Conversations die, and the room goes quiet as my voice cuts through the noise.
“Derek and I broke up,” I say to the room. “I ended it months ago. I agreed to come this weekend and pretend because I’d promised Mira I’d come months ago and so Derek could announce it himself later. That was the deal. Smile, be polite, one weekend.”
The silence has weight.
“But telling you is clearly not his plan anymore,” I say, looking at Celeste. “Because he just invented a future we’re not having. He even told me he canceled my hotel room so I’d have nowhere to go tonight except his bed.”
Celeste’s hand goes from her chest to her mouth.
“Luna,” Derek says, using his controlled, reasonable voice. “You’re making a scene.”
“You made the scene, Derek,” I point at him. “With a fork and a wine glass. You don’t get to decide where I sleep. I agreed to one weekend of pretending and you tried to use it against me. So I’m done. We areover.We have been over. And now everyone here knows it.”
I grab my clutch and phone as everyone watches me, Mira included. My chest aches—she doesn’t deserve this, not today, not ever.
“Mira, I’m sorry,” I say, giving her an apologetic nod. “This isn’t about you. Your wedding is going to be beautiful.”
I turn and walk toward the exit, chin up. I make it six strides before a heel catches a chair leg and I stumble, grabbing the back of a seat. A graceless recovery. The wedding photographer swings my way, the flash catching me deer-in-headlights.
I right myself and keep moving, shoving through the heavy venue doors into bright afternoon sun, running down the steps.
Halfway down to the parking lot, the realization hits. My stuff. The bag with my makeup, toiletries, and yesterday’s clothes. They’re still in my room, though maybe they got moved to Derek’s room? My stomach lurches as I think about walking in there.
But then again, luckily, my actual suitcase is in my trunk. The plan was to leave for my real holiday ASAP after the wedding. That’ll do, because I’m not risking running back into him.
Goodbye, straightener. Goodbye, high-end concealer and stuff. I hope housekeeping appreciates it.
Behind me, Derek appears at the top of the stairs, jaw tight, face flushed.
“Someone stop her!” he calls out like I’m a pickpocket.
But I’m already racing down the path to my car. The second I reach it, I fling the door open, kick my heels onto the passenger floor, and twist the key in the ignition.
***
I’m doing sixty on a two-lane road, my phone mounted to the dash, when a notification drops down from the top of the screen.
Reservation Canceled.
My heart skips. I pull over in a diner parking lot and tap the banner, bringing up the email from the cabin rental agency I’d booked for the days before my next holiday destination, a luxury yoga retreat. I immediately call them, only to get trapped in a cold, pre-recorded nightmare. stabbing my way through the automated menus.
“Thank you. This reservation has been canceled by the primary account holder. Due to high seasonal demand, canceled properties are automatically reassigned to our priority waitlist.”
What?
“If you would like to join the waitlist for a future date, press one. To return to the main menu, press two. Goodbye.”
A digital dial tone cuts through the air. No option for a operator. No way to explain.
“Fuck!” I yell, slamming the end-call button.
Derek is behind this, I’d stake my life on it. It’s an expensive lesson in never forwarding reservation codes to anyone ever again. Although, in my defense, I did that back in May, back when I didn’t know he was a psycho. Anyway, now, I have two days with nowhere to sleep, and home is a brutal eight hours away.
I grip the steering wheel and take a long, steadying breath.Okay, that happened. Now let’s find a solution.
I open my booking app, filtering for anything within twenty miles. Three options pop up. The first is the resort I just fled. The second is a luxury hotel charging a casual four hundred and twelve dollars a night. The third has zero photos and a dismal 2.3-star rating. I tap it anyway. The top review is from a guy named Gary. Gary has awarded one star, and Gary would like the world to know that there was a raccoon in his bathroom.
Ew, nope.
