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“No, you haven’t. I saw your car pull in twenty minutes ago.”
“Were you watching?”
“Of course. You said you’d be here around eleven, and it’s eleven-thirty.”
Great. I should have known.
“Why are you sitting in the parking lot?” she repeated, smacking her light-pink lips together and shooting me a piercing gaze courtesy of her dark-blue eyes. “Are you delaying coming inside? For your own sister’s wedding?”
Jesus. I wasn’t even out of the car yet, and my inner black sheep was already showing.
“No. I have a headache. I took some ibuprofen and I was waiting for it to kick in before going inside.” Another lie, but this time, a little more believable.
Mom squinted. “You don’t look like you have a headache.”
I stared at her. “They have visible symptoms now?”
“Migraines do.”
“I don’t have a migraine. I have a headache. They’re entirely different.”
“Excellent. Well, twenty minutes should be long enough for your pills to kick in, so come on. We have things to do.” She stepped back from the car and opened the door.
That told me.
I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and got out. “We? What do I have to do?”
“You’re the maid of honor. You have to ensure your sister has everything she needs.”
I almost choked on my own spit. “You want me to be her slave for the weekend?”
“No. But, you need to organize the bridesmaids, ensure the flowers are delivered to the right room on Sunday afternoon, make sure the bartenders on the beach bar don’t mess up the cocktails. Oh, and you also need to try their proposed special cocktails and pick two to be served at the reception.”
Okay. I could get on board with the last option. “Do I have to pay for the cocktails?”
Mom paused by the trunk of my car. “That’s what you’re concerned about?”
“This place charges fifteen bucks a cocktail. I’m a waitress. Of course I’m concerned about it.” What? I wasn’t going to beat around the bush.
She sighed. “No, you do not have to pay for them. But you are not to get drunk. Oh, and, also—keep an eye on your father. I already stole a whiskey bottle from his suitcase.”
“He knows how to handle family gatherings,” I said under my breath as I opened the trunk.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Mom.” I hauled out my case.
“Poppy, where’s your bridesmaid dress?” Mom’s eyes widened.
Oh, good. Rosie hadn’t told her.
“It’s here. In Rosie’s suite. Where it’s supposed to be.”
She grabbed my wrist. “No, no. The last thing I heard, bridesmaids were bringing their dresses. Did you forget it?”
“Chill out, Mom,” my sister called. “It’s in my room.” She bounded down the stairs leading to the resort building and over to my car, her honey-blonde hair flowing behind her. “Hey, you!” She enveloped me in a big, tight hug.
I hugged her back. We had a great relationship. Mostly because we only saw each other on occasion. No doubt we’d hate each other if we saw each other every day—we were too alike.
“Mom, seriously, chill,” Rosie said, letting me go and touching her arm. “I went up to Orlando to find my dress, remember? We picked the bridesmaids’ dresses then, and I had them ship them all down to me. Poppy’s stayed so she could have her final fitting. It was here waiting when I checked in on Tuesday. I swear.”
Mom sniffed. “Someone could have told me. And I’m still bitter I wasn’t invited to the dress party.”
“And I said I was sorry, but it was the only time all the girls could get together to make the trip. If you hadn’t been on the cruise, you know you would have been there.” Rosie slid a wink in my direction.
That was a heavy dose of bullshit. We’d deliberately planned the dress party to coincide with my parents’ cruise.
I didn’t need to explain why.
I closed the trunk and pulled out the handle of my suitcase. “Can I check in before we descend into drama, please?”
“There’s no drama here,” Mom sniffed, looking every bit as annoyed as she sounded.
“Yes. Let’s get you checked in.” Rosie grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the steps. “Now.”
I couldn’t agree more.
***
“This is your room,” Rosie said, tapping the sensor with the keycard. “I made sure our families got the best ones, so it’s actually more of a mini-suite.” She pushed open the door, revealing a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the beach.
“Holy—”
My sister grinned.
There was a TV and a sofa, and an open door led to a giant bedroom with giant patio doors that led out to a balcony.
“So, your room,” Rosie said. “There’s an en-suite and a walk-in closet just off the bedroom. The phone is on the bedside table. They do room service twenty-four-seven for when you’re avoiding Mom—”
“You get me.”
“—Just set up your card at the main desk and they’ll charge it all to that, okay?”
