EVIE

As the casket is lowered into the Earth, Alex draws me a little closer. I feel him trembling, and I lean into him slightly, wanting to reassure him with my presence.

He turns his head toward my ear. "She adored you," he murmurs.

I smile weakly. "She loved you," I respond.

He inhales a giant breath and glances at the Spanish moss-covered oaks, the beautifully tragic marble headstones in the shape of angels, the cheery purple azaleas that line the walkways of Bonaventure Cemetery. It's the best-known burial ground in Savannah, and the most beautiful _ especially this morning, when it's not yet too humid and the sun filters through the trees. Gram is buried next to her husband, at the foot of an imposing and intricately carved marble arch. Even in death, she's dramatic.

Alex's eyes are flitting everywhere but the grave, and I know exactly how he's feeling. Vulnerable and anxious. Like the world has tilted off its axis and will never right itself.

It's been an absolutely awful week. Ever since Gram — even I call her Gram in my mind now, which is odd, since I never knew my own grandparents — was found dead on Sunday, it's been a whirlwind of grief and the gruesome tedium of death. Arrangements, wakes, food for the wakes, the scheduling of plans and airport pickups, hugs and sympathetic glances.

Doctors said she'd died in her sleep of a heart attack. While Alex's family was stunned at the suddenness, they weren't shocked; apparently she'd had heart issues for years. For the first time since we've arrived in Savannah, I realize what Alex means about his family being a little eccentric.Their grieving is more like a party. Instead of somber reflection, everyone's drinking and hanging out, much like they were for the reunion. I haven't raised my observations with Alex because he's the only one who seems shaken. Well, his sister, too. She's been visibly upset but has made herself scarce, choosing to spend much of the past week in a beach rental with her husband and daughter.

Alex hasn't cried, though, and that worries me.

"As we hold Dorothy Evelyn Jenkins in our hearts and memories from this day forward, we commit ourselves to carrying her with us always. We honor her memory by the following promises," the pastor says in a loud, clear voice. "To be gentle and kind. With a caring heart and honest interaction."

Someone in the crowd snorts softly, and a few others titter. Good lord. I glance around, but I appear to be the only one who thinks it's odd that people would act like this at a funeral. Rich people, to boot. Then again, Gram was pretty unconventional herself, and from the little I know about her, I'm not sure gentle was an adjective she'd have chosen for herself.

"I ask all who wish, to now come forward and take this soil in your hand and bless Evelyn Dorothy's final resting place here beside her husband. If you have any final words for her, please feel free to share them from your heart and soul. I only ask you to be mindful of the heat and comfort of the others here with us."

Alex and his sister exchange uneasy glances, and they watch as their red-eyed father scoops dirt into his hand and tosses it on the casket. He's followed by Savannah, and then she nods at Alex.

"Come," he murmurs, and propels me toward the grave.

I take a deep breath. This isn't just difficult because of Alex's pain. It's forcing me remember when Sabrina and I buried our parents. But for Alex, I'm holding those emotions inside. The last thing he needs is me weeping at every turn. Although when I return to Atlanta, I'm planning on sitting in the bathtub and crying for a solid hour.

We take a few steps to the mound of dirt and Alex scoops a big handful. Looking mournful, he turns his palm slowly and watches the dirt fall. I follow suit, but much quicker, and then we move back from the open grave. I feel like a fraud. Everyone here believes I'm practically part of the family. It was fine and fun for a family reunion. For a funeral, it seems downright immoral.

My stomach tightens uncomfortably. I'm in a new black dress, and I'm wearing shapewear underneath that's making me feel and look like an angry sausage.

It's all incredibly awkward. I'm a virtual stranger to Alex, and yet, because his entire family thinks we're engaged, it's not like I can just waltz back to Atlanta. See you! Bye! Good luck with everything and thanks for the cash!

No. A real fiancee would stay. Would want to stay.

And so I've stayed.

Mostly I've remained quiet, listening to Alex and his family tell stories about Gram. I've come to think of myself as Alex's security blanket. He seems to need me near at all times, and won't stop holding my hand. I'm just glad I'm here for him because he seems so lonely, so set apart from his family. While the rest of them are boisterous, he's turned strangely silent. Gone are the dazzling smiles and the rich laughter. I've wondered if he's thinking about his teenage girlfriend, who is also buried in this cemetery. His sister told me that detail in private the other day, but of course I haven't said anything to Alex.

Or maybe he's considering what Gram's death means for the business. How he'll likely become president and CEO of the company.

I'm trying not to think about what that means for us. I'm no longer needed, of course. But that's incidental right now, because he's grieving. I can't bombard him with questions, not yet.

In the back of the limo, he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair.

* * *

ALEX

"Couldn't you have waited to discuss this?" I'm furious that my parents want to talk about the company's future with my sister and me. "Gram was just buried this morning, for God's sakes."

"You're going back to Atlanta tomorrow, and you're going to need to convene the board. She wanted you to be president and CEO, and now's the time for you to announce it."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. It's been a long and difficult day, and now it's almost eleven. Evie's upstairs because my parents didn't want her or my sister's husband to be part of this conversation. It's the longest I've been away from Evie all week, and I feel her absence acutely. I've relied on Evie this week probably more than I should, but she's been so damned wonderful and sweet.

"Is it crucial we do this now?" my sister says. She's also annoyed with our parents. It's as if they're carrying on with business as usual. I'm not surprised Mom's being like this; she and Gram never got along. But Dad? Maybe her death is affecting him profoundly and this is his way of dealing. Who knows? Men sometimes act funny when it comes to grief, refusing to show emotion. I wish I could talk with Travis about all this because his parents both died in the last three years. But he's at a business conference in Dubai.

Dad sighs. "No. I guess not. Let's just put everything on ice. Your mother and I will be over next week."

"I have a trip to Malaysia scheduled." Putting on a suit, flying around the globe, talking business — the thought of those things makes me bone-tired. What I really want is to go home to Atlanta with Evie and lie in bed and watch movies. Something to take my mind off everything.

"Fine. After," Mom says.

I kiss her cheek. "I'm headed to bed."

Upstairs, I find Evie in bed, reading. She's using one of those little booklights, so the room is dark except for the focused beam of illumination.

"Hey," she says softly, shutting her book. The little light remains on.

Jesus, she looks so pretty right now, it makes my heart ache. Her dark hair is brushing her collarbone and I want my mouth there.

I crawl onto the bed and take the book from her, snapping off the light.

"How are you doing?" she murmurs.

Kneeling at her side, I stroke her hair. What should I say? That something about death and cemeteries makes me realize how fragile life is? That it makes me understand what I've been missing all these years? That she fills a void that I didn't know I had? I haven't decided how I'm going to tell Evie that I want us, this, to continue. I've been impressed and proud at how she's handled herself. At how she won over my entire family.

The past several days haven't been optimal for discussing our relationship.

Evie, I know Gram just died but I want you to be my real girlfriend. Cool? Cool.

She can feel how much I adore her. I've been telling her how gorgeous she is, how happy I am that she's here at this time. I figure I'll do it back in Atlanta, once things settle down. After I return from Malaysia, I'll take her out for a romantic dinner and we'll talk.

I pull her down on the bed with me and kiss her hard. We haven't had sex since that first night, for obvious reasons. Tonight feels different. She's been by my side all week, patient and loving. Selfless, even though I know this must have been difficult for her because of her parents. Because she came here to pretend, and things got terribly real.

"Evie," I whisper.

She cups my face in her hands, and a pleasurable shiver goes through me. "Alex?"

"I need you. Now."

All week, my heart's been clenched like a fist in the center of my chest. As I slowly slide Evie's shirt over her head and kiss her soft skin, as I close my lips around her nipple, the fist unclenches. When I trail my tongue down her stomach and peel off her panties, my shoulders relax. As I taste her, as she tugs at my hair, I feel the heaviness lifting from my chest.

I want to lose myself in her, and that's exactly what I intend to do for the rest of the night.

* * *

EVIE

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 am about to turn into the kitchen when I hear Mrs. Jenkins's voice.

"Alex, come clean. She's not really your fiancee. Puh-lease."

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

I freeze. Flatten my body against the wall. They can't see in this room from the kitchen, but I need support for my legs. For some reason, all the saliva in my mouth is missing.

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

Mrs. Jenkins doesn't like me after all. She's been putting on an act this entire time. My jaw drops when I hear Alex's chuckle.

"And what if I did?"

What? A shock of despair hits my chest. Alex, too, has been acting. This entire family

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

Stick up for me, dammit. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to hear Alex's answer. 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."

There. He's standing up for me. Sort of.

Not really.

"She's a wonderful girl, Alex. And yes, Gram did like her. She told me so. 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 just let me live my life, Mother, and stay the hell out of my business?" Alex's voice has turned cross and haughty, like it does when he's talking about work on the phone. That's a statement in my favor, right?

Ehh, not so much. If it is, it's a pretty weak and pathetic one.

"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."

My stomach folds, origami-style, into a tight package. Of course. Lovely Bree. She's probably working at a meaningful job, perhaps at a nonprofit, 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.

"I don't have time for this. We've gotta leave and get back to Atlanta. I need to go find Evie. I've got a ton of things to do. So fucking behind."

"Alex, your language."

As I scramble back toward the staircase, I'm trying to hold in my sobs. I can't let on that I heard that conversation. It does no good to fight with him, to plead, to accuse. I knew exactly what I was getting into. The money's in my bank account, Alex will have his company titles. No regrets, right?

If only I hadn't slept with him. I knew something would happen to break my heart into a thousand pieces.

So stupid, letting him into my body, believing all those velvety phrases he whispered in my ear.

Alex didn't mean any of it. The only thing left is for me to say goodbye.

____