by Ember Leigh
Not caterers. Not florists. Not even the wedding planner.
“Weston!”
I spot Nova on the third story balcony. She’s leaning over the Roman column-inspired balustrade, waving her arm to get my attention. Her hair falls in gorgeous, soft waves around her face, her lips shining pink and plump. My heart races as I drift toward her across the patio and through the elaborate paths leading up to the side of the building.
“Hey!” she calls down. “You busy?”
“Waiting for you to tell me what you need, My Juliet.”
She cocks her head and grins. “What a Romeo.”
“Let me clarify. Anything except mutual death, okay?”
“Not today, at least,” she cracks. “Meet me in the lobby?”
I give her a two-finger salute and hurry through the big double doors into the hotel. The clip-clip-clip of her heels sounds on the winding marble staircase a moment later, and she rushes up to me, wild eyed.
“I need your help.”
I blink a few times, taking her in. She’s got on a floor-length maxi dress in tropical green, which just makes every single other thing about her beauty stand out even more. I think I actually hear my jaw clatter to the floor as she grabs my forearms.
“Weston?”
“Sorry, I was too busy ogling you.” I force my gaze to meet hers, where a wry little smile awaits me. “You doing anything later?”
“Only you,” she says in a sweet purr. When I lean in for a kiss, she dodges me. “I can’t fuck up my lipstick. But I promise you—we will make out so hard later.”
I grunt, taking a soft bite of her neck instead. “Fine.”
“Right now, though, we have a problem.”
I straighten, setting my face to serious mode. “What is it?”
“I’m an hour behind because hair and makeup didn’t get started on time.” She grimaces. “Can you use my other camera and be my second shooter so I can get all the pre-ceremony pictures done?”
Something warm and soft begins to flutter in my chest. It’s like butterflies, but bigger. Maybe the mutant offspring of the butterflies one gets when utterly falling for someone. Which means I might be in way over my head with Nova. But it’s impossible not to give her what she wants right now. Maybe ever.
“Babe, are you kidding me? Of course I’ll be your second shooter.”
She expels a huge breath of relief. “You just saved my day.”
“Did you actually think I’d say no to you?”
“I don’t know what Rhys had planned for you guys.”
“Absolutely nothing. The guys are out there twiddling their thumbs. I’m sure they’ll start drinking soon.”
She smirks. “Good. Let me go grab my cameras, and we can get started. I’ll meet you down here.” She blows me a kiss and then scoots up the stairs, the sway of her hips leaving me mesmerized. Once she’s out of sight, I whistle and stroll around the lobby. Being a last-minute second shooter doesn’t sound like such a bad gig. A hell of a lot better than my actual gig, which is influencer-on-hold. I remember to check my email again, which I haven’t done since yesterday. Nova is a consuming distraction, and while I’m thankful for how easy it is to get lost in her, I also can’t forget to stay on top of my shit.
The truth is, I’m desperate to know what Thailand is going to look like. Will it just be wandering aimlessly, or totally directed by a hard-won sponsorship that will inject meaning back into my life? A lot of this shit depends on the unpredictable magic of travel, sure—but the rest of it comes from meticulous planning, sponsorships, and having your fucking ducks in a row.
And my ducks are not in a row. They are not even in the same area. One of my ducks swam out to go live with those flamingoes, and the rest of the ducks are drunk at the bar.
Three hundred thousand followers means nothing if you can’t leverage them for some goddamn income.
My chest gets tight again when I realize no new word has come from Cliffhangers Gear. Nova sweeping back down the staircase reminds me that this is not the time to fret. Today is meant for holy matrimony. Celebrating it, that is. Not participating in it directly.
Catching sight of Nova coming down that staircase for the second time in ten minutes does that weird thing with the butterflies in my chest again. I seriously doubt I’ll ever get married, but if I had to? I’d do it with someone like Nova. I could see us eloping somewhere weird. But it’s a thought that needs to stay a fantasy, because come Monday, we’re both flying our separate ways.
I just can’t figure out why those words sound more like a desperate reminder than the simple truth they’ve always been.
“Madam,” I say, offering my arm. A sigh escapes her.
“Are you trying to make me melt into a puddle?”
“No, I just wanted to accompany you like a gentleman.” I clear my throat, effortlessly lifting the camera bags from her shoulder before she tucks her arm through mine. “The melting business will come later.”
She sighs again. “I can’t handle you looking this good today. I’m not fully re-formed after last night on the beach.”
“That was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Pretty good is an understatement. I still see the Milky Way when I blink.”
My smile is straining my cheeks now. That’s the type of feedback I like to hear. And yeah, pretty good is an understatement. But I’m hesitant to let her know just how galaxy-shatteringly good it was for me. That points back to the whole parting-ways-Monday thing, and I think we should avoid that reality for as long as possible.
And according to the Weston Wanders handbook, that will be until Monday morning itself.
“Better keep those stars out of your eyes today,” I warn her as we head toward the beachfront area reserved for the ceremony. “Wouldn’t want it to mess up your pictures.”
“That’s why I have a second shooter,” she says, knocking me with her hip. The sun hits us full blast as we come out from under the shaded veranda of the resort patio. Elliot and Keko are still milling around, but Rhys is off to the side, conversing with some of his family members.
“Where are all the flowers and stuff?” I ask as we come up on the altar. “I thought it was going to look, you know, done up.”
Nova doesn’t answer immediately, but she scans the area, looks back at the balcony she’d called me from, and then back to the altar. Finally, she mutters, “Fuck. You’re right. I don’t think the florist is even here yet.”
“Do you have the number? Maybe we should tell the wedding planner.”
“I’ll call her.” She fumbles with her camera bag to extract her phone, makes the call, and then hangs up with a cluck of her tongue. “Straight to voicemail. Let’s go take pictures of the reception area for now. At least so we can get something done.”
I follow her down a path leading closer to the resort. It’s lined with archways, dripping with hydrangea and hibiscus. The reception area is an enormous patio with a bar tucked off to the side.
Except that there’s nothing here.
Not even a table.
“Shit.” When Nova looks at me this time, there’s real worry creasing her face.
“Are they supposed to be set up by now?”
“That’s what the wedding planner laid out for me. She said that the ceremony area would be done by noon”—she checks her phone and shakes her head—“and it’s one. Wedding is at three. Do you think everything is behind?”
“It’s possible. Try the wedding planner again.”
Nova gets out her phone, but before she can swipe it on, there’s a call from Amelia. Nova answers, putting it onto speakerphone.
“Nova! We have a crisis.” Amelia’s stress is evident through the phone. “Where are you right now?”
“Down in the reception area,” she says, nibbling on her bottom lip as she watches me. “What’s going on?”
“My wedding planner isn’t answering her phone, and I keep getting calls from my mom asking wher
e she is because something about the caterer! I’m stuck in makeup, and I can’t do a damn thing from up here.”
“Shit. Okay. Let me figure it out.”
“How does the reception area look?” Amelia asks.
Nova bites at her top lip, her gaze swinging over to the totally empty patio. “It’s very fragrant. Surprisingly fragrant.”
“But what about—”
“Hey, I’m getting another call. Let me look into this, and I’ll call you back,” Nova rushes to say. I admire her handling of the situation. It’s hard to fib to a best friend. She hangs up and looks over at me, clutching the sides of her face.
“Weston, I feel like shit is exploding. Is shit exploding?”
“There may be a rumble, yes.”
She snorts, swatting my chest. “I love how you can confirm my worst fears but still make it not seem bad.”
The use of the L-word stops me up for a second. She’s allowed to love something about me. Hell, I’m in love with her sparkling wit and that bodacious ass. But hearing it out loud? It goes against the ingrained truth of the traveler spirit. And maybe even worse, it goes against the player instinct of the Daly family. I can hear Maverick’s cocky laugh in my head. Even though he’s the youngest of us, he’s the true player among us. Even more so now that my three older brothers are all happily engaged and ready to tie themselves off for the rest of their lives.
I’d join their ranks if feelings didn’t automatically equal cramping my style.
“It’s the wedding day. Things are destined to completely unravel,” I tell her. “Let’s call the wedding planner again.”
Nova nods and swipes through her phone. It rings once, and then clicks over to voicemail. Not a good sign.
“Shit,” she says.
“Yeah. We need to start problem solving. Keep your phone on you—I’m going to hunt down the caterer myself while you track down the wedding planner.”
Nova nods firmly. “And once we figure something out, I’ll let Amelia’s mom know.”
“Deal.” I grab her hand between both of mine and give her an encouraging squeeze. “I’ll be counting the seconds until I see you again.”
She giggles, pushing at my chest. “You really are Romeo.”
“Only in Aruba.” I wink and press a soft kiss to her perfect cheek. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
It’s really that hard to rip myself away from her, but we’ve got some shit to figure out. She heads back toward the resort and I turn back to where I last saw Elliot, Keko and Rhys. Except when I near the boardwalk again, Elliot and Keko are the only ones to be seen, hands stuffed into their pockets with anxiety drawn tight around them.
“What’s up, buddies?” I ask, squeezing both of their shoulders.
“Rhys is acting funny,” Elliot says, squinting out at the water. “He’s a little bit too laid back this morning.” He jerks his chin toward the beach, where I can just make out the dim outline of a man sprawled out on the sand.
I grimace. “What is he doing out there?”
“Meditating, I think,” Keko offers. “Or waiting for the water to consume him. He might have said that.”
“Wedding day jitters?” I ask. It’s hard to imagine Rhys doubting his decision this late in the game, but nobody can truly predict what a wedding day will bring.
“Or something,” Keko says.
“Hey, I gotta go figure something out with the caterer. Will you guys keep an eye on him?”
“Of course,” Elliot says. “We’re on Rhys watch. Unsure if he’s going to fling himself to the sharks or into the arms of his beloved.”
“It’s a question as old as time itself,” I say, grabbing one last look at Rhys flung out on the sand before I head toward the resort’s central reception area. Things are not looking promising, but I’m nothing if not a problem-solver. The sun beats down on me as I hurry toward the official central command of the resort, demanding to speak with anyone involved with the weddings. I’m passed off to various employees, until finally a harried-looking man approaches me with a smear of flour on his cheek.
“Are you the groom? Apologies. Apologies. We are setting up.”
“I’m not the groom, I’m just trying to—”
“For the Noordvak reception, right?” he sighs, running a forearm along his glistening forehead.
“No.” My heart sinks lower. “Not Noordvak. This is for the Bradford/Baker reception.”
“Right, right. That’s what I said.” He tuts and starts to walk away again. “Listen, we’ll be setting up shortly. No worries. No worries.”
I’m gaping after him, unable to judge just how few worries I should have, when footsteps rush up behind me.
“Weston!” It’s Nova, and she looks wild-eyed. “I found the wedding planner. She was having a blowup with the florist. They double booked events today and don’t have flowers for Amelia’s wedding!”
She’s clutching my forearms, everything drawn tight between us. The news keeps getting worse, but there’s got to be a silver lining somewhere. “Okay. That’s bad, but I at least found the caterer. He says they’re going to set up shortly.” I opt not to add that it might be for someone else’s wedding altogether.
“The planner is up with Amelia and her mom. Her mom is in tears over this. It’s a total clusterfuck up there.”
“We’ll figure something out.” My gaze drifts around the lobby, landing on plenty of exotic blossoms tucked into various arrangements. “How many flowers would we need? Bouquet…altar decoration…?”
“Table centerpieces,” she adds.
“Let’s downsize a little bit. What if we could get enough for a bouquet and decorations for the pictures? Hell, we could steal a few flowers here and there, and nobody would even fucking notice.”
She blinks. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Let’s see how many we can get.”
She grins like we’re the bad guys hatching a plan to rob a bank, and we make a beeline for for an ornate flower arrangement in the middle of the lobby. We pause, looking around like there might be spies.
“Put your camera around your neck,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“We can use the camera bag for the flowers.”
“You never stop thinking, do you?”
I help her remove the camera and unzip the bag. Then, like a magician practicing sleight of hand, I snag three big white roses from the centerpiece. I look around, trying not to act suspicious.
“That was easier than I thought,” I admit. “Let’s go outside and see what’s out there.”
We hurry toward the front doors. Guests are milling all around, but still, it’s hard not to feel like we could be outed at any moment by workers or security cameras. Outside, the pickings are plentiful. Huge hibiscus plants line the front landscaping, with the occasional swaths of bougainvillea and wild orchids. Nova gasps.
“This is fucking perfect.” She goes up to the bougainvillea. “Look. These vines would be so beautiful on top of the altar.”
“There’s so much of it too, they won’t even notice it missing,” I say.
She reaches into the burst of color and gasps. “Okay. This motherfucker’s got thorns.”
“Hang on.” I reach into my back pocket, where I keep a swiss army knife on me most days—unless I’m swimming. “I got this.”
The impressed look on her face satisfies me more deeply than I can explain as I gently saw off a few gorgeous vines of the plant. What we’re doing is wrong, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m not going to let my best friend’s soon-to-be mother-in-law weep in a hotel room because the florist forgot to put her daughter’s wedding on the schedule. Not on my watch.
“Uh, Weston?” Nova places a hand on my arm as I go for the third bougainvillea victim. “This stuff isn’t gonna fit in my camera bag. We either need to leave immediately or conjure a trash bag in the next ten seconds.”
“Why the next ten seconds?”
“Because there
is a very stern security guard heading our way.”
I don’t need to hear another word. I guide her by the small of her back toward the lobby doors, stuffing the contraband beneath my arm. I’m using the oldest trick in the book—don’t make eye contact and they won’t formally come after you.
“Definitely will have to come back later,” I murmur. “But I think we’ve got a good start.”
We speed walk through the lobby once more, but not so fast that I can’t pluck a lily from a different floral arrangement by the guest bathrooms. My phone vibrates just as we cross paths with the wedding planner. Nova updates her on our flora robbery while I answer Keko’s call.
“We figured out what’s wrong with Rhys.” He doesn’t sound happy.
“Does it entail a hospital visit?” I’m joking, but terrified at the same time.
“Uh…possibly.” Keko clears his throat. “Rhys ate a bunch of magic mushrooms this morning.”
I blink about a hundred times, my steps slowing as I process this information. But then I hear a shout behind me—that security guard is still eyeing us. I hurry toward the wedding planner.
“But Rhys doesn’t do shit like that,” I insist in a low voice. “Are you sure he ate shrooms?”
“We are, like, one thousand percent positive,” Keko says, a little laugh escaping him. “He’s tripping his face off right now.” In the background, I can hear Elliot snorting and saying, “No man, you gotta leave the pants on.”
“How did Rhys find fucking shrooms?” I demand, much louder than is necessary. But this does not compute. Rhys is not the type of guy to just go on a psychedelic bender mere hours before his wedding.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. I just hope this shit wears off before he says ‘I do.’”
By the time I hang up, Nova is watching me with concern creasing her face.
“Things got worse,” she says ruefully. “I can tell. I have no idea what happened, but I can already tell.”
“Much worse,” I confirm, keeping up my brisk walk through the resort and out into the bright sun of the patio. “But let’s look on the bright side. It can only go up from here, right?”
Nova’s eyes narrow to slits. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”