Page 129 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“Nah,” I say, a huge grin spreading over my face.

The DJ announces that it’s over, and it’s easy to hear the whoops and groans across the gardens.

Lucas takes off his mask and grins. “What changed?”

“I was in the mood to kick a little ass.”

Brody finds us in time to hear my last words. There’s purple paint on his once-pristine tuxedo and on his hands. Instead of coming at me (even though, clearly, I’m the one who did the emergency override on his phone), he points to Lucas. “Not only did you sell me out, I have to listen to quotes from The Cutting Edge?” Brody folds his arms over his chest. “I’m done with Team Lukelai.” His eyes are narrowed as he looks at me. “This was the final, and ultimate, betrayal.”

I’m taking a step toward him, ready to explain and apologize.

But then Brody concludes, his tone still serious, “From now on, you’re Team Lorass to me.”

47

SO MUCH BETTER THAN OKAY

PRESENT

Though Lucas doesn’t seem angry, we’re on our way to change for the reception when he tells me, “I have a work emergency I’m going to have to fly back for.”

I swallow any disappointment over the idea of one last night together, but I can’t quite look at him as I nod.

“Can we meet . . . Tuesday?”

I nod again, not trusting myself to speak. This, at least, will give me the rest of the weekend to think things through, something I’ve done shockingly little of since the wedding began. He gives me a peck on the cheek, but then, after having walked an entire two steps away, he comes back and gives me a far more thorough, steals-my-breath kiss.

“I have to run or I’ll miss my plane,” he says with a groan.

It’s much later, after everyone has showered and changed into their partying clothes—which for Team Vi, still includes a fair number of packed-for-reception gowns—that Brody speaks to me.

He’s propped by one of the dessert tables, watching instead of participating in the main action. “Did Lucas tell you why he left?” I ask.

Brody raises his eyebrow at me. He looks calmer than he has in days. The party around us rages on, the DJ doing an admirable job at keeping everyone on the dance floor.

“I don’t speak to traitors.”

I try not to laugh because he doesn’t seem actively angry . . . but also, he doesn’t seem not-annoyed either. “How long are you going to be angry-not-angry at me?”

“How long before you buy me a fifteen-day Bali adventure retailing approximately 31K per person, not counting airfare?”

I make a choking noise. “That’s more than my after-tax annual income, Brody.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You might be angry at me for a long time.”

Brody shrugs, bringing his gaze back to the dancers, resting for a moment on his almost-wife. “Honestly? Bali’s hottest months are April and May. I probably would have sweated like a stuck pig. Let Vi enjoy her outdoor sauna.”

“Do stuck pigs sweat more?”

Brody laughs, staring briefly down at his brandy.

“And I can’t believe you’re making me donate to a cat sanctuary. That’s going to get me no votes. It might lose me votes. Brody Huntington-Branca, the man who cares more about cats than humans.”

Technically, because four people survived, we were supposed to keep fighting, but everyone had felt more or less done. And . . . in a twist I didn’t see coming, because Team Vi was, by then, solidly my stans, they agreed to donate their proceeds to my nonprofit of choice, meaning the Lānaʻi Cat Sanctuary will be waking up Monday to a $10,000 donation and Pasadena City College will get the other $5,000.

Do community college students deserve the money more than cats?

There’s an argument to be made there.

But I’m too happy to fixate on such details.