by Lila Monroe
The Agency. Our contract. She’s right: she promised she’d help me out with the investors. That was why I agreed to this crazy set-up in the first place. Quid pro quo, tit for tat.
But is this still just a job to her—or more?
I start to ask, but Olivia’s phone starts buzzing like crazy.
“Vanessa,” she says with a sigh. “We should get back and rescue Hallie before there’s a total meltdown.”
“What time is the rehearsal dinner?”
“Seven, so we’re cutting it close to set up.”
We get on the road, but when we reach Key West and pass a souvenir shop on the boardwalk, an idea suddenly occurs to me.
“Wait one sec,” I say, pulling over. “I’ll be right back.”
I hop out and head into the small, crowded shop, where I scan the cluttered shelves stuffed full of snow globes and key chains until I spot what I’m looking for. “Do you want it personalized?” asks the girl behind the counter, holding up a neon pink paint pen.
I grin. “You bet I do.”
Olivia is finishing up a call when I get back to the car—I should have known she’d be the type to use every scrap of time as efficiently as possible—and she smiles at me curiously as she says goodbye. “What was that all about?” she asks, before dropping her phone back into her purse.
“I got you a present.”
“You did?” Olivia glances back at the scruffy exterior of the souvenir shop, which advertises both boogie boards and an on-site tattoo artist on a sandwich board outside. “In there?”
“Uh-huh. Close your eyes,” I instruct, “and give me your hand.”
Olivia raises her eyebrows but she does what I tell her, holding her palm out obediently. When she opens them again and sees what I’ve placed there—a cheap fake-gold ring topped with a seashell that’s been dipped in bright purple glitter—she laughs out loud.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“I saw guys selling them on my run this morning and couldn’t get them out of my mind,” I explain. “I know there’s no replacing your mom’s ring. But at the very least I wanted you to have something to cover up that weird tan line on your index finger. Or turn it green, at least.”
Olivia swallows. “Jerk,” she says, but she’s smiling. Then her eyes get misty and she looks away. “Thank you” she says, slipping it on and holding her hand out to admire the butt-ugliness of it. “Seriously, Ryan. It means a lot to me.”
You mean a lot to me, I want to tell her, but I kiss her instead. The ring releases a shower of purple glitter every time she moves her hand.
“You don’t actually have to wear that thing to the rehearsal dinner,” I tell her as we head back to Larry’s house. “If I know you, you’re already thinking about when you’re going to discreetly slip it off.”
“Are you kidding?” Olivia laughs. “It’s basically the most tasteful addition to my wardrobe I’ve had all week.” She grins. “It’ll go great with my non-bridesmaid dress.”
I laugh, slipping an arm around her shoulders as we cruise along the beach road, a weird, unfamiliar lightness inside my chest. It feels like the night after winning the Super Bowl, and at first I figure it‘s because of the deal with Mason and finally landing the investment I’ve been chasing all year, but then I realize it has to more do with the woman in the passenger seat beside me. Logic says we hardly know each other. Rational thought says it’s way too soon. But I meant what I said in the hammock that night—I believe in trusting my instincts. And my gut already knows the truth.
Olivia’s the one.
The only question is, does she feel the same way about us?
19
Olivia
The morning of the wedding dawns cool and overcast, dark clouds lurking on the horizon and thunder rumbling ominously in the distance.
“Is that a bad omen?” Ryan asks, peering out the sliding door onto the hotel balcony.
“Sure,” I say, still lounging under the crisp white sheets, “because the weather is definitely what makes this marriage a bad idea.”
“Good point.” Ryan comes back to bed, mattress dipping under the bulk of his body. “Here’s a thought. What if we just stay here and fool around all day?”
“Oh, now you like that idea,” I tease.
Ryan raises his eyebrows. “I always like that idea,” he shoots back, slipping a hand up under my tank top to demonstrate. My nipple hardens up at the brush of his thumb. He rubs back and forth, just gently, and I can’t hold back a quiet moan.
We’ve got time for a quickie before I have to report for hair and makeup, and I drive over feeling pretty damn good, a sweet, private ache between my legs. The wedding is being held at a historic five-star resort overlooking the water, all old-fashioned elegance with an ornately decorated lobby and a wide back veranda overlooking the ocean.
I head upstairs and knock on the door of the bridal suite, which swings open a moment later to—surprise—complete and utter chaos. It looks like a hurricane ripped through here: clothes and makeup and styling tools scattered over every available surface, a Beyoncé album on someone’s iPhone periodically cutting out as texts ding in. Crystal’s hair is sticking up in every direction, like she dropped her hair dryer in the bathtub and got electrocuted. Kiki, for some reason, is wearing her Bride Tribe tank top, a pair of stilettos, and nothing else.
Hallie is sitting in the middle of it all, her camera in her lap. “Why didn’t you call?” I ask, hurrying over.
She gives a relaxed shrug. “Not your circus, not your monkeys.”
“Until one of them says ‘I do,’ ” I mutter.
Hallie winces. “Usually I try to get a bunch of getting-ready shots,” she admits quietly, “but none of this feels like it needed to be captured for posterity.”
“It’s missing!” Vanessa wails when she sees me, not bothering to say hello. She’s digging through an enormous Louis Vuitton suitcase on the bed, clothes flying everywhere. The spike of a high heel comes within inches of taking Kirsty’s eye out. A virginal white bra lands on my head. As I set it down on the TV stand I realize it’s got nipple slits, which I immediately add to the long list of things about my father and Vanessa I’m never going to think about again after today. “I can’t find it anywhere.” She turns on Kiki, a truly frightening look in her eyes. “You said we had it,” she growls.
I step in between them like an instinct, pushing Kiki subtly behind me. “Easy,” I say, in the same calm, even voice I’d use to try and negotiate a hostage release. “What’s missing?”
“My something blue!” Vanessa screeches, and I wince.
“What is it, exactly?”
Kirsty knocks back the dregs of a sticky-looking mimosa. “A bedazzled lace thong,” she reports.
Of course it is. “OK,” I say, trying to keep my face neutral, “well, when was the last time you saw it?”
“I definitely packed it,” Kiki says meekly, still cowering behind me like she’s worried Vanessa might snap and beat her to death with a pair of Spanx. “It must have fallen out in the trunk.”
“Stay here,” I say, holding a hand up. “I’ll go look.”
Kiki sits down hard on the edge of the mattress, seemingly weak-kneed with relief. “Thanks,” she murmurs. She looks exhausted, I realize. In fact, all of three of them do—Kirsty’s shoulders slump defeatedly. Crystal has rings under her eyes that are no match for the thickest of concealers. For some reason, I get the impression that Vanessa’s friendships with the Bride Tribe might not last past the honeymoon.
I take the keys to Vanessa’s car and head downstairs to the hotel parking lot, where I find the offending thong buried underneath a pile of inspirational Lululemon bags and slip it into my shorts pocket for safekeeping. As I’m heading back through the lobby, I catch sight of my dad by himself on the back patio, sitting in a wooden rocking chair and looking out at the water.
“Hey,” I say, going over and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Rehearsing your vows?”
I hesitate, thinking of the thong tucked into my back pocket. Fuck it, I decide with a nod. “Always.”
We order a couple of whiskey cocktails from the waitress and sit for a while, watching the tide go out. We talk about nothing much at first—the cousins who’ve come in for the wedding and how drunk my Aunt Muriel got at the rehearsal dinner last night, the trip he and Vanessa are taking down to Grand Cayman after the ceremony. Finally, I take a deep breath. “Dad,” I say cautiously, running my thumb along the rim of my glass, “can I ask you something?”
My dad glances over, looking surprised. “Of course, sweetheart,” he says. “Anything.”
“It’s just—are you sure about Vanessa?” I blurt, my words coming out in one big rush. “It’s not that I don’t want you to get married again—you know I’ve liked your other wives—but do you really think she’s the one for you?”
I’m expecting shock, or even irritation, but when I finally look over at my dad I’m surprised to realize he’s smiling. “The one?” he asks, shaking his head a bit incredulously. “Of course not, sweetheart.”
“Wait.” I blink, suddenly confused. “What?”
“Vanessa isn’t the one for me,” my dad explains gently. “Lord, how could she be? More than that, how could I expect her to be? The only one for me, in my whole life, was your mother.” He sighs, reaching over to pat my hand. “I appreciate you looking out for me, honey. And of course I know Vanessa can be a bit of a handful sometimes. But I promise you I know what I’m doing. “
“Do you?” I can’t resist asking. “I mean, are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” he promises. “I’ve had one big love in this lifetime, which is more than most people are lucky enough to get. Vanessa and I, we have a good time together—going to dinner, going out on the boat. And, forgive me, in the bedroom.”
“Dad!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, waving his hand sheepishly. “I’m just saying. Don’t worry about your old man, all right? I promise you, I can take care of myself.”
I’m not convinced—after all, I’m pretty sure that with a little effort he could find a dinner companion who wasn’t a raving lunatic—but what else am I going to say? “OK,” I tell him finally, squeezing his arm once before letting go. “Then I’m happy for you.”
My dad nods, like he’s glad that’s settled. “I’m happy for you, too,” he tells me, offering me a knowing smile. “Ryan is a good man.”
I feel myself flush a bit—thinking of this morning’s tumble in the sheets, sure, but also everything else that’s happened over the last few days “He is,” I agree. “The best kind.”
“Is it serious?”
I hesitate. I’ve never talked to my dad about any of my romantic relationships. But this is different. It feels right, what’s happening between Ryan and me. It feels real. “I think it might be,” I admit.
My dad nods. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “You deserve that. Hell, you deserve the whole world.” He looks at me for a moment, his eyes suddenly misty. “I love you, sweetheart.”
To my surprise, I feel my own throat get tight—it’s rare that either one of us says it out loud. I swallow the lump down, managing a wobbly smile. “I love you too, Dad.”
He reaches out and takes my hand again, both of us rocking in companionable silence for a while. Finally, I get to my feet. “I need to go get ready,” I tell him, choosing not to mention the fact that it’s entirely possible Vanessa has committed mass homicide in my absence. I hug him goodbye and head across the patio. I’m almost at the door to the lobby when my dad calls my name.
“Uh, honey?”
I turn around and see him looking at me with a stricken expression on his face. In his hand is the blue bedazzled thong.
“Is this yours?”
I head back upstairs and return the underwear to its rightful owner before slipping off to take care of my own hair and makeup. The last thing I want is a three-foot-tall updo to match my three-foot-wide dress, so I get ready before meeting Ryan downstairs in the lobby. “Holy shit,” he says, his face breaking into a wide, happy grin when he sees me.
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I look ridiculous.”
But Ryan shakes his head. “That’s not what I was going to say,” he promises, lacing his fingers through mine and squeezing. “That’s not what I was going to say at all.”
“You’re full of shit,” I tease, tipping my face up so he’ll kiss me. “But I’ll take it.”
We head down to the beach, where the guests are already getting settled in rows of white wooden chairs. Hallie circulates, staying on the edge of the scene and snapping photos of everyone. She sends me a thumbs-up as my dad takes my arm and we head down the aisle to take our places up at the front next to the officiant, a middle-aged woman wearing a flower crown and a caftan and, inexplicably, a bright-orange pair of Mario Batali-style crocs on her feet. “Nervous?” I whisper, and my dad flashes an easy grin before shaking his head.
“Cool as a cucumber,” he promises, and I have to admit he seems to know exactly what he’s doing. “Fourth time’s a charm.”
He said it.
Ryan has a seat in the second row, and I search him out in the crowd. He’s looking amused and faintly bewildered, and I don’t blame him, with the Bride Tribe shuffling on down the aisle in their champagne-colored slip dresses, looking like nothing so much as immaculately made up prisoners on a chain gang. Then comes Vanessa, on the arm of her long-suffering dad.
“Friends, family, and members of the collective unconscious,” the officiant begins, her voice high and reedy over the sound of the ocean in the distance. “We are gathered here today—”
That’s when my dad steps forward. “Excuse me,” he says, reaching out and taking the mic. “If you folks will bear with me, I’ve got an exciting announcement to make before we get started.”
I look at my dad in surprise while the crowd murmurs, and Vanessa frowns something fierce. Ryan’s gaze cuts to me from his seat, but I shake my head. I have no idea where this is going.
“Vanessa, honey,” my dad says, reaching out to take her hand with his free one, “falling in love with you has been one of the great joys of my life. Every day you surprise me—with your determination, your pluck, and your uncanny ability to document every waking moment of your life for the internet to enjoy.” He pauses for a moment then, almost as if he’s gathering his courage. “But the thing I admire most is your love for the world around you. From the Ice Bucket Challenge to the way you always wear your The Future is Female tank top over your bikini, your commitment to giving back is something to behold. And so, as a wedding gift, I’ve decided to take my cue from you.”
Vanessa isn’t smiling. “Um, pookie?” she asks, eyes darting wildly. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve donated all my money to the Key West dolphin preserve,” my dad announces proudly. “My stock options, my patents—all of it.”
Vanessa blinks, not bothering to try to disguise the shock and horror written all over her face. “Are you kidding right now?” she scream-whispers.
“Never been more serious,” my dad says with a grin. “I’m selling the boat, and the house too, so we can live in a yurt somewhere. I’m so excited to live a simple, authentic, frill-free life with you. Just like you’re always posting about.”
Vanessa opens her mouth and closes it again, looking out at the assembled crowd and then back at my father. Then she lets out a shriek I’m pretty sure they can hear all the way in Cuba. I half expect her to collapse into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West until only her orange satin heels are left.
“Forget it!” she howls, throwing her bouquet at my
father like a javelin. “I’m not doing this! You seriously expect me to actualize as my best self by living in a tent in the woods?!”
She hikes up her dress and races back up the aisle—only to trip halfway down and wind up sprawled on the sand, her bright blue thong—and the Bugs Bunny tattoo on her right ass cheek—exposed for everyone to see. She screams one more time before scrambling upright, disappearing in the direction of the parking lot.
For a moment nobody says anything. Then my father clears his throat. “Well, I guess that’s a no,” he says, looking surprisingly relaxed. He nods up at the veranda, where cater waiters have already begun putting out champagne for the cocktail hour. “Enjoy the party, everyone.”
20
Olivia
A half an hour later, we’re gorging on the buffet. “Well,” Ryan tells me with a grin, “this is the best non-wedding I’ve ever been to, that’s for sure.”
I laugh, looking around. Until today, I wouldn’t have thought the reception for a canceled wedding could be anything but unbearably awkward, but everyone here seems to be having a great time.
The Bride Tribe was as useless as a bunch of baffled flamingoes after Vanessa’s big exit, so I jumped into damage-control mode and promised the DJ a fat tip if he could somehow figure out a way to make this feel like a party. So far, he’s delivered, with a playlist heavy on Motown and 70s-era yacht rock. The champagne is flowing—I made sure of that—and there are enough hors d’oeuvres to feed the United States Army, if for some reason the United States Army was super into mini quiches.
Still, in spite of the Olivia Pope-sized glass of wine in my hand—and the totally hot guy on my arm—I still can’t let myself relax. “Should I go look for my dad?” I ask Ryan, squinting around the room for any sign of him. Sure, Vanessa was ridiculous and he’s way better off without her, but it’s got to sting to realize she only wanted to marry him for his money. “Or do you think he wants to be alone to like, lick his own wounds?”