I won't tell Alex this, but I'm glad we're leaving for Atlanta today. It feels like we've been away for years. Grabbing my purse, I take a glance around this beautiful room for the last time. I'll always remember this bed, the way the morning light filters through the curtains, the paintings of flowers.

Alex is downstairs, loading our luggage into the SUV, and I'm supposed to meet him in the kitchen to say goodbye to his parents and sister; it's back to reality. I'm hoping I can explain my feelings to him soon. I won't tell him I love him, of course. That'd be too intense.

It's probably a good idea to wait a week or two—to let him take his first business trip after Gram's death and to get settled back into real life. I remember when my parents died, those two weeks after the funeral were the most difficult. It was like sleepwalking through life, and I'd been unable to make any decisions. I can't imagine Alex having to do business in the state he's in.

I make my way down the steps, past Alex's baby pictures on the wall, past the prom photos and the ones of him standing proudly at the side of his motorcycle.

On the first floor, I round the corner into the small family room and bound into the foyer. Alex and his parents are there. To my dismay, so are Beau and Rose. They look like they stepped out of the pages of Southern Living. I didn't realize that anyone under eighty actually wore seersucker, but here we are. Beau is in a blue seersucker suit and Rose is wearing a pink seersucker dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

"Good morning, everyone," I burble. "Rose, I love your hat."

"Thank you. We're going antiquing today. That's where we spend a lot of money on old treasures. You probably have never done that." She sneers and I look around, horrified, hoping someone will step in.

"Rose, please," Alex says, his voice strained.

Well, this family goodbye isn't going as planned.

Mrs. Jenkins looks me over, and it's clear that I've interrupted something.

"Alex, come clean. Evie's not really your fiancé. Puh-lease."

"Mother." Alex's deep voice rumbles through my body.

What. The. Hell.

I freeze. Flatten my body against the wall. All eyes turn to me. I gape at them, mortified that they're talking about me.

"Oh, let's get this out in the open." Mrs. Jenkins waves her hand. "I had a long discussion with Rose, and I know my son paid you to make him look more stable. That's despicable."

"Son, did you really do that?" Mr. Jenkins holds a coffee cup in midair, looking about as perturbed as he would if his golf game were canceled.

"Rose, how do you know this?" Alex's voice is tinged with anger.

Beau guffaws. "It came from me. I heard everything, DJ. Your entire conversation in the elevator was recorded."

"What?" Alex sounds incredulous.

Oh, shit.

"The elevator. When it malfunctioned the other week. Everything was recorded for safety reasons. There's a speaker and a microphone there, and a video camera. You didn't know? I asked security for a copy of the recording, and they gladly gave it to me. I figured I'd get a good laugh out of it, maybe hear you panic like a little bitch, but I got so much more."

"You asshole." I clap my hand over my mouth, but can't muster any guilty feelings. Oh, well. My moments with this family are numbered. I guess I can say whatever I want.

Everyone ignores me.

"I know you did that for the benefit of Gram, Alex. You'd never marry a waif like that," Mrs. Jenkins says.

I stop breathing when I hear Alex groan. Mrs. Jenkins doesn't like me. Probably never liked me. They're discussing me as if I don't exist when I'm standing feet from them.

"And what if I did?" Alex's nostrils flare.

What? What if he did what? What does he mean by that?

"I'm standing right here, you know." My tone is sharp.

"This doesn't concern you, my dear," his mother says in a dismissive tone.

"Excuse me?" I say sharply.

"You're going to have to let her down gently, Alex. This girl adores you."

Stick up for me, dammit. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to hear Alex's response. But needing to, so I can face the horrible reality of our relationship.

Alex's loud, impatient sigh echoes through the kitchen. "You seemed to like Evie. You and Gram showed her my baby photos, for Christ's sake. I don't understand you at all. You're being duplicitous, and you know how I hate that."

"She's a wonderful girl, Alex. And yes, Gram did like her. She told me so, she told everyone. But you know Gram and her weird taste. Evie's not for you. She's not one of us."

The emphasis on us is now branded on my soul. I am an Other. Because I wasn't a debutante. Because I'm not from a wealthy society family. Because of a thousand imperceptible reasons, none of which I can change. My throat thickens.

"Why don't you let me live my life, Mother, and stay the hell out of my business? Out of our business!" Alex's voice has turned cross and haughty, like it does when he's talking about work on the phone.

"You know I was hoping to set you up with Bree, the girl from the tennis club. She's so lovely, and her parents are well-connected. No offense, Evie. This is something I thought of before he, ah, met you. I want him to stop sleeping around and settle down with someone appropriate."

I let out a snort as all my warm feelings toward Alex's mom evaporate.

I cannot believe this is all happening right in front of me. My stomach folds, origami-style, into a tight package. Of course. Lovely Bree. She's probably working at a meaningful job, or maybe volunteering, since she's got family money and no student loans. I can imagine what she looks like. Tall. Willowy. Honey-colored hair. I look down at my feet. My toenail polish, once perfectly shiny and pink as a spring tulip, is chipped on one toe. Bree never has chipped toenail polish.

Alex does appear furious, to his credit. "I don't have time for this. We're going back to Atlanta. I've got a ton of things to do, and I can't stand here and subject someone I care about to this abuse. Evie, let's go."

As he takes my arm and propels me to the front door, I wriggle out of his grip.

"Hold on a minute." I turn and face his parents, Beau, and Rose. I'm so angry my vision seems sharper, brighter. I am done with these people. "Since we're spilling secrets, here's one. Alex called off the wedding with Rose because he caught Rose and Beau screwing two nights before the ceremony, in the pool house." I point dramatically in the direction of the backyard.

Everyone gasps, an oddly thrilling sound. Good. I shocked all these jerks. His mother grips the side of the counter.

"You liar," she cries.

"Ask Travis. He knows the truth. He's known all along."

Alex is staring at me with wide eyes. Beau is as pale as the mayonnaise in the fruit salad in the bowl next to him. Mr. Jenkins clears his throat a few times. Rose shoots me a sour look.

"You're so low-class," she mutters.

I shoot her a simpering look. "And Alex? He took the blame. He said the breakup was because he wanted to play the field, that he wasn't ready to get married. That wasn't true at all. He's never played the field. Hell, the other night, he didn't even have condoms with him because he hadn't had sex in so long. He did all of this so your precious little family wouldn't be scandalized. So, take your secrets and shove them up your tight, society asses."

I'm acutely aware that this will end my relationship with Alex, but it's so satisfying to stun these terrible people into submission. It also feels damn good to let go and tell people what I really think. Freeing. Authentic. Maybe I should try this more often.

I whirl and stomp out the door, not caring if Alex is following or not.