The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(10)

“We’re becoming better people.” Look at that. I almost kept my sarcasm in check.

“Yes, but why here? Did you see that sign by the register? Who puts a lube shop at the back of a café? And what’s that massive plant monster across the way at the edge of the square?”

For the record, if I’d had my caffeine, I would’ve caught on to why she’s asking much faster. “Oh my God, you didn’t watch the movie, did you?”

“What movie?”

“What movie? Are you serious? Have you not read the six thousand text messages on that family text thread about Gigi’s plans for us? Or looked around at the signs everywhere in this town? Or even googled this place?”

“Phoebe, I was in some very undeveloped places doing some very important work, and I have zero cell signal right now too. I’m lucky I got the SOS at all that we all had to be here to support Gigi in her emotional struggles, and I’m not exactly at the top of my game after my travel schedule this week. Could you maybe wait until after coffee to chew me out?”

I grit my teeth. While Tavi usually annoys me—very important work, my ass—we need to become hard-core allies, fast, so we can get out of here. “Pink Gold,” I whisper. “The movie. Pink Gold.”

Her eyes bug out. “That’s a movie? I thought all of her texts were about investing in some new jewelry store.”

“It’s about a fancy white rich lady trying to get into heaven to see her kid after a literal train wreck.” And I have seen it so many times, thanks to Gigi, that I dream in Pink Gold.

Tavi stares at me expectantly.

How does she manage to look adorable like that while still clearly confused and slow on the uptake?

How is that fair?

I heave a sigh. “It was filmed here. The town itself is basically the star of the show. The actual town. Just like it is, except Hollywood-ified forty years ago. This woman, Whitney, gets lost here on her way to a business trip not long after her only kid dies in this freak train accident, realizes Tickled Pink is where the gates to heaven are, and goes on this journey to being a better person so she can earn her ticket to pass through and see that her kid is happy in heaven. In the end you find out she was dead all along and Tickled Pink was some kind of purgatory. But she’s reunited with her kid, everyone cries, blah blah, emotions, blah blah, and Gigi thinks this town and that movie are her blueprint to all of us becoming better people.”

And now Tavi’s staring at me like I’m speaking gibberish and probably need to see a professional as much as Gigi does.

Fabulous.

Exactly what I need today.

But it does beg the question—“What does Gigi have on you? Why did you agree to this?”

“Phoebe. I can’t not be here when the tabloids are reporting that my grandmother is on the verge of the kind of nervous breakdown that could wipe out seventy years’ worth of building her image and legacy. Do you know what that would look like for my brand if I wasn’t here for family in her time of need?”

I momentarily feel better. At least I’m here out of true guilt that Gigi almost choked and died while I was fighting with an ex-boyfriend I never actually liked, not because I’m afraid not being here will ruin my vegan fitness social media brand or make my trust fund mysteriously dry up so that I have to find a real job to support myself.

But as I smirk at the table, I notice the paper Bridget handed Tavi, which she’s set on the table while she slips Pebbles a dog treat. “The Tickled Pink Papers? What is—what is that?”

It’s a gossip sheet.

It’s a small-town gossip sheet with a giant picture of me climbing out of the lake, mascara dripping, my Alexander McQueen peplum jacket and pencil skirt ruined, my feet bare and missing the Louboutins that I will never see again, my hair a federal disaster zone.

I don’t bother reading the article. Instead, I pull out my phone and dictate a text to my assistant. “Antoinette. Find whoever prints the Tickled Pink Papers and burn their house down.”

Tavi frowns at me. “We are not burning houses down.”

“You’re right.” I lift my phone and dictate again. “Antoinette, correction. Find someone we can pay to burn their house down.”

“Phoebe. If Gigi hears you say that—”

I shudder.

She’s right. Yesterday afternoon, after we checked into the motel and Tavi disappeared because of a headache, Gigi laid out for us exactly what’s in our future.

I’ve been placed on administrative leave from Remington Lightly for “family issues.” Mom and Dad came along for their own reasons. Tavi too. And Carter—well, that’s obvious.

Gigi must’ve cut my brother off financially, considering money is the only thing he cares about when it comes to the family. He says he’s a rock star, but as far as I can tell, he’s actually a mooch. One song that barely cracked the top forty does not a rock star make.

And we’re all supposed to work together for an entire year so that we can learn, as a family, using that god-awful film Pink Gold as a guide, to be better people and save our souls from eternal damnation.

Starting today.

When we begin the task of cleaning up our new home.

Which we’re moving into.

Today.

“How are we supposed to treat classrooms like bedrooms?” I whisper to my sister.