The entire plan had been Pearl’s—a beachy island wedding off the coast of Georgia—and I had to admit, grudgingly, that the setting suited Dad. But I still wondered if a southern wedding during peak hurricane season was a good idea. We’re not even southern. Dad and Jo would’ve been happy anywhere.
Months earlier, while stuffing lavender sachets for the ridiculous gift boxes that would accompany the wedding invitations, complete with custom chocolates engraved with Dad and Johanna’s initials—the only time I took part in wedding planning—I overheard Pearl on the phone with her friend Harlow. “No, it’s in September now. Logan’s booked until the twenty-ninth, and he has to be there, so I convinced Dad to move the date.”
Sure. Let Logan’s schedule dictate my father’s wedding date. Dad didn’t even push back—his only request when Pearl crowned herself wedding planner was to make it soon. And once Pearl grabbed control, everyone fell in line—the unofficial family motto has always been,what Pearl wants, Pearl gets.
Dad’s marriage to Pearl’s mother was a grand society spectacle full of New York’s elite. After their divorce, he swung in the opposite direction and fell for my mother, Inês, theirhousekeeper, which led to a mostly quiet, on-again-off-again fifteen-year relationship before she died of cancer.
His grief over her death hasn’t really left him—nor has it left me—but lately he’s been calling more often, wanting to reconnect. He was never what I’d call an attentive father, but he’s a decent man, and as he’s getting older, I can tell he’s trying harder to make up for his past mistakes. Recent ones, too.
Johanna is a part of that effort—if there were a scale between Pearl’s mother and my own, my father’s new fiancée would fall smack in the middle. Down-to-earth and kind, but still likes baubles on her fingers and plays tennis at their country club. Maybe she was who Dad needed all along. My mother was too complicated for him, and sometimes I wonder if what he called love was just awe at something he could never contain. She read poetry, spoke five languages, had a fire temper—she burned too bright, she was always going to be too much for him.
“Okay,” I tell him, forcing the words out. “I’ll see what I can do. If you text me the details, if he hasn’t left by the time I get there… I’ll ride with him. I don’t want to miss your wedding.”
“You won’t regret it. You’ll see.”
I already do.
We hang up and I look across my bedroom at the backpack I’d stuffed with a few essentials late last night. Despite having months to prepare, I’d put off packing until the last possible moment. The bag is light—a few sets of clothes, toiletries, my herbal medicine kit I never travel without, and the secondhand dress I’d bought at a vintage shop in Chelsea for the wedding rehearsal dinner. I was still looking for work, and didn’t want to blow a bunch of money on a dress I’d only wear once, but the fabric clung to my curves in all the right places and for the first time in months, I caught myself smiling at my reflection. So, I bought it. And fortunately, the bridesmaids’ dresses were allsupposed to match, so I knew my sister wouldn’t hose me in that department since she’d have to wear the same thing.
My dad deserves to be happy, and this is the start of his new life. He’s been lighter since meeting Johanna. He’s right, the least I can do is show up. Besides, maybe a vacation from unemployment is exactly what I need.
A loud knock on my bedroom door has me glancing up. I call out a half-hearted “Yeah,” before the door opens a crack.
My best friend peeks through the opening lest I be scantily clad, before swinging it wide, his massive frame filling the doorway. “Oh, good, you’re dressed. And late. Shocker. You need a ride to the airport? Also, did you hear about that storm coming through? They should really think about postponing or moving the wedding.”
I bury my head in my hands and snort. “Um… about that…”
Easton pushes his way into my room, then busies himself by picking up clothes strewn about and tossing them into the hamper. He’s a notoriously neat man, and I do my best to contain my mess to this room.
“My flight was canceled. Dad arranged for me to fly with Logan Wells.”
Easton drops a nightie and grimaces. “Oh.”
“Indeed.”
“So… this is like a luxury private jet situation?” He holds in his laugh for all of a second before it bursts out of him. “Shit. That’s like, your worst nightmare. What about the storm?”
I shrug. “Apparently, no one is worried about that.”
He scoffs. “Of course not. Pearl probably assumes she can manifest good weather by sheer will, so the storm won’t affect her perfect day. Oh, excuse me—your dad’s perfect day. If she and Logan ever tie the knot, god fucking help the rest of us.”
My throat tightens a bit, hearing his name again. Despite my loathing of the man, Logan has always made my body feel weird.I get hot and itchy under my skin, my stomach twists, and when Pearl waxes poetic about him, I just want to jab a pen in my ear. The fact that she’s currently dating someone else hasn’t lessened her obsession with him.
Pearl’s just killing time with other men, waiting for Logan to finally make a move. And honestly, with the way he tolerates her drama, I’m sure he feels the same way about her, at least to some degree. He’s just too busy to settle down right now—Pearl’s words.
“Right, well, if you need a ride to his holiness’s hangar, I don’t have to be at practice until noon.”
“You’re flying out tomorrow?”
He nods, wrinkling his nose at the cheesecake-crusted plate on my dresser. Easton towers over me at six and a half feet, with shoulders broad as a doorway. He shaves his head but maintains a small, dark beard that hides his chiseled jaw and perfect bone structure. He claims he doesn’t shave his beard because he’s lazy, but I think he secretly enjoys meticulously styling it each morning. With sparkling hazel eyes contrasting warm brown skin, the man is a walking underwear ad—thoroughly gorgeous.
The exaggerated disgust on his face as he pinches the edge of the plate between two fingers, holding it away from his body like it might infect him, makes me giggle.
With the season starting, Easton will be gone for months—three to four games weekly until playoffs, if they make it. And even though he absolutely does not have time to chauffeur me to the Wells’ hangar outside the city, I say yes, because by the time I return from the wedding, he’ll be gone, so it’ll be nice to spend extra time with him.
Living with Easton is like a warm hug. My mom adored him, too, and he’s the only person in my life aside from my dad who got to know her, and it makes our friendship that much morevaluable. That he lets me live here rent-free is just the cherry on top of how awesome my best friend is.
“Before you go, do you have any of that muscle rub?” Easton asks.
