me.”

Logan ducks his head. “I can?”

She really has to work for a second to force the smile off her face.

“Yeah. I’m thinking…ice sculptures? Chocolate fountains?”

“Sky writer, got it,” he agrees.

“Yup,” she grins.

They look at each other for a moment, suspended in time. It’s very…fond.

“Just one kiss,” he pleads. “I promise no one else will see.”

Her heartbeat just goes right up. And he’s just so handsome, and he wants to kiss her, and she really, really, really likes him. 

“Hands in your pockets,” she cautions. “No tongue.”

Logan shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “Just one.”

And it’s the sweetest kiss she can remember.

Notes:

Just FYI my unofficial title for the next chapter has the word BETRAYAL in it so you have been warned :-P

Chapter 20: you are cordially invited to fool me twice

Veronica wakes up the morning before Jackie and Wallace’s wedding to a phone call, and the sun has barely risen.

“Ye..llo,” she answers, voice muffled by hair and pillows.

“Ver-ooooonnniccaaaaa…”

It’s Madison.

Madison Sinclair is calling her at butt o’clock in the morning.

“Veronica,” Madison sighs. And then before Veronica can even ask what is going on: “I had sex last night.”

Okay.

“Okay,” Veronica answers.

“I had seeeex Veronica and it was so great!” she over-shares.

Veronica scrubs her face, trying to wake herself up. “That’s great?”

“It was great,” Madison purrs. “Thank you so much for telling me about my…secret admirer.”

Veronica rolls her eyes epically. Great. Whatever. She’ll think about that later.

“Can I help you?” she asks, closing her eyes. Maybe she can go back to bed.

“Yes, I need you to get the marriage license after all. I will be…” Veronica can hear the grin stretching across Madison’s face, “busy.”

Gross.

“You’ll need to come get Jackie and Wallace’s drivers’ licenses and stuff before you go. I’ll text you the address.”

Veronica sighs and sits up. It sounds like it’s time to get out of bed. “Just be wearing pants when I get there, please.”

And she hears Madison shouting “no promises!” as she goes to hang up the phone.

Madison lives in this ultra-trendy part of town, in a house her parents bought her. There’s a gate at the end of the driveway and everything.

Veronica yawns as she waits for it to open up. Already being awake, she figured it was just best to get it over with. Maybe she can get a nap in later. Maybe she can drive to the Grand after this and surprise Logan in bed.

A sneaky sort of smile snakes across her lips. Ugh. Madison might be getting to her. 

The gates open and Veronica drives towards the house, turning her car around so it’ll be easier to leave. Hm. Yeah. Maybe she will go surprise Logan. He’ll be hungover and miserable…but she likes it when his skin is all warm and he smells like sleep, and…

She gets out of the car and sees Madison in the giant doorway, and she’s definitely not wearing pants. She looks the picture of the night after : hair tousled, short robe on, make-up smudged around her eyes. But the most important thing is that she’s got a large paper envelope under one arm, so.

“Good morning, Madison,” Veronica says.

“Oh Veronica, I just had…the most amazing night,” Madison says, handing the folder over, and surely if there was a divan around here Madison would be draping herself all over it. “Seriously, that man. Oh, that man! He can…he can work his way around a firehose, is what I’m saying.”

Veronica is absolutely sure she does not know what Madison is saying, but she’s nevertheless pleased for the woman. As a recent enjoyer of lots of excellent sexual relations, Veronica can relate.

“That’s great, Madison.”

“It is , you know? I just—” Madison drops her voice. “I don’t like to admit how long it was for me, but, well, it’s been a while, if you know what I mean. Not that I’ve been celibate but just that I’ve been…” she makes an exaggerated glance at her own lady parts. “Neglected.”

“Got it.”

“I’m trying to say that I haven’t been properly serviced in months.”

“Yeah, no, I get what you’re—”

“I haven’t had an orgasm! is what I’m saying.”

Is there…someone around that Veronica can’t see? A camera crew maybe? Madison’s mother? She has no idea why Madison is so loudly shouting about things.

“Great, yes,” Veronica nods. “So maybe I can just—”

And then it all happens so quickly.

At first, Veronica’s standing there awkwardly, wanting to take quick steps backwards towards her car, make a hasty exit to the court house. She’s got the stuff she needs.

And then in the span of a single blink, she looks towards some movement over Madison’s shoulders, and…

And Logan comes walking down the stairs.

He’s still putting on his tuxedo jacket.

It’s black, the jacket.

And he looks up, probably noting in some part of his brain that he’s not alone, and his gaze goes to Veronica, drifts casually to Madison – and then he startles completely upright, his gaze snapping back to Veronica’s face, and she watches as his face…drains of all color.

“Oh my gosh hello there Logey!”

Veronica can’t even look at Madison. She refuses to turn her head. Her brain is supplying all this garbage information to her, information like: he’s wearing the same clothes he was wearing last night. His hair is so clearly mussed, like he slept on it funny. Like someone’s been grabbing at it while pushing their tongue in his mouth. His cell phone is in one hand, and she hasn’t seen his car here, so he’s probably waiting on a rideshare or something.

And clearly, he gave Madison one hell of a night.

It’s like a stab wound, straight through the gut, and she’s put up absolutely no defenses to it.

The knife just goes right in. And in. And in.

Veronica turns on her heel and leaves.

She just goes, immediately, walking so fast, skipping even, directly to her car. She can’t decide what to look at: the gravel below her feet, the flowers in the distance, the open gate up ahead. 

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit.

It takes too long to realize she can hear her own name.

No, no no, absolutely not, she doesn’t care anymore – Veronica leans into a run, kicking gravel with her shoes as she races for her car. It’s still unlocked, a small miracle, and she rips the door open, throwing herself into the seat and starting the engine without even putting on her seatbelt. The car comes to life, she goes to close the door –

And Logan is standing in the way.

“Veronica,” he’s panting, his eyes wide and terrified, and Veronica doesn’t give him the time of day. She doesn’t want to hear it. She absolutely cannot hear it. A yawning pit is opening up inside of her where the buzzing nothingness was before. The pit will swallow her whole. 

She puts the car into drive, and puts her foot on the gas. Logan lurches with the car a foot, then another, and then he drops his hold of the door – it goes slamming shut nearly immediately after – and Veronica can’t even stop to do anything, to think anything. 

She just drives.

 

Fifteen minutes later she’s pulled over on the side of the street. After being honked at for the second time for not moving at a stoplight, Veronica decided this was the best place to desperately force herself not to fall apart.

He’s not worth it, she tells herself, wrists limp on the steering wheel.

It doesn’t even matter. He wasn’t that great. You barely liked him. You’re better off without him.

Her head is tipped forward, hair shielding her face.

She’s not going to cry.

Of course she’s not going to cry.

Why would she cry?

He never made you laugh, not really.

Her vision blurs, and a drop of something wet hits her lap.

Veronica pushes herself into a sitting position.

Oh god, stop it, she tells herself, trying to reorganize her world. Honestly, actually, she’s so furious that she wants to rip something apart. She wants to stomp into that foliage off the side of the road and tear that decorative shrub to pieces, and then use the pieces to go scratch the hell out of Logan’s car, and his eyeballs, and then light the stump of shrub on fire and shove it into the gas tank.

God, that stupid car. That stupid, stupid car .

She’s not going to do that. Fury aside, she’s much more likely to do something like start a really thorough cockroach and rat infestation at the Grand, really make his life really annoying for a while. Yeah. That’s good, that’s a decent idea. Maybe bed bugs can be ordered on the internet. She’d just have to impersonate a single housekeeper and she could bug-bomb half the building, probably.

Sure, Logan doesn’t own the hotel outright, but, probably the other partners are also all rich, pig-headed, disgusting fucking assholes, just like Logan.

Just like Logan.

Veronica takes what she hopes will be a cleansing, calming breath. Okay. She has a plan. She’s going to finish this immediate task, she’s going to start researching online cockroach deliveries, and that will be that, honestly.

What’s the phrase? Fool me once…

Her mind wants her to remember that this has happened to her before.

That she’s sat in her car like this before, that she has wanted to scream and cry and light the world on fire.

For a boy.

A stupid, ridiculous boy.

The fault is hers.

It’s time to go.

The first wrench in her plans comes when she opens the door to Neptune City Hall…

And finds Logan Echolls right inside the doors, back to her, still wearing that disheveled tux.

Veronica pulls up short.

What in the hell?

He hasn’t seen her yet. Veronica very nearly picks up the nearest trash can with both hands and hurls it at him, WWE style, except in her version it would be absolutely, one hundred percent, real.

He seems to have spidey sense for her discomfort, because he turns, and his gaze goes right for her.

Fuck, fuck fuck! she thinks, ignoring the trash can, ignoring Logan, as she looks for the office of vital records.

He takes a step towards her.

Fuck!

She just starts walking.

“Veronica,” he pleads, and Veronica absolutely doesn’t listen to him. “Veronica!” he shouts, and that stops her. She looks around.

There are people everywhere.

Of course, as a stupid, rich person, he doesn’t have to care.

What, like a cop is going to arrest him for being a public nuisance?

…Hey. Okay. That’s a new idea.

Veronica curls her hands into fists.

“What,” she spits, and his shoulders slump.

“We need to talk.”

“I really don’t think we do. Despite what you might have assumed, I am not, in fact, an idiot, so actually,” she offers a really delicious, mocking little laugh, “there is absolutely no explanation necessary.”

Logan spins half away and drags both hands through his hair.

“No!” he pleads, turning back to her. “Seriously, no. You’ve got it wrong. I know what it looked like— ”

She pushes around him. “I don’t have time for this,” she says, dragging her gaze down a list of signs. Office of Vital Records - 3B

3B. 3B. She just has to find wherever that is, and be done with this. She starts down a halfway filled with doors.

“Veronica,” Logan says, and he’s right at her side. “Please. No matter what you think happened, I did not, under any circumstances, sleep with Madison Sinclair.”

She barks a laugh. “Right! Of course. You wake up with just fucked hair all the time, then, right? And you make a habit of sleeping at random girls houses just to keep things interesting? I know,” she mocks, really on a roll now, “you’re a sleep consultant.” She shoots a glare at Logan, because she’s just sort of accidentally stumbled to the right place. Hand on the door handle, she dares him with her eyes to follow her in there.

Logan clearly has nothing to lose.

“I’m not a sleep consultant,” he says, and Veronica gives him her most viscous look.

An ancient, sweet voice speaks from within the room: “Business registration is down the hall, dears.”

Veronica and Logan turn, and find the oldest woman in existence behind the counter.

The woman’s hand shakes as she pushes glasses up her nose, a bland, helpful smile on her face.

Wonderful.

“Actually,” Veronica says, definitely ignoring Logan completely. “I’m here for a marriage license.”

“Oh!” the woman says. “How lovely. I love doing marriage licenses. Just let me get the form…”

The woman is hopefully hard of hearing, or this is what Logan assumes, because he comes right up to Veronica’s side and whispers: “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“With Susan B. Anthony here? I’d hope not.”

“I’m serious, Veronica.”

She turns to him, eyes blazing. “So am I.”

Logan is glaring back at her, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, voice hushed. “Would you even listen to the truth?”

What? Her gaze narrows. “Spare me the heroic act. You know how many times I’ve seen the walk of shame?”

“I’m telling you —”

“Here it is!” the old woman says, holding it above her head. It’s going to take another half an hour for her to get back to the desk with it. “Oops! Nearly forgot my pens.”

Veronica doesn’t bother mentioning that there are several pens attached to the counter, as it would delay the whole process.

Veronica sends a withering look at Logan. “So what, you, like, just ended up there? Got drunk with everyone at the bachelor party; someone wanted to go to Madison’s house to get lucky, you tagged along because you were drunk, and, then…being drunk, you, what…slept in an actual bathtub?”

Logan’s still glaring at her. “It was a standing shower, but, yes.”

Veronica pulls back at this. She’s saved from answering by the crone.

“Here we go, dearies. I’ll just need your drivers’ licenses and all that to get started. How fun! What a lovely Friday.”

Veronica opens her envelope and spills Jackie and Wallace’s documentation on the counter. The old woman picks up one of the IDs. “Jackie Cook, is it?” She holds her glasses in place while looking at Veronica. “You were more tan in your photo—”

“That’s not,” Veronica says, cringe showing all her teeth, “that’s not me. We’re here for the Cook-Fennel registration. I believe the…” Oh how her stupid heart squeezes in on itself, “the uh. The wedding coordinator called ahead.” She can’t even say her name right now.

She can’t look at Logan at all.

“Oh!” the lady says, perking. “Oh! Yes, of course. We’re so excited for dear Wallnard and Jacqueline…”

“That’s Wallace and Jackie,” Veronica clarifies, tapping the documents on the counter. “Everything is here. Just, I just need it soon.”

“Of course, of course,” the old woman says, sounding mildly concerned now. What, is this too much work? The woman picks up the documents and squints at them. “Oh, yes, oh yes, just…give me a minute to write all this in…and you’ll be the witnesses, yes? Just need your information as well…”

Veronica glares at Logan. She really wants him to just leave. So what, he’s said his piece. That doesn’t mean she has to believe him. That doesn’t mean she has to care anymore. Logan reaches for his back pocket and Veronica digs for her purse.

“I don’t care,” she whispers at him, and the total ambivalence of the old woman as she concentrates all her ancient energy on spelling W-A-L-L-I-C-E is not lost on Veronica. “We’re over, okay? Absolutely over.”

“Why?” Logan shoots back, and he’s equally irritated, tossing his drivers license on the counter next to Veronica’s. When the lady smiles at him, Logan gives her a tight nod. “Seriously? One misunderstanding and we’re over?”

Veronica huffs a laugh, incredulous. “Look, I don’t need this. I didn’t need you before, and I certainly don’t need you now, not when you’re sleeping at other women’s houses and literally not telling me about it.”

“No, bullshit. Bullshit,” he swears under his breath.

“Does this look right?” the old woman interrupts, holding up her handiwork. Veronica glances at it.

“It’s – it’s not JARKY, it’s Jackie,” Veronica spells it out, “Cook, like in the kitchen.”

Heat flares across Veronica’s cheeks, because of course she’s remembering a time Logan had…in a kitchen…with her…practically 24 hours ago.

From the way Logan subtly shifts his position, he’s probably remembering the same.

“Look,” he whispers, “believe what you want. I know that I didn’t cheat on you, that it was a series of very unfortunate choices—”

“Unfortunate because you got caught,” she whispers right back.

“Unfortunate because it’s led to right now! To this… bullshit. And if you can’t choose to trust me, if you can’t decide to extend me that much credit, then…jesus, Veronica. Just – I don’t know what to do, if you can’t give me that much.”

All of that washes through the inside of her brain, a sea of competing stormy waves. Trust! She wants to rage at him. This isn’t about trust, this is about you – you —

Her breathing is too fast and shallow in her nose. No, he’s not right, he’s not anything but a bastard, a stone cold bastard and she needs to get out of there right now and — She’s almost hyperventilating now, her breaths coming too fast and uneven.

“All done!” the old lady says, and Veronica’s gaze is unfocused.

“Okay, so we’re done?” Veronica asks, hopeful, desperate to get back in her car, to get away.

“Last step!” the crone says cheerfully. “You need to kiss now.”

Veronica’s brain malfunctions. “We need to what?”

“Kiss. For the license.”

Veronica gives the clerk a bewildered look. For Jackie and Wallace’s license? Veronica has been clear. The license will definitely say Wackie and Jawless but it’s close enough. 

…Kiss Logan.

It must be some sort of proctor thing.

Veronica closes her mouth. She looks at Logan, finding him glaring back at her, nostrils flaring, lips in a flat line. Well. At least he doesn't look any happier to be doing it. At least there’s that.

Veronica frowns, pushes herself forward and plops a very cold, hard kiss on his unyielding mouth.

Now she can leave.

“Perfect. Thank you!”

Veronica wants to crawl out of her skin. She wants to hide under a desk and suck on her hair.

“Okay dearies, just five more minutes to get the photocopies and then you’re all set.” The old woman waddles away from the desk, and Veronica and Logan are still glaring at each other.

Logan tilts his head, his eyes hard and cruel. “You wanna wait for them? Or should I.”

“Feel free,” Veronica breathes, and she swings out of there before he can say another word.

She has nothing to do with herself after that.

It’s Friday. She drives around aimlessly for a while, auspiciously trying to look for that runaway old person she has been sort of trying to find since before the bacheloredome party, which feels like…

A hundred, million, years ago now. It feels like so long ago, and it’s too hard to think about it.

She sits in her car outside her apartment for over an hour, just making sure Logan isn’t lying in wait.

But she sort of gets that he…understands.

She blocked his number.

On her phone, she blocked it.

 

Five minutes after she’d left the courthouse he’d called her – she’d quickly rejected the call – and when he called again immediately after she just…she just…

She just couldn’t handle it. Is that the truth? That she just didn’t want to deal?

No. No, they were absolutely, irrevocably over, and he could call every second of every day for sixty years and she’d only ever hit accept by accident.

She has dinner with her dad.

It strikes her at some point that she hasn’t seen him in weeks, which is so rare for them. They’ve barely spoken either, just the occasional text about baseball or soccer or something. She hasn’t even been to their shared office.

“So how’s it going for the wedding, Veronica?”

Veronica looks up from her bowl of ice cream. “Hm? What? What wedding?”

Her dad is sucking on his spoon. He rolls his eyes. “Mine. I’m getting married to Elizabeth Taylor tomorrow.”

Veronica clicks her tongue. “Lucky number eight.”

“Eight?” Keith ponders. “Thought she had six husbands.”

“She had seven,” Veronica says with a sigh. “But she married one of them twice so it doesn’t count.”

“Oh yeah.” Keith gives her a look as he scoops his spoon through the bowl for the last dregs of his sundae. “Pretty sure it counts double, though.”

Veronica offers a noncommittal sound and turns back to the TV.

What are they even watching? She thought it was…sports, or…something…

“Okay. Okay, what’s up,” her dad says sternly, and Veronica sits up straight.

“Nothing!” she blurts, grabbing for her spoon, scooping up a massive bite and shoving it into her mouth. She can’t even tell what flavor it is. It tastes like cardboard, somehow. Like ash, and she fights the urge to spit it out immediately.

“Your ice cream is basically a puddle at this point, you’ve been quiet all night, and we haven’t talked about tomorrow at all, which I know makes no sense, because it’s literally all we’ve talked about since sweet Wallace got engaged six weeks ago.”

…H…how has it only been six weeks? That…that barely makes any sense.

Has it really been only six weeks since she met Logan?

It feels like…so much longer…

“I’m not even going to be annoyed that I wasn’t your plus one last night,” he winks, and Veronica feels worse because that hadn’t even occurred to her. He’s invited to the wedding. She…hadn’t thought any further than that.

Her dad puts his hands on the armrests of his chair, preparing to stand. “Just…whatever it is, talk to someone about it, yeah?” He stands, clearly going to the kitchen for more mint chocolate ice cream. Oh right. That’s what flavor it is. Veronica looks down at her bowl of green and brown liquid, and then feels her dad’s hand on her head. He ruffles her hair a bit. “And save me a dance for tomorrow, eh? If you’re not too busy.”

Veronica watches him move towards the freezer with an emptiness in her chest she can’t remember feeling ever before.

 

Chapter 21: you are cordially invited to bear witness

The morning of Jackie and Wallace’s wedding dawns, and Veronica is already awake to greet it.

She’s barely slept; tossing and turning as dreams blended into miserable reality.

There’s no getting out of her duties today. There is no lie she could tell Wallace that would justify her absence. There is no way to avoid spending time with Logan Echolls, just as there is no way she could explain her misery to her very best friend. Wallace has no idea. He will have no idea.

And she’ll have to pretend.

She will have to believe that she just does not care.

She’d nearly forgotten about the dress.

Veronica showers, and towel dries her hair. She picks out underwear. There are still hours to go before she’s required at the house, and she knows Wallace is spending quality time with his brother this morning and helping with last minute whatnots. Veronica has a hair appointment and a nail appointment and a make-up appointment this morning at some salon uptown. It was impressed upon her at some point that this was not optional.

So Veronica drags herself to her closet, pulling on a button-up shirt and dark leggings, before she reaches almost absently for the garment bag.

She’d nearly forgotten about the dress…

And then she can think of little else.

“Fun night?” the make-up artist asks her, trying not to look at the dark rings beneath her eyes and the pallid, blotchy skin.

 

“And – when was the last time you had your hair cut?” the stylist inquires, holding onto an inch of split ends.

 

“So are we going for fierce or fabulous,” the manicurist wants to know, and Veronica has just about had enough. She feels like a porcelain doll, and that just a strong gust of wind will make her shatter.

He continues, oblivious: “Should we match it to the dress?” 

And Veronica feels tears well in her eyes before she can stop them.

The manicurist glances up from her chewed-up fingernails. “Oh no. Ohhhhh no,” he starts to say, half-standing, about to call over the make-up girl.

“It’s fine,” Veronica interrupts, blinking furiously. “I’m fine. Yes. Um. Yes, to the…dress. Wait. No, actually, just a clear color I think would be fine, just. Yes. Just clear.”

The manicurist’s face is clenched in a grimace, like he’s waiting for her to start bawling her eyes out again, and Veronica has to shake out her shoulders to settle her mind. She clears her rough throat. 

“I promise. I’m fine. And I really do have a ton to do after this, so.”

The manicurist sinks back into his chair and presses his lips together. “All right,” he sighs. “Invisible it is…”

And she wishes he could just paint her all over with it.

Veronica’s getting into her crappy old car when she sees she’s missed a call from Jackie, which is odd.

Veronica calls back, but it goes to voicemail after a few rings.

Whatever. It’s probably something unimportant. Probably a mistake. Not Veronica Mars. She was trying to call…Victoria Beckham, or…or something…

Not for the first time, Veronica wonders what her life would be like if she’d stuck to the field of law, like Jackie. Would she be living in a giant swanky apartment, like Jackie? Having some giant party like this? Probably not. Definitely not. But she’d be hanging around the same type of people…who exploit those who don’t know any better.

Veronica holds her breath as she pulls up towards Memaw’s house, the very same one where she’d met Logan five long weeks ago.

It feels so alarmingly surreal that her life managed to flip so upside down in just five weeks.

And of course…

Of course there he is. Just standing there, right near the doors.

Veronica’s skin goes tight all over as she sinks lower in her seat. He’s clearly waiting for her, pacing around in his sharp suit. He keeps glaring at the traffic piling up in front of Memaw’s mansion. Veronica remembers leaving him at nearly the same spot after the engagement party…specifically not exchanging phone numbers…

Veronica yanks her steering wheel to the side and parks in the shadow of a catering truck. She hops out quickly, and gets wonderfully lucky – in her white button down shirt and black pants she looks just like a caterer. No need to wait around for Logan to come looking for her. He might’ve seen her car (shit). No. Time to go. Veronica hoists her garment bag over a shoulder, her purse over the other, and times her move carefully, falling into step behind someone else as they walk towards the staff entrance. Veronica picks up a bouquet of flowers from the ground, trying to hide part of her face with it. She walks confidently and purposefully behind the person, and has to suck in a deep breath when it looks like they’re not going to the staff entrance after all… They’re going through the side gate…

And the side gate goes way too close to Logan.

Veronica chances a glance through the flowers…

And sees Logan, not fifteen feet away…

Glaring out at the driveway, at all the people coming and going.

And she just knows he’s looking for her.

Veronica doesn’t dare exhale as she passes him, just another of the hundred-something employees for this single day’s event.

His hair looks wet from a shower, maybe.

And she doesn’t turn to look behind her until she’s well inside the event kitchen, dropping off the bouquet and not talking to anyone as she darts down a hallway and into the first door she sees.

She’s alone in a bathroom, and she finally lets her shoulders drop.

Veronica tries to remember her instructions. There’s a bridal suite set up on the third floor of the main house, and a honeymoon suite set up in the guest house where Wallace is getting ready. She’s supposed to meet him there. But that’s where Logan will be looking for her, maybe. Probably. There’s a slew of bedrooms set aside for family on the second floor… With lots of people hanging around getting drunk on Memaw’s dime. Lots of people who would hide her, for a while, maybe…

Veronica wonders if she could just get changed here.

There is a pounding knock on the bathroom door.

Apparently not.

“Excuse me!” someone female is shouting. “Emergency here!”

Veronica groans and twists the door open.

The person darts around Veronica, and veritably shoves her back into the hall before slamming the door behind her.

Well. Fine.

Veronica frowns, and decides to head to the main house. She’s going to be in everyone’s way here anyway. And while she doesn’t know the layout of either building, the main house is surely to be a maze that works to her advantage. So long as she avoids the side entrance, she should be fine. Right? Right.

Veronica uses her garment bag like a shield, trying to hide the bulk of her features as she walks through the busy hallway. On the grassy field to her right is the procession field, hundreds of chairs placed around a central dais, a giant floral display creating a sort of stage. Veronica went over all her pacing with Madison at the rehearsal dinner, and watched the YouTube video Madison sent to her and Logan three times. Mostly with Logan. Mostly while wearing Logan’s t-shirt, practicing with a spatula instead of a bouquet of white lilies.

Veronica’s insides clench as she sees a flight of stairs.

Up .

Yes, up is probably safest. Find some deserted bedroom, maybe get lost in the crowd of the Cooks and Fennels freshening up their make-up and hopefully three drinks in already. It’s an hour until the wedding. Veronica feels guilty avoiding Wallace, but, it’s not like he’s texting her, and —

“Veronica!”

Veronica’s eyes go wide, and she spins her head to the lower level.

Right inside the front doors is Logan, looking straight up at her.

And everything goes still for a single, split second.

And then Veronica jolts into motion.

She has no idea where she is, but there are two hallways leading off the second floor landing and she takes the one that’s farther away.

She imagines Logan lurching after her. He’d have to navigate all the people in the foyer, turning the inside of Memaw’s house into a sea of people as they set up and placed finishing touches. But he could take those stairs two at a time with his long legs.

Her pulse is pounding as she eyes the doors she’s running past. Some of them are open: people she doesn't recognize laughing and drinking.

And then her heart stops: because the hallway has a deadend.

How far behind her is Logan?

She tries the door on her right: empty, but it’s a little library thing, and she balks for no good reason. She goes to the door across.

And it’s a guestroom.

An empty guestroom.

And the door locks.

Veronica backs away from the door, until the back of her legs hit the bed. She sits automatically, breathing hard, staring at the sliver of space below the door, watching for shadows.

One second passes. And then another.

She tries not to picture Logan’s expression in that foyer as he stared at her, and brings a hand to her face.

Veronica!

Was…did anyone see that?

She tries to imagine what it looked like, to see something like…that.

A minute passes, and the shadows in the hallway don’t change.

Veronica exhales.

It’s time to get dressed.

And what could he possibly have to talk to her about, anyway? Seriously, she thinks, as she quickly trades one set of clothes for another, how dramatic.

Get over it.

I did.

She’s telling herself this, as she finally stands up straight in this random guest bedroom, in the dress Logan bought for her. She’s wearing the fancy shoes she’d brought. And through the mirror above the dresser, she knows that her make-up and hair still look intact.

She looks…

Well.

It doesn’t matter how she looks.

This will be the first and last time she wears this dress. She’ll empty her savings to give Logan the money for it, and then she’ll sell it for half that amount on the internet. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.

Veronica glances out the window as she puts in an earring. People are starting to show up now. Ushers are pointing out where people will sit. Caterers in vests are passing out drinks and bags of birdseed. She frowns as she looks at the guesthouse in the distance, and checks her phone before tucking it into her small purse. Still no text from Wallace. Maybe he’s spending more time with his family?

Why isn’t he missing her?

She watches the door crack again for a minute, making sure that Logan hasn’t surprised her while she was changing.

Nope.

It still looks the same.

Veronica swallows, right inside the door. She closes her eyes, and counts out the hours. Maybe…maybe just six hours. That’s probably it. Just six hours, and then she never has to see Logan Echolls for the rest of her life.

That’s it, Veronica.

Six hours.

And if she can find her dad later, maybe…maybe not even all six, really…

Veronica shakes her head, opens her eyes, and pushes her shoulders back. She’s going to go find Wallace, use her patented I have a taser and I read the instruction manual look whenever Logan gets within ten feet of her, and that will be that.

Yeah.

Six hours.

She can do this.

Veronica opens the door.

And finds Logan Echolls leaning ever so casually on the door opposite.

Clearly waiting just for her.

His gaze darts up when the door opens.

Veronica is frozen to the spot.

Logan is frowning.

“We need to talk.”

Talk?

Her mind catches up to what is actually happening. She will not notice that he looks so freaking amazing in that suit, with the complimentary blues, the subtle pattern to his tie…his hair smells nice, even from a few feet away.

“I don’t have time,” she hears herself say, and she takes a step into the hallway. It pushes Logan into action, and he steps off the wall.

“You need to make time,” he urges, and his tone…it makes her pause.

What?

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

They’re alone in this deadend of a hallway, but that doesn’t make her feel better when Logan takes another step forward. And then another.

She almost steps back into the bedroom. That’s almost what she does. But then they’d be alone in a bedroom, instead of out here in the open, and – and – she just doesn’t even have a chance to think , damnit —

“The registrar made a mistake yesterday,” he says, and he’s reaching inside his jacket for something.

Veronica blinks, and looks away from his hand, up to his face. “What? So?” she asks, thinking about the four different ways she clarified how to spell Jackie and Wallace’s names. “They can fix it later, Logan.”

“Not like this,” he counters, and from his jacket he pulls out…some sort of document, which he then starts to unfold.

Veronica has her back nearly to the wall. She tries to raise up her chin as she glances at the document. What, he wants to show her a wedding license? Like she hasn’t seen one before?

And her brain must get there before she realizes, because out of no where, just as Logan’s opening the document for her to read, a deep sense of foreboding drenches her insides.

Oh no.

Her mouth drops open as she mindlessly takes the papers.

Neptune, California Marriage License

Date: 4/11/2014

Veronica Lianne Mars and Logan Aaron Echolls, together in matrimony…

Veronica stops seeing the paper.

She stops everything, her mind reeling.

“And I’ll just need your licenses to,” that old crone had said — “And kiss now, please” — but, no that can’t be, because, because Veronica saw —

“You wanna wait for them? Or should I.”

“Feel free…”

Feel free…

Oh god.

She never saw the final license.

She’d been trying to forget the experience of kissing Logan again, she hadn’t been – she hadn’t been paying attention! And of course she’d been spelling Jackie and Wallace’s names wrong, but, and — oh my god!

“What the fuck,” she breathes. She looks up. “No,” she continues, looking into Logan’s brown eyes. “It’s not possible.”

“It is possible. Veronica, we’re married.”

Veronica’s heart is going thump, thump, thump against her ribs. She can’t hear anything else. She can’t feel anything else.

“What?” she breathes, to make sure she’s still real.

This cannot be real.

“We’re married.”

“We’re not,” she counters, looking away. “We’re not,” she insists. “The registrar, she – this is just some – this is a mistake, okay, and—”

“That’s what I said!” Logan shouts, interrupting her, and he looks so honest to god distressed about it, and —

“So then why didn’t you fix it!” she shouts right back, panic filling her, and Logan’s eyes are so wide and wild, and —

There are pounding steps coming from her right, from the entrance of the hallway.

It’s Wallace.

Wallace can’t know – Veronica shoves the papers at Logan, and Logan slips them inside his jacket as they both turn to face their friend.

And Wallace looks – his eyes wide and terrified, Wallace looks –

“Wallace?” Veronica asks, panic shifting to concern.

Wallace pulls to a stop in front of them, breathing hard. “Jackie’s locked herself in the bridal suite.”

Veronica’s eyes go wider.

“She what?”

“Look – look, I don't’ know what to do!” Wallace is clearly in crisis, and Veronica ignores, she absolutely ignores Logan at her side, who she really can’t even think about —

Married.

“She wants to talk to you,” Wallace says, desperation clear on his face. He grabs her shoulders, and she wakes up. “Veronica. You. She asked for you specifically. You have to go!”

“I—I know.”

“You’ll go?”

“Yes! Yes, I just said –” Veronica breaks off, screams through her teeth as she throws up her hands. “What is it with rich people! Can’t you guys just get married at City Hall?” She squeezes her eyes shut, heart beating wildly because she just got married at City Hall, and — “It doesn’t have to be this complicated!”

“Veronica,” Wallace pleads.

“I know, I know,” she says, voice crisp. She looks at him, and is annoyed that she can’t be more consoling. A cold sense of fury is filling up everything. “I’m going.”

She breaks out of Wallace’s grip, absolutely does not look at Logan, and stomps towards the stairs.

 

In the bridal suite. An emotional bride. 

 

Of course it would go down like this, of course it couldn’t be straightforward. 

You’re married. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, banishing the thought. 

Wait a minute. Veronica nearly misses a step, and has to do some extra footwork to avoid rolling her ankle in such ridiculous shoes. 

She pauses on the stairwell, taking an extra few breaths, arms out for balance.

…Is…is Jackie having second thoughts?

Alarm blares through her. 

No — not — not to Wallace.  

Jackie wouldn’t be actually considering doing this to Wallace, to think about ditching him. Wallace…would be crushed. He would never recover. He would absolutely never recover. And the baby oh my god the baby —

Veronica yanks her skirt above her knees, and starts taking stairs two at a time. She has no idea where she’s going, but there’s an anxious looking attendant outside a door, and that has to be it — Veronica rushes to the room, swings open the door and:

“Jackie?” she yells into the room.

It doesn’t occur to her that the door is unlocked as she clicks it shut behind her.

The room is empty, and a visual sweep reveals nothing but sunlit couches and ornate rugs.

Where is everyone? Surely there must be a small army attending to her today, and the fact that they’re not around save that one teenage-looking something person in the hall – Veronica tries not to think about it. It doesn’t mean anything, she tries to rationalize. Jackie just needed some space, didn’t want everyone around. She wanted to talk to Veronica about…

Veronica draws a blank.

“Jackie?” she asks again, quieter this time.

There’s a loud sniffle from the bedroom.

“I’m here.”

Veronica steps cautiously through the sitting room, wondering if she’s about to walk into a trap, then realizing she would have no idea what sort of trap Jackie would lay for her. Her mind is still spinning out of control.

Maybe Jackie knows about the marriage license. Maybe the baby isn’t Wallace’s – no. She can’t think that far ahead.

Veronica opens the door to the bedroom, and sees a giant four-poster littered with pale yellow rose petals. 

It’s beautiful. 

Warm, buttery sunlight shines in through gauzy curtains moving gently in the breeze. The windows are open then, and yes, when Veronica pauses to listen, she can hear the sounds of a party outside. A string quartet playing slightly longer than they’d planned; they’d moved on to covers.

“Is that…is that Papa Don’t Preach?” Veronica asks, and she hears Jackie sniffle again.

“Yeah.”

Veronica walks around the bed, and finds Jackie sitting on the floor. She’s in her wedding dress: giant swells of fabric ballooned around her in beautiful piles. She looks like a deflated souffle, but, a really pretty one.

“You look great,” Veronica says, wondering if she should sit.

Jackie looks away, and nods. A squeaking noise comes from her, and Veronica sees her face in profile twist, as if to suppress more tears.

Veronica very nearly sighs.

She nudges fabric aside with her foot, and sits next to Jackie on the floor. She opens her purse, and pulls out some drive-through napkins she’d been saving just in case.

Jackie grabs for them blindly, and shoves them against her face. A great sob bubbles from her, and Veronica is silent, waiting for the tears to flow through her old friend. 

Veronica…almost doesn’t want to ask what’s wrong, maybe. Maybe she doesn’t want to know. She looks towards the window where the curtains are still fluttering, and the music is still playing. 

Is there even going to be a wedding? A heck of a lot of trouble not to go through with it. She pictures rooms full of gifts, and wonders what’s going to happen to them. Maybe if she’s lucky she could get a new spatula. Maybe a rice cooker.

Or gold, honestly. If anyone just gave a box full of gold she’d be willing to relieve the burden of figuring out what to do with it.

“Thanks,” Jackie says, voice rough. She tries to pass back the napkins, but Veronica waves her away. They’re gross, and they’re Jackie’s now.

Jackie seems to realize this, and clutches them tighter.

They’re silent for a moment, and then:

“I made him sign a prenup,” Jackie whispers, and Veronica turns towards her.

Jackie’s looking at the napkins in her hand. She starts shredding a little piece off with her fingers.

“That seems…normal,” Veronica hedges.

Jackie nods.

“That’s what everyone said.” Jackie looks away, sniffing again. “And, god, didn’t we have like four seminars on them back in college? They always made the best case studies. Defendant didn’t mention the municipality of the island in prenuptial documentations, or whatever,” she says, “thus rendering the whole thing null and void.” She’s silent for a moment, staring at the curtains, still swaying in a warm breeze. And then she whispers:

“I just didn’t realize what it would feel like…to…to have it all written down.”

Veronica doesn’t quite know what to say. What is the best thing to say? Veronica’s prenup would be laughable. The biggest fight would be over her seven good spoons. Custody of the Netflix password. The spatula.

“I’m sure Wallace doesn’t care at all,” she says, trying for mollifying.

There’s a squeaking sound before Jackie erupts. “I know!” Jackie bursts. Tears well in her beautiful brown eyes. “And that just – it makes it so much worse, somehow? Like – shouldn’t he be pissed? Shouldn’t he be throwing a huge fit, because, because – just because! Because if we don’t work out then he’s going to get nothing!”

Veronica knows her eyes are wider, that her mouth is open a bit. She doesn’t know what to say.

And then…than maybe she does.

“Is that…is that the problem then?” she guesses. When Jackie doesn’t respond, Veronica continues: “That it doesn’t seem like he even cares? That he’s using you? Because if you thi—”

“I know he’s not using me,” Jackie whispers.

Veronica rankles. “Then what, you are? Using him?”

“I’m not—!” Jackie swings towards her, eyes blazing and wet. And when she’s staring at Veronica, her lips press together, and then they wobble, and then she crumples. “It’s just not fair!” she sobs, and Veronica feels all the anger whoosh out of her on a confused wind.

Not fair? What the hell about it isn’t fair?

…Ah.

Okay.

…Okay.

This is one of those things that feels important, that probably is important, but is maybe not.

Veronica leans back against the bed, tipping her head back, and sighs through her nose.

“He just signed it,” she says.

Jackie nods.

“Like an idiot,” Veronica continues.

Jackie nods again. “Like a lovesick, total, blind, idiot.”

“Like he actually loves you.”

“Like—” another squeaking noise. “Like he just loves me!”

Veronica gets it then. She refuses to think of Logan, of the way he used to look at Veronica like she always had perfect skin. As if she never had things stuck in her teeth.

Marriage, is, for better or worse, completely transactional. What originated as a way to secure women some modicum of power and men some regular access to legitimate offspring has now morphed into a token of…of what, honestly? 

“Marriage is just a stupid contractual relationship, anyway,” Gia Goodman had said on that veranda, a million years ago. “It’s basically a more personal sort of merger.” 

She hadn’t been completely wrong. 

About some things, yeah. But marriage, well. Partnership is easy. Partnership is about dedication and love and growth. Marriage is…a form of financial, legal… entanglement, that is mostly glossed over as a culmination of romance.

Veronica has apparently culminated her romance.

“I’m not even going to point out that you’re having a kid together,” Veronica reminds her, and Jackie blows her nose very loudly into the very wet napkin. Veronica grimaces and reaches into her purse for the last of her stash.

They’d been drilled time and time again about contractual language, loopholes and conditions; the word marriage had become like semantic satiation – one of those words that you can repeat so often, its original meaning gets totally lost. Isn’t that one of the biggest reasons she never wanted to get married? 

The fact that it already feels like past tense makes her uncomfortable.

“Is this a good time to let you know that you’re not technically married?”

Jackie straightens, and turns towards Veronica.

“What?”

Veronica winces. “We…we messed up the paperwork. Don’t worry about it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said don’t worry about it.”

“Veronica—”

“Fine.” Veronica takes a deep breath, overwhelmed and tired. “Fine, we messed up the paperwork. I was distracted, because we slept together at the bachelordome party, and then we slept together a bunch more times, but then he slept over at Madison’s house, and, I’m pretty sure he didn’t even actually sleep with her but he was still there and there was Madison Sinclair’s house, and – and he literally chased me to the court house! And was being all Logan about it, and the goddamn registrar invented paper or something, and, and —”

She can’t say the rest. She won’t say it out loud.

Jackie’s jaw drops.

“Veronica, are you…did you get married?”

Veronica closes her eyes.

It’s harder to hear someone else say it. It feels much more real to have someone else say it out loud.

“Oh my god.”

Jackie turns her body fully towards Veronica, fabric of her wedding dress swishing together.

“Oh my god, Veronica!”

“Will you shut up?” Veronica hushes, eyes popping open. “We were talking about you, here.”

“Oh my god, I don’t care about me anymore,” Jackie says, and Veronica is very annoyed to find that Jackie is staring at her with wide, shocked eyes. “You got married to Logan?”

Veronica groans, and covers her face with her hands.

“Hang on hang on hang on,” Jackie is saying, and Veronica wants to rewind time. “The, the what? The bachelo…but that was…oh. Oh. My god.”

Veronica squints one eye open, and sees Jackie thinking way too fast. Her eyes are rimmed in red but there is no trace of sadness anymore.

“And,” Jackie says, and a smile is starting at the corners of her mouth, “you don’t even have a prenup!” 

And then sort of inexplicably, Jackie starts to giggle. It bubbles up like an erupting volcano. Little blips, and then more blips, and then—

Ugh.

“It’s not—” Veronica starts, but she can’t finish, because Jackie is laughing. It’s not funny, she wants to say, except, Jackie is laughing, so apparently it actually is.

The door cracks open on the other side of the sitting room.

“You ladies doing okay?” comes Wallace’s tentative, hopeful voice.

“No!”

“Yes!”

They say at the same time. There’s a beat of silence. Veronica and Jackie look at each other.

“Does that mean I can co—”

“No!” they shout together, grinning, and there’s a blustery sigh from the faraway door, and then the dutiful click of it closing.

Jackie and Veronica stare at each other. And damn if there isn’t some shared tenderness there, a shared knowledge of secrets and insecurities shared. 

Back in law school…maybe they had been friends. It’s been so long, so many years and things have happened since, but, wasn’t there a reason Veronica introduced her to Wallace?

On first glance she and Jackie were mortal enemies, and a group project had them at each other’s necks, before realizing that they made much more effective collaborators. And then they sort of realized that they enjoyed the collaboration. And that they enjoyed studying together, with similar goals and mindsets. And then they realized both had family in Neptune, and they were both heading in that direction for Thanksgiving, and so of course Veronica invited her over to after-dinner cocktails at her place, and Wallace was there, and Veronica sort of nudged him, because Jackie was looking very pretty and it was clear Wallace was noticing, and…

And that was it, really.

It’s too much to consider what happened since, and she doesn’t feel like dissecting it now.

“So, what are we going to do,” Veronica says.

Her questions hangs in the air, making her realize Jackie has been ensconced in her own thoughts.

Jackie shrugs.

“Start working on your postnup?” she suggests.

Veronica rolls her eyes, and Jackie nonetheless grins. It peters out after a second.

“How about we both work on our postnups,” Veronica offers, and Jackie’s gaze darts up to meet hers. Veronica’s lips press together. “Look, Wallace loves you. You know he loves you, because Wallace is totally shit at lying, and especially bad at lying when someone is looking at his face.” If she were a different person, maybe this is where Veronica would reach out and hold Jackie’s hand.

And - fuck it - Veronica goes ahead and does it anyway.

“We are both terrible at believing the best in people,” she goes on. “But we both can at least agree that Wallace is more than you deserve.” Jackie flinches a bit, but Veronica presses on. “And too bad, because you’re going to have to spend the rest of your life trying to deserve him. And that’s okay.”

Jackie nods, and while Veronica watches, she starts to pull herself together. She sits up straighter, her lips form a resolute line, and her grip on Veronica’s hand tightens. “I know,” she agrees. “And I will. But we are definitely making a postnup. And we are going to throw in so many god-damn loopholes you better help him get the entire yacht fleet if I fuck this up.”

Veronica feels the grin spread across her face. She pulses Jackie’s hand.

“Deal.”

Jackie’s shoulders sag under the weight of a sigh.

“I should probably clean up.”

Veronica widens her eyes. “Ya think?”

Jackie laughs.

“I’m serious,” Veronica says, pulling herself to a stand. “You look horrific. Like medusa wearing a cupcake.” She offers a hand down, which Jackie takes, so Veronica can pull her up.

“I do not look like a cupcake,” she demures, and Veronica lets her grin linger, teasing.

Jackie rolls her eyes. “At least an expensive cupcake, I hope.”

Veronica laughs softly.

Jackie dabs the twisted, frayed napkin to her eyes, stretching her face as if she can try to rectify the makeup back to its perfect state. “Okay,” she says, and another piece of tension drops out of her. “Okay. I think you can let them in.”

Veronica checks Jackie’s expression, looking for any clue that she’s going to change her mind, but this is a Jackie Veronica knows, and knows well.

“Okay.”

She turns to head towards the sitting room, but Jackie darts out a hand to grab Veronica’s arm.

“And we will be talking about Logan at dinner,” she warns her, and Veronica just rolls her eyes again.

Veronica returns to the sitting room, crossing to the door that leads to the hall.

She wonders if they can hear her footsteps out there, and wonders who is out there waiting.

Veronica opens the door, and Wallace is filling the doorframe. His features are fraught, tense in a way she’s never seen before.

“Is she okay?” he asks, and Veronica thinks that she really, really is going to have to get him some yachts.

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s fine. Just emotions. Lady emotions? Let’s go with lady emotions.”

Wallace’s face scrunches, and he looks over Veronica’s shoulder. Veronica heaves a quick sigh, then steps out of the way.

“Go ahead,” she offers.

Wallace rushes past, and then there’s a steady stream of everyone else: make-up artists, hair stylists, various attendants, and Jackie’s mom and aunt and some cousins.

Veronica watches them all flow past, wondering if she should linger, if there’s anything else she’s needed for. There are enough people, surely. Surely Jackie doesn’t need her anymore, and for a moment, Veronica reflects on the absurdity that Jackie ever asked for her at all.

And part of her wonders if it’s just that they’re so alike in way too far many ways.

Veronica turns towards the hall, and finds one more person still there.

Leaning against the wall, one leg bent at the knee…

Is her husband.

Veronica lets that word wash over her as she looks at him, as he tilts his head up and looks back at her.

Husband.

Surely she could hurt for a worse one. He’s just so annoyingly handsome, even in the shadows of a hallway. Another attendant scuttles past Veronica, almost running into her shoulder.

“Is she okay?” Logan asks, and Veronica nods.

“Fine. Just…” she wants to say something flippant, like, that it was pre-wedding jitters, or something, but it wasn’t even that. “She’s fine.”

Logan’s lips tighten together, and the longer he looks at her, the more tense he appears.

“Veronica—” he tries, pulling himself apart.

She holds up her hands.

“Just—don’t.”

He frowns. “We should talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

His frown deepens. “You’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”

Veronica tries for an unaffected laugh. She steps into the hall, out of his reach, and starts heading towards the far end. “I’ll talk to your lawyers.”

“Veronica,” he swears, maybe not realizing it was a joke, and Veronica feels her shoulders hike up, just before she feels his hand on her bare upper arm.

She turns towards him, about to push him off, but finds him right in her space, and shock makes her look up at him, makes her take a step backwards, right into the wall. Logan presses in on her.

She can smell him. 

The scent of him hits her all at once – clean laundry, the cologne he’s wearing for the wedding. And just something else. Something warm and lovely and familiar.

He looks down his long nose at her, and Veronica realizes she’s stopped breathing. That she’s trapped that scent in her lungs.

“I—” she starts to say, unsure what words her brain is coming up with.

Logan reaches up his hand to cup her chin with a loose hold. He brushes his thumb against her cheek, such a light touch that she might actually lean into it. Probably not. Maybe she does.

He smirks. “Don’t make me enforce my marital rights,” he teases, and heat warms her cheeks.

She shoves him off her, and even though she knows she didn’t hit him that hard, he staggers back with a smile.

Her heart is racing inside her chest, and she watches, dumb and mute, as Logan ambles towards a closed door. He opens it, pokes his head in, and then pulls back to gesture with a jerk of his chin. “Come on, this one’s empty.”

She still feels too warm and too mildly embarrassed to be found wanting him, so she does the proud thing of marching right in there. 

 

Chapter 22: you are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of

Notes:

This chapter is a gift to my beta(s). I never use betas, for not any particularly good reasons, and I thought my teammates would get extra points for betaing for me on this. It turns out they did not, but Cubbie and Jeanie did the work anyway with graciousness and insight I so greatly appreciated. Thank you.

“We’re definitely not married,” is the first thing she says. It’s the logical thing to say.

Logan is closing and locking the door behind him. Surely the locking part is unnecessary. 

“I think our marriage license implies otherwise,” he says. Logan fishes the document out of his jacket and flips it open with one hand. “Didn’t know your middle name was Lianne.”

Veronica feels warmth at the back of her neck. “There’s no way this holds up in court.”

Logan shrugs. Veronica sees red. “I’m sorry, why are you not more pissed about this?”

Logan grins suddenly, a bit wild. He tries to smother it. “It’s uh. Interesting to see you so pissed about it, maybe.”

“Excuse me?”

The grin will not be deterred. “Karma?” he suggests.

Veronica rankles. “Karma? For what?”

“For not believing me.”

Veronica feels…totally gobsmacked, for a moment. Her mouth hangs open on a word she can’t come up with. She takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Are you trying to tell me that you think – that you think marriage – to you! – is sufficient, what, punishment?”

“You seem to be hating it.”

Veronica short-circuits. “Of course I hate it! We shouldn’t be married!”

Logan shrugs and sighs: “So what, it’s a piece of paper, we’ll get it annulled.”

Veronica splutters, but Logan is already waltzing towards the fashionably low couch and dropping on to it, letting their marriage license flutter to the antique coffee table. He makes all these little noises as he stretches out on it, like it’s comfortable and he’s tired.

“I’m curious though,” he says, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa. “I mean. I should be the one furious, right?”

Veronica frowns at him. “I don’t understand.”

Logan levels a look at her. The look is significant enough where she gets that he’s trying to tell her about how much gold he has locked in a vault, or whatever, and Veronica rolls her eyes way harder than she needs to in response. Oh please , she wants to say, but just as soon as she opens her mouth—

“Carrie had a drug problem.”

Veronica feels her face screw up. So? She wants to ask. Seriously, what the hell does that have to do with…?

She purses her lips at Logan, who looks way too relaxed. He props his head on a loose fist.

“It was easy enough to pretend not to notice when she’d spend the night, and then go on…treasure finding missions…when she thought I was asleep. As you are no doubt aware, my cup overfloweth, so what did I care that she’d ‘borrow’ a watch my grandpappy gave me, or take some wad of cash I’d forgotten about.” Logan brushes some lint off the couch. “And then I got it into my pretty little head that I could reform her. So I stopped pretending to be asleep.”

Veronica finds it so awkward that she’s standing, but it would be more awkward to sit, probably. Logan sighs with an open mouth.

“I did the whole thing. Started using the safe, cleaned house, etc. It sort of worked, in the sense that she started using only when she was out of the house. Which started to get more and more frequent.”

Veronica still has no idea where this is going, because she doesn’t have a drug problem. Maybe Logan does?

“And then she comes back one night, barely a call beforehand. And she looks like absolute shit …and she tells me she’s pregnant.”

Logan allows for a twisty sort of grin now. Like he’s being sardonic…

“And she tells me it’s mine.”

…Except it’s impossible to miss the sadness behind it. There’s a long few seconds of silence, as Veronica lets all the information move through her brain.

“I—never really wanted to be a dad, but, I’m a big fan of saving people, apparently, because we were at the court house within a week.”

Logan isn’t really grinning anymore. He’s staring at his knees, scoffing. “And…to Carrie’s everloving credit, she couldn’t go through with it. There we were: white dress, old tux, court-appointed witness and all. And…and she just starts bawling her eyes out.”

He turns his gaze to Veronica, still half-lost in thought. “It wasn’t mine. Which ended up being moot, because the pregnancy didn’t last much longer anyway. But, it was a valiant effort,” he adds, sardonic. “Seriously, I appear to be gullible a. F. Because I was in total husband/dad mode, and everyone knew it.” He holds a hand to his chest. “I didn’t tell anyone, but I guess it makes for a good story when you’re high as a kite and have nothing else to talk about, because enough people know about it that it gets brought up every once in a while. Part of the reason it’s so helpful to be gone half the year.”

Veronica doesn’t know what to say. She takes a seat in the armchair next to the couch, frowning. Logan watches her. 

“Weddings are…kind of a trigger for me. I wouldn’t have been part of this whole circus for just anyone.” He looks at Veronica, and it’s suddenly such a deep, intense look, that she probably couldn’t look away if she tried. “My plan was just to drink my way through it, honestly. Focus on spending time with my friends. But, then, there you were. This lovely, funny, spirited distraction. And suddenly all I want to do is spend time with you.” 

Veronica’s frown deepens. It’s too hard to think.

“Was it a coping mechanism?” he continues, shrugging. “Maybe. But I legitimately started looking forward to all those ridiculous events. Until at some point the rest of the world felt like it was encroaching on you, or – or us, and.” He takes a short breath. “And here I am, half in love with you, and I don’t hate anything about it at all. I should be miserable, being married, and my precious assets being so at risk or whatever. But instead, all I can think about apart from the total shock of being married to you…and what the hell we’re going to do about it…is how goddamn amazing you look in that dress.”

Warmth starts to creep up Veronica’s cheeks, and she feels her insides twist.

“But, I’m still plenty furious with you for leaving me at Madison’s.”

All that tenderness zips right out of her. Like someone’s flipped the switch.

“Right,” Veronica straightens, mind still abuzz with all Logan’s revealed. “Yes, see. See, this, what we need to talk about, is. It isn’t this paper here, it’s, well, it’s the fact that you were—”

“So untrustworthy?”

Veronica lifts up her chin. She tries to look imperious.

Logan rolls his eyes. “All right fine. The next time I’m drunk, and sobbing into some guy’s jacket about how I’m so god damn whipped by this girl I barely met five weeks ago that I want to braid her hair, yeah, I’ll definitely make sure I call you when I’m in that state and tell you I have no idea where I am but I’m about to sleep in a standing shower.”

“If that’s some kind of joke—”

“About the hair braiding? Absolutely not,” he contends, staring at her. He visibly swallows, wetting his lips. “But…I’m pretty sure one of the biggest tenants of a relationship is trust, and, well, I don’t really believe that that comes naturally to either of us. But if this is going to work…and I really…sort of desperately…want it to work…” Why is her skin going all tingly? Why is she remembering that Logan locked the door? “Then I think that’s probably something we’re just going to have to fake it till we make it, or whatever.”

Veronica doesn’t know what to do with herself. She searches her emotions, looking for a tendril of anger, the sort of thing she knows what to do with, and it’s all just…

Gone.

All of that anger, it’s just evaporated.

Huh.

“Wait, you’re saying you want to be married to me?”

Logan leans forward and flicks the license. “I don’t care at all about this stupid piece of paper. I’d like to stay in a relationship with you – if – that is – you know. Something you’d consider.”

Veronica weighs this information with the lack of anger inside her.

It’s too much to think about all at once. She brings her hands up to her hair, but stops short when she realizes touching it would mess up all that hard work. She frowns. It is just not the day for this.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know about what, about me?”

“About —” she doesn’t know what to say. She squeezes her hands into fists and shakes them out. “Look, can’t we just talk about this later?”

“Later as in…at my place? I mean, I’m willing to head over there now. I’m sure we could find some stand-ins out there somewhere.”

He’s grinning, his own little joke, and Veronica narrows her gaze at him. “Later as in…I dunno. Later. Tonight. After all this stuff.”

She purses her lips again, and watches as the tentative smile starts at the corners of his lips. His wide, beautiful lips.

“Tell me I’m crazy,” he says.

“You’re crazy,” she answers.

Logan’s grin flashes. “Tell me I’m crazy for thinking we’re not over.”

Veronica is able to stop herself from smiling back, but it’s an effort. She inhales through her nose.

“I am withholding judgment at this present juncture.”

“Oo, I love it when you talk legal.”

She must grin and it cannot be done. “Both parties will reconvene at a later date, to be determined mutually—”

“Mutually, I like that—”

“—to further discuss the possible nature of their relationship, up to and including romantic entanglement.”

“I could entangle something right now.”

“Logan —” The grin is loose.

“Up to and including marriage, actually.”

Veronica points. “That will definitely be annulled.”

Logan grins. “And I have no doubt I know just the lawyer to handle it.”

When did Logan start moving? Surely two minutes ago he was on the opposite end of the couch, and now he’s sliding off the closer end of it, kneeling on the ground in front of her seat, bracing both arms on the armrests. It’s a silly sort of cage, almost, except she sort of…secretly…loves it.

“I’m sorry,” she drawls, her voice just a shade softer. “What makes you think Jackie would represent you?”

Logan chuffs, sly grin in place. Oh that grin. Oh how she just wants to wipe it off, just wants to, to—

Logan’s gaze darts to her lips.

Veronica feels warmth bloom under her skin.

“I don’t think my lipstick goes with your suit,” she whispers.

Logan’s gaze lights up.

“I’m willing to test that theory.”

Veronica’s grin goes full force, and she drags her finger down the length of Logan’s nose. He lets her, not even really flinching, and so she keeps going: tracing his lips, and the curve of his jaw.

She can’t believe she’s technically married to this man. Married. And…and everything he’s just told her about Carrie… Her stomach clenches.

Trust.

Could she trust him?

That’s a much bigger question, not about to be answered in this random room on the third floor of Memaw’s giant estate. Not when someone outside is clearly playing a White Wedding cover for the second time.

Not when she’s technically on the job, or whatever.

“My dad’s here,” she suddenly says, and Logan’s gaze dims somewhat, a sort of uncertainty of where she’s going with this.

“Yeah,” she says, sighing. “I think it’s probably a bit late to ask for my hand, but, you know. Maybe you could say hello.”

The brightness comes right back. “Oh yeah?”

She raises her brows, dramatic. “Yeah,” she agrees. “But until then, I believe we’re expected to be somewhere right about now.”

Veronica leans forward slightly, and then stands up straight. She looks down at Logan, still kneeling at her feet, arms still braced around her legs, looking right back at her.

Half in love with you.

Her skin goes all tingly again.

Oh she’s being so ridiculous.

She knees his arm out of the way and steps smartly to the door, looking subvertly behind her to see Logan’s beleaguered sigh and his labored stand. She’s hiding her smile as she opens the door.

And Jackie steps out at almost the same time.

She looks beautiful, of course. Her make-up fixed, her hair retouched. Someone behind her is holding her veil, and it’s going to look amazing with the rest. Their gazes meet, and Veronica offers a tentative smile.

“Ready?” she asks, and Jackie inhales.

“I suppose so.”

She takes a few steps towards Veronica, holding out a hand. Veronica takes it.

“Hey,” Veronica argues, as they start descending the stairs on careful ankles. “At least you can say it’s sort of like a dry run? I mean, if it doesn’t work out you can just keep the gifts and never make it official.”

Jackie laughs. “Oh please. All this effort, you bet your ass I’m making it official.”

Veronica chuckles, and as one little strange ensemble, they approach the wedding.

 

It goes smoothly, just as it was designed.

Veronica sees Madison right before exiting for the procession and balks because – the last time Veronica saw her Madison was a sexed-up fiend who witnessed Veronica’s slight mental break, and no way in hell is Veronica going to explain herself right now. Or hopefully ever.

Good thing Madison is in 100% work-mode, and barely glances at Veronica long enough to recognize her.

Madison’s assistant sticks a boutonniere on Logan’s lapel and a corsage on Veronica’s wrist, adding a matching sprig of something over her ear with a very subtle clip.

Veronica gets into position, and Logan steps up to her side. He extends his elbow.

“Shall we, wife?” he whispers, and Veronica rolls her eyes.

“Oh, like that won’t get old.”

Logan is grinning. “Till death do us part, sweet cheeks.” He kisses the air with a wink.

Veronica raises her brows and straightens. “That can be arranged,” she murmurs back.

Logan laughs.

Arm in arm, they walk down the aisle to the sounds of an electrical guitar playing the wedding march, with a string quartet backing it up. 

It’s awesome.

Logan squeezes her hand as they get to the end, where Wallace is grinning at them. Logan breaks off to the bride’s side, Veronica hugging Wallace and standing dutifully beside him.

She turns, seeing her dad in the crowd, and Wallace’s family, and Mac – Mac!! – and so many people she doesn’t really care about.

And when Jackie appears at the end of the aisle, everyone stands, and Veronica finds herself turning to glance at Logan…

And finds him gazing right back at her with such wonderful tenderness.

They’re at this wedding.

And they’re married.

And Veronica thinks…that…there are probably a lot of worse things.

“Feel free to pose normally for these?” Jackie is whining through a forced smile, looking at the photographer.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Veronica says, puckering her lips with a peace sign, while Logan has Jackie’s bouquet between his teeth.

The photographer takes some more photos, and Veronica reaches for the bouquet, sticking it under her chin like she’s some deranged flower. Logan steps behind her and uses his arms to make the leaves.

“Oh my god I hate you. Both of you.”

“It’s not my fault you ran out of ideas.”

“Ideas? Veronica, this is my wedding. Pretty sure the photos are supposed to be framed and on top of my parent’s mantle for eternity. And you being a weird flower girl is going to give people the wrong idea.”

“I was going for plant who came to life.”

Logan blinks. “Oh. I thought this was like, human/plant hybrid.”

“Oh, yeah, that works too.”

“You guys,” Jackie whines again.

Wallace is no help, because he’s laughing.

“Do not encourage them,” Jackie warns, but she’s kind of smiling. Finally, she rolls her eyes. “Okay, one more, and then some I can put in an album, please.”

“Pretty sure you could put all of these in an album.”

“Veronica.”

“Ohhh fine.” Veronica glances at Logan, nods somberly, and they stand side by side, connecting hands in prayer, bowing their heads. Shoulders shaking with laughter, Wallace joins them, and Jackie offers a sigh and follows suit.

Click click click. 

“Y’all are weird, but, like, in a fun way,” the photographer observes. He’s probably getting paid too much to say more. “Okay, let’s get some family in here!” he calls out, and his assistant goes to get more people.

“At least one like we’re friends,” Jackie implores, and Veronica smiles softly, indulging the bride by putting her arms around Jackie…and Logan. Wallace heads to Jackie’s other side, and they all turn to the photographer…and smile.

Click.

“I think I want that one,” Logan admits, and the photographer nods.

Jackie and Veronica share a look, and there’s a moment of awkwardness as they both acknowledge that Wallace doesn’t know about the, uh, well, the mix-up. It’s probably better to tell him later. 

“Boys’ photos?” Jackie asks out loud, and the photographer waves to indicate he heard. Wallace and Logan move into place, waving in Wallace’s brother and dad from the larger crowd of family members waiting their turn. They start working through the configurations.

“So, when are you going to tell him?” Jackie murmurs, at Veronica’s side.

Veronica is watching them pose, thinking about that exact topic. “Unsure. Probably after we figure out what we’re doing about it.”

“What you’re doing about it?” Jackie asks, with mild alarm. “You’re not getting it annulled?”

“I mean, well, yeah,” Veronica answers, eyes wide. “Um. I mean, of course. Why wouldn’t we do that? It would be ridiculous not to annul it.”

Jackie is giving her a strange look that goes on slightly too long. “Oh my god, you like him.”

“What? No. Not…like that. I mean. Yeah, like…no.”

Jackie arches a brow. “Gross. Good luck, and, gross.”

Veronica sighs through her nose and turns back to look at the guys. They’re holding Wallace in their arms like cheerleaders.

“Logan and I have been friends since high school,” Jackie starts to say, as Wallace is nearly dropped but recovers by twisting his ankle. “We dated, as I’m guessing Logan told you at some point. But it was just teenage angst, really. Some stabs at grown-up romance.” A bit of a grin while Wallace walks off his injury and salutes his new wife to show he's fine. “And a way to piss off our parents, sure. But. Well.” Her grin twists, contemplative. “He’s just…he’s just such a good guy.”

Veronica finds that Jackie’s eyes are shiny with something that looks way too much like tears. Jackie continues, gaze in the middle distance: “He just listens, you know? And he cares. Not for convenience. Not because he should. Just because he does care. And it was pretty clear our romance was dead the second it ended but…” She wets her lips. “Don’t hate me…but…it wasn’t hard to…wonder.”

Veronica’s mind is a little blank.

“That’s part of the reason I think I was so pissed at you these last few weeks,” Jackie goes on, and Veronica doesn’t interrupt. Jackie was more pissed at her than usual? She was particularly pissed? “You and Logan…” Jackie says, and Veronica prepares for the worst. “I think,” she continues between little sniffles. “I think in some stupid way I was…saving him, or something. In case things with Wallace didn’t work out.”

Oh.

…Oh…

“That’s…” Veronica searches the air. She can’t figure out a way to sugarcoat it. “That’s messed up.”

Jackie snorts. She rubs her nose. “I know,” she agrees. Jackie turns to her. 

“Logan is great, okay? And it’s hard to see him liking you so much.”

“I wouldn’t say he…”

“Just, we don’t have to do that part.”

“Okay.”

“I love Wallace. I’m with Wallace. I just freaking married Wallace.”

“I saw.”

Jackie sighs. “Just, let’s pretend I didn’t admit that, and I’m an amazing person who is always very level-headed and doesn’t make mistakes.”

Veronica presses her lips together. “We could blame the baby hormones.”

Jackie balks. “Oh my gosh you’re right! I don’t know why I keep forgetting about that. You know that I have to pee seven times a night now? What the hell’s that about, jeez. He’s the size of a freaking grape and yet you’d think—”

Wait. “He?”

Jackie looks at her with wide eyes. “Oh. Shit. Right. Um.” There’s a moment of stunned silence. “Don’t tell Wallace? I got the results, and, I wanted to wait until the honeymoon, and…”

A son. Wallace will have a son. “No, I get it,” Veronica says, feeling like everything is a bit too real. Wallace Jr.? Jackie Jr.? Oh jeez. “That’s…great? Is that great?”

Jackie smiles, soft and radiant. “It is,” she agrees, and she just looks purely…happy.

And maybe it’s contagious, that happiness, because Veronica feels nothing except that for her friend.

Veronica’s stomach starts to grumble when the cousins start showing up, so Logan offers to escort her to the cocktail hour.

“Drinks are on me,” he jokes with a wink.

Veronica looks up at him with mock coyness. “Don’t you mean us? I believe what’s yours is mine now, spouse.”

A look of feigned horror passes over Logan’s face, but Veronica wonders how much of it is actually false.

“Excellent point, wife. That’s just why I married you.”

Veronica laughs. Logan uses her distraction to hook her arm through his own and walk her towards the party.

It’s early evening, that warm hour of golden sunshine. Maybe that’s why Logan looks so handsome. Maybe that’s why she can’t bring it in herself to step away.

“Ah!” Logan says, almost out of nowhere. They’re heading towards a lone woman at a bar-height table. Veronica glances at him, and his grin is near devious. “Veronica, allow me one of the world’s greatest pleasures.” His voice gets slightly louder. “I would like to introduce you to truly the incomparable Trina Echolls.”

“Echolls? Wait. Don’t tell me you’re alrea—”

“My sister,” he laughs, and Trina turns with a sour, bored look on her face, sipping from a violently pink cocktail.

She shades her eyes. “Logan?”

He deposits Veronica at the table. “Trina! Wondered when I’d find you. This is my wife Veronica.”

“Your wha—”

“I’m going to get us some drinks, so, I’ll be right back.”

Logan turns on his tail and heads to the bar.

Trina is glaring at his back. “Ugh, what an idiot.” She glances at Veronica. “Don’t worry about him, he likes to make jokes.”

“Yeah,” Veronica agrees, tense. “Jokes.”

Trina slurps loudly from her straw. “What’d you say your name was again?”

“Uh.” Veronica tries to find Logan in the crowd. “Veronica.”

“I’m Trina. Logan’s sister. And this is the third most boring wedding I’ve been to this year.”

Veronica squints. “Uh. What was the most boring one?”

Trina angles her head. “Tibetan monastery. Silent ceremony, had to wear this scratchy old robe. No alcohol. Ridiculous.”

Ah. “That sounds…interesting.”

“No, being on Victoria Beckham’s yacht is interesting. Everyone here is like, old. Or lawyers.”

Veronica doesn’t feel like pointing out that very technically, she is part of the problem.

“What do you do then, Trina?”

Trina gives her a shrewd look, like she’s wondering whether Veronica is a cop. “Handbags,” she explains. “Specifically for dogs.”

Veronica tilts her head. “Wait, the dogs go in the handbags? Or the handbags are for the dogs?”

Trina scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She eschews the straw and drinks right from the glass. Veronica waits for the answer, realizes she’s not going to get it, and finds she’s already half-obsessed with Logan’s sister.

“Just…take my advice, Veronica,” Trina sighs, rubbing her mouth. Veronica has no idea where this is going. “Long distance relationships never work.”

Veronica feels her eyes are dancing. Is Trina referencing Logan? Someone else? An elderly lawyer maybe? “Hey,” Veronica says, trying to keep her voice level. “You ever been to Guam?”

Trina’s eyes go accusing, suspicious. 

Veronica grins. “Never mind."

Logan shows up with two glasses of champagne, looking fine as hell. 

“No crazy cocktail?” she teases, taking a glass. “Pretty sure the first time I met you you were drinking…I have no idea what,” she muses, and Logan leans in, grinning down at her.

“Can’t go telling you all my secrets,” he murmurs, and Veronica feels a thrill twist through her.

“Ew, you guys are gross,” Trina announces, putting her hands flat on the table. “I’m going to find the pastor. At least he looked like he was a good time.”

Veronica has to work not to laugh.

“I like her,” she admits.

Logan clicks his tongue. “Too bad you’re off the market.”

Veronica arches a brow. “Am I?”

“Oh yeah. Pretty sure I own you now. We can consult the legal paperwork.”

“I’m pretty sure indentured servitude is illegal in the state of California.”

“Except in cases of punishment for a crime, and,” his expression goes all mock-suave. “And you in that dress is a criminal offense.”

Veronica is laughing too hard to hear the cane, clicking along the paving stones.

“You,” comes the ancient voice, and the laughter gutters. Veronica straightens and turns.

It’s Memaw.

She looks like a toad taught how to glare at people. She's brought her cane...

…And Judge Kaur with her. Judge Kaur looks disgruntled and annoyed.

“Me?”

“Yes you. Don’t think I don’t remember you. Groomsmaid, tsk. I tell you, he’s married now, you hear? May - reed. You don’t go messing around where you don’t belong, oh-kay?”

Veronica tries to open her mouth.

“And I won’t stand for it. I’m getting your off the market. This one looks like he'll do. Parminder? You got the paperwork?”

Judge Kaur looks confused. “What? No, of course I don’t have the paperwork.”

This would be much more satisfying if Veronica wasn’t a little bit terrified.

“Um,” Veronica clears her throat. “Actually, um, Memaw…”

And if it’s the only good thing to come out of her marriage? Totally worth it.

From there, it’s a whirlwind: Logan’s friends (childhood friends! College friends! Logan went to college?), Veronica’s friends (Mac! Just Mac), her family (dad! Just dad). And then suddenly it’s dinner, and dancing, and drinking…and it’s just…it’s the best. She gets to sit next to Logan all the time. Gets to dance with him before her dad gets a turn. It’s the best wedding Veronica has been to in her whole life. It’s hard not to beam all the way through it.

Logan and Veronica are walking through the grounds, hand in hand. It’s dark, the dancing still going full-force, everyone just waiting on the fireworks. There’s a champagne fountain. And a chocolate fountain. Wallace had to cut the cake with an actual sword that Jackie’s great-great-great grandfather used in the Civil War. Yeah.

“Pretty sure I owe Mac fifteen hundred bucks,” Logan swears, and Veronica laughs.

“Pretty sure we all owe Mac fifteen hundred bucks.”

“Oh. You didn’t tell me she was a grifter.”

“No, I just didn’t say that she’s smarter than you.”

“Hey,” Logan whines playfully, pulling her closer, “that is no way to talk to your beloved spouse.”

Veronica rolls her eyes, grinning. The shock has worn off, now it’s almost getting old.

…Almost.

Looking at him all night…while he was laughing with her dad…scheming with Mac…brandishing paperwork to a very old woman…

Dancing with her.

So what if they’re married.

Things could be worse.

“Don’t think it counts until it’s consummated, sweetheart,” she teases, and Logan starts padding his pockets.

“Knew I left my keys – somewhere –”

Veronica laughs, and Logan pulls her in close, tipping up her chin.

He waits for her to stop laughing, grinning down at her. “I’m just saying. Our job’s over. Would we really even be missed?”

“Um?” Veronica pretends to ponder. “Yeah, I think it would be a bit obvious.”

“Yeah but,” he continues, threading his hands around Veronica’s lower back. “Pretty sure your dad would cover for us.”

“What so you could take my maidenhead? Because I’ve got bad news for you, bud—”

“That you just used the word maidenhead?”

Veronica laughs, tipping herself into Logan’s jacket, holding onto his lapels. She grins up at him, feeling like sunshine inside.

“Hey,” he says, quiet. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Bad idea,” she cuts in seamlessly, and Logan grins.

“I’m just saying. We had cake. We look nice. We stood in front of people while vows were spoken.”

“Not by us—”

“All I’m saying, is that I think it’s pretty much a wedding. We could call it a wedding.”

Veronica’s brain empties out. “Logan…” she says, cautious.

“If,” he cuts in quickly, all that hope in his eyes under pinched brows, “if we decide to…later, you know. If we decide we want this to count. I would be okay with this counting.”

The concern inside Veronica mellows. It’s…well…he’s right. More or less, her favorite people were here (except for Madison), and they did all the ceremonial bits without actually doing all the ceremonial bits. She got married without even realizing she got married. 

It might actually be…the perfect Veronica Mars wedding.

How in the hell does he seem to know her so well already?

“I don’t remember saying I do,” she hedges.

“Then say it now,” Logan pleads, his eyes bright and earnest. “Just for today. Say that you do…for today.”

For today?

Veronica thinks about this. About the idea of marriage, and of the idea of Logan. Of how much she wants to go home with him and wear his jacket over her dress on the walk back and eat pancakes tomorrow morning, and—

“Yes,” she breathes, and Logan exhales. “For today, yes, I…I do.” She grins at him, indulging him in this.

Logan beams. “Does that mean I get to take your maidenhead now,” he asks, not really asking.

Veronica rolls her eyes and tugs once more on his lapels. “Ohh, Logan Echolls,” she murmurs through a grin. “Yes. You may,” and here she nearly laughs. “You may kiss the bride.”

And Logan very nearly laughs himself as he does exactly that.

 

 

 

Notes:

The end.