Make Me Choose (Bayshore Book 4)

by Ember Leigh

  Chapter 22

  NOVA

  The guests start arriving while Weston and I are finishing tying off our last-minute jury-rigged floral design, and more bad news continues to trickle through the pipeline.

  Amelia found out about the catering situation and started crying in full makeup, as reported by Rhys’s sisters. Rhys’s father got into an argument with the security guard who was chasing us and almost went to real live Aruban jail. Amelia’s uncle is already drunk. And perhaps biggest of all, Rhys is still under the influence of drugs on the beach.

  At this point, all of us could easily go to real live Aruban jail. It’s just a matter of which one of us will go first.

  Elliot and Keko have at least convinced Rhys to keep his pants on by the time three o’clock rolls around, but he’s drifted further down the beach and has been sitting next to an Armenian couple for the past half hour, dragging his fingers through the sand while they sing folk songs from their home country. Weston doesn’t seem confident that he can convince Rhys to move. Which is surprising, because Weston has been confident about damn near everything since the shit started hitting the fan.

  “You know, we had too good of a week,” I blurt as Weston and I put the finishing touches on Amelia’s bouquet. All things considered, this thing is gorgeous. Even if it was made piecemeal out of blooms stolen from around the resort.

  His brow lifts. “Say what?”

  “The wedding week. It’s been too perfect. No issues, just pure fun and sun.” I tut, shaking my head. “If we could have spaced out some of the disasters through the week, then maybe her wedding day would have been spared.”

  He snorts. “You act like you didn’t get attacked by a flamingo the other day.”

  “That’s not a disaster. That’s just inevitable.”

  “I don’t follow, but that’s okay, because it still makes sense somehow.” He uses his Swiss army knife to cut off a piece of hemp that he procured somehow, twisting it around the base of the flower stems to create a makeshift wrap. And yes, it’s sexy somehow. Because everything he does is sexy. Especially in the seersucker. “All set. What’s next?”

  Marry me? I roll my lips inward, making doubly sure the words aren’t accidentally spoken. But oh lord, I’ve fallen completely in love with this man over the past three hours. As if the previous three days weren’t enough, he had to go and thieve some flowers in the name of true love. I suddenly understand how the contestants on Love is Blind might have kinda-sorta fallen in love with their partners during that week in the pods. Spending every waking second with someone, talking and connecting and now problem-solving, fast-tracks the feelings.

  And I am one hundred percent all about Weston Daly.

  “Nova?” He’s prompting me, because I’ve spent too much time counseling myself not to admit I’m in love with him. Which is not something I’d actually say, because yes, I’m aware of how insane it sounds. Go from hate to love within four days? Absurd. Even by Romeo and Juliet standards.

  “I think it’s time for some pictures. And let’s check in with someone about formally postponing the start for at least a half hour.” I jerk my chin toward the taupe seer-sucker out on the northern edge of the coast. “Unless Keko and Elliot can convince him to come back to Earth a little sooner.”

  “A half hour is probably on the low end.” Weston’s hand settles at the small of my back as he guides me toward the reception area. I’ve been relishing his small touches all day. Part of me wants to read it as possessiveness. But of course, these are conversations a sane woman does not have with her island lover.

  Even though every inch of me wishes he could become my year-round boyfriend.

  Weston presses a small kiss to my temple—he’s been avoiding my lips as instructed, even though I’m willing to smear every bit of makeup on my face for one good, juicy kiss from him.

  “Are you going to give a speech today?” I ask him as we reenter the reception patio. Our floral adornments have helped slightly. The caterers are just beginning to set up, which is a small relief, at least.

  “Maybe. Once he’s done tripping on drugs and can remember who he is.”

  I laugh. “Don’t want to waste a good speech on a guy who’s drifting in a different dimension.”

  “Exactly. But really, I don’t have much to say that’s PG. All the stories I could share would make his parents faint.”

  “Some of the backpacker stories are best left on the open road,” I muse as we walk past some of the catering staff setting up steam tables. “But really, you don’t have anything to say? What about something about true love and soul mates?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know anything about true love or soul mates. What could I possibly add that they don’t already know?”

  “I find that hard to believe.” I pause at a stone ledge to set down my camera bag so we can start taking pictures. “You’ve never, like, been in love before?”

  Weston’s gaze slides away from me, and the sight of his immaculate, effortless profile steals my breath yet again. There’s something about the seersucker style combined with his dark, slicked back hair and the ice blue of his eyes. I need to call Vogue-Aruba right now and report Weston as too gorgeous. I will not be surprised when half of my photos tonight are of him and him alone.

  “I don’t stay in one place for too long,” he begins.

  “You’ve never had a girlfriend? Even a long-term fuck buddy?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve been with plenty of women. Just never found anyone that stuck.”

  “Always the groomsman, never the groom?” I crack.

  “I’ll never be the groom.”

  “Ah.” Something deep inside me tightens and begins a long, slow sink to my feet. It’s not like I was already imagining Weston’s and my wedding on a different beach in Aruba or anything. “Well, in that case, if you have no experience to draw on, maybe you could just tone down one of your wild stories from traveling with Rhys so that his great-aunt doesn’t have a hernia along with her salmon.”

  He smirks as I hand him my second camera. “Not a bad idea.”

  “Amelia told me this morning about how she knew Rhys was the one.” I sniff as I uncap the lens and begin setting up a test shot. “She said there was a sign.”

  “Like, Ace of Base-style?”

  I’m unable to resist belting out the chorus. “I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes…” He joins me, and we sing together, finally dissolving into laughter. It’s somehow cathartic—and draws looks from the catering employees.

  “I don’t know. She said she received a sign that let her know Rhys was truly the one. And I guess I kind of look for stuff like that, too.”

  He’s quiet as I unload camera lenses and get things set up. Finally, I hazard a glance at him.

  “You do see yourself settling down with someone someday, right?”

  The clouds in his eyes blow back in as he glances at me. “I don’t like the idea of settling down.”

  “Spoken like a true backpacker.” I force a smile, but on the inside, his words are slashing through me. It’s the quiet confirmation of what I know to be true: that Weston and I can never be. Not with how we live our lives. Not with how my only goal in life is to settle down and scrape together a beautiful life. Weston and I could exist together nowhere except in my fantasies, where he will continue to rule for the rest of my life.

  Awesome.

  But now’s not the time to think about it. Even though I’d love to receive a flash-bang sign from Zeus himself about Weston’s and my inevitability as a happily long-term couple, that is not going to happen. And I don’t want to be sad quite yet. I zip up my case once I’ve gotten everything we need ready, and I put my camera around my neck.

  “Ready, second shooter?”

  “Ready, player one.”

  I smirk. “The only Easter egg we’re looking for in this simulation is a smooth wedding. Let’s get cracking.”

  By now the tables are at least covered in white linens and
some of the centerpieces are set up. I direct Weston to take the wider shots while I go for the close-ups. We migrate this way to all the different areas related to the wedding—the ceremony patio, the boardwalk, the beach itself. I’ve already taken Amelia’s photos in all her stages of preparation, which came out amazingly well and thankfully happened before the florist-and-caterer meltdown. But even though we’re catching up, there’s a knot in my chest that I can’t get rid of.

  Is it the fact that my best friend is probably beside herself with anxiety and stress right now, in her resort tower, awaiting the wedding? Or maybe because the groom is now pensive and shirtless a half-mile down the beach? The family members gathering at the folding chairs look happy enough, but there’s tension lining the paradise breeze. On the edge of the boardwalk, Amelia’s uncle is talking aggressively with a resort worker, and I’m terrified to find out what about. Weston must notice at the same time I do, because he gives me a look and jerks his head in that direction.

  “I’m going to defuse whatever the fuck is about to blow up here,” he says, then presses a kiss to my forehead. A tiny, contented sigh escapes me, and I watch him walk away, because I’m a thirteen-year-old teenybopper on the inside, and Weston is the closest approximation to Harry Styles.

  My phone vibrates a moment later, and I struggle with my camera bag to extract the damn thing from its pouch. Amelia is calling. My insides go tight as I answer with a tentative, “Hello?”

  “Nova? Are you downstairs?”

  “Yeah, I’m…here.” I look toward the resort, trying to spot her out on a balcony somewhere. “Can you see me?”

  “No. I’m in the lobby.” She sounds calmer, at least. “Getting ready to walk down the aisle. But the wedding planner told me Rhys isn’t ready.”

  My tight insides turn into a clenched fist. “He’s…not.”

  There’s a disconcerting pause. “Nova…is Rhys about to leave me at the altar?”

  A breath of air whooshes out of me as I process all the worry and heartbreak my best friend must be living through, on her wedding day. “Oh, my god, no. No, it’s not that at all! I promise. He just, uh…” I twist to look down at the far end of the beach. “He took a pre-ceremony walk, and he’s not quite back yet.” I won’t add that the walk was to the other side of the universe, in his head.

  She tuts, and when she speaks again, I can hear the emotion trembling in her voice. “Are you sure?”

  “Amelia, I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” I can see Rhys starting to walk this way with Keko and Elliot on either side of him, so I’m at least 99% sure at this point. He’s not in handcuffs and isn’t struggling to flee with the Armenian couple, so it seems like he’s ready to get married now. “How are you feeling? Ready to fucking tie the knot?”

  “This has been the afternoon from hell,” she tells me in a low voice. “And I am ready for a goddamn steak and thirteen glasses of wine with my new husband at my side.”

  A sharp laugh bursts out of me, and I cover my mouth. “See that, right there? That just made everything good again. You’ve officially reversed whatever Aruban curse was placed on you, I’m pretty sure.”

  She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I hope so. What do you think got me cursed? Was it when the flamingo bit you?”

  “That flamingo might have been an undercover witch,” I tell her.

  “They always are,” Amelia murmurs. “Babe, I’m nervous. How is everything looking out there?”

  My gaze sweeps over the scene—Weston now involved in the angry conversation between uncle and resort employee, the milling family members, the mostly-not-ready caterers that somehow have to feed fifty mouths in an hour, the half-assed stolen flower arrangement created by Weston and me. But more importantly, the brilliant sun, the achingly beautiful surroundings, and the reassuring rhythmic rush of the ocean.

  All Amelia and Rhys want today is to get married. None of the rest of it matters even half as much as all their friends and family sharing in the important moment. And if that’s the only requirement, well, they’ve already got it. Besides, the wedding days that go wrong make for the best stories. And at this point, Rhys and Amelia will have all sorts of stories to tell their eventual kids and grandkids.

  “It’s looking like you’re about to have the most memorable wedding of your life,” I tell her, and we snicker together.

  Rhys has finally rejoined the boardwalk, looking oddly triumphant. I hang up with Amelia just as Rhys raises his fist, causing his unbuttoned linen shirt to hang open, exposing his tanned chest.

  “The skies opened. The marital union is a go.”

  Elliot and Keko exchange a look behind his back. Elliot is carrying Rhys’s shoes, and Rhys pads barefoot up the white aisle to the grand, bougainvillea-adorned arch where the officiant is waiting.

  “I’m ready to get married,” Rhys says, clamping a hand onto the man’s shoulder.

  “You’re not marrying him, mate,” Elliot begins, but Rhys waves him off.

  “I know. I know. He just needs to hear my conviction,” Rhys says.

  And all the while, I’m snapping pictures. Because I can hear his conviction. And oh, my god, there’s a lot more than conviction here.

  There’s love and weirdness and frustration and everything wild about a wedding day.

  I look to my side and find the ice-blue cool of Weston sauntering my way, my heart goes into knots all over again. If it weren’t for Weston at my side, I wouldn’t have handled my shit half as well.

  And even though I know it’s ridiculous, I need to tell him how I feel.

  How much I disliked him at first. How different he is from what my parents want for me. How my friend Jimmy back home is literally his opposite, and how close I was to just settling down and sucking it up.

  But more than that?

  I need to tell him how in five short days, I fell so hard for him that he might be the only man I ever think about again.

  Chapter 23

  WESTON

  The wedding starts forty minutes behind schedule, which is great, all things considered.

  Rhys refused to wear shoes or button his shirt, which mortified his parents.

  And there was the beach hog incident. Two grunting, feral hogs that were either flirting or actively mating stumbled onto the patio, one of them actually knocking over the officiant and shattering a vase. But I was there to help the officiant back to his feet, so they could get to the whole kissing the bride part and seal the deal on this wild wedding while the hogs grunted weirdly from the beach.

  And the whole time, Nova flitted around in the background like the photographer extraordinaire that she is. The wedding should have taken precedence, but I could hardly stop admiring Nova at work. It’s a thing of beauty to see someone excel at what they love doing. It’s how I used to feel about my job, before I was fired.

  The way I hope to feel about something again, someday. And somewhere between wrangling Rhys from the far reaches of his mushroom trip and weaving a flower adornment that my best friend would stand under, I realized that influencing isn’t it.

  So when Rhys and Amelia are kissing while the thunder of applause surrounds us, I’m grinning like an idiot. Happier for them than I could have fathomed. And wondering when I’ll be able to kiss Nova and get her back into my arms for the evening.

  But Nova is all business. Once the wedding wraps, it’s off to pictures. She herds the bridal party down to the beach, where the wedding planner is still dabbing her eyes and going on about the beautiful ceremony. Nova gently but firmly guides us into photos while the wind flattens her dress against all those beautiful curves. Once it becomes clear she plans to photograph all of us without even one picture including her, I jog toward her, gesturing toward the camera.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Second shooter override. Get in the fucking picture.”

  She laughs a little, glancing toward the group. “You don’t have to…”

  “Nova. This is a big d
ay for you, too,” I say gently, guiding her toward the group by the hips. “At least humor me with one picture, okay? Now go get with your friends.”

  She sends me a grateful look and scoots off to join Rhys, Amelia, and the rest. I capture a few amazing pictures, and then Nova is back in go-mode. While she’s calling out for Amelia’s family, I go to her camera bag and remove the second camera. I want to make this as easy as possible, and besides, I forgot how fun it was to be a part of big productions like this.

  The adrenaline. The laughter. The moving parts that lead to an unexpected equation. I see why she loves doing this, and it’s something that I have always loved as well. Though I’m less about the photos and more about graphic design, there’s still something in the art of the event wrangling that appeals to me. And even though this was the last thing I expected to end up doing in Aruba, it’s somehow been the most meaningful.

  All thanks to Nova.

  Once photos are done and everyone is beginning the slow trek to the reception area, Nova pulls me aside and plants a juicy kiss on my lips. One that steals my breath and absolutely, most definitely ruins her lipstick.

  “Thank you,” she breathes when we break apart. “For everything.”

  “What did I do?” I ask, all coy-like, as I wrap my arms around her waist. Here it is. The moment I’ve been waiting for. This woman is a drug, and I do not even fucking care that I’m addicted. Just give me more.

  “All the second shooter shenanigans.” She smirks. “Do you know how much time you saved me? Shit. A girl could get used to that.”

  “You trying to ask me to come back to New York with you?”

  I mean it as a joke, but when something serious slides over her face, I realize I need to back track. I don’t even know where those words came from, only that they slipped out, unbidden, and that more are liable to follow in their wake.

  “I doubt you need much help with senior pictures,” I add. “Unless you’ve got someone really shitty working with you.”