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If I tell mom that it's because I fear Natalia's also skeptical of my relationship with Damien—or at least that's my reading of her attitude—it will open an entire discussion that I'm not ready for.
Honestly, I want the ceremony and reception over with. Except I don't, because that means Damien will be gone soon after. The inconvenient truth is that I've almost certainly fallen in love with him and hate the idea of him going to Syria.
"I told you, I'm trying to get Lauren to come for the wedding."
"Well, you don't have much time. Why hasn't she gotten back to you?"
I heave a sigh. "She's traveling. I sent her an email today."
And because I haven't expressly told her I'm getting married. I've only sent her cryptic messages begging her to call. She's been traveling from London to Paris to Rome.
I look over at Mom and find her feeding Chunky a pickle.
"Mom! No!"
Mom rolls her eyes and walks off to talk to a regular.
My phone chirps. "Oh, thank God, it's Lauren," I squeal.
I answer and let out a yelp when I see my best friend's face on the screen.
She looks incredible, a bronze goddess. Somehow, she's been able to parlay her love of travel into an entire brand, one that heavily relies on being a curvy, sexy, empowered woman who loves luxury lodgings.
I miss her desperately.
"What's going on? Are you okay? How's your mom? Something your tone in that email worried me."
She knows me too well. I untie my ponytail, then retie it. I stammer for a bit, and Lauren scowls. She's going to freak the hell out when I tell her, and I take a giant inhale of air and courage.
"I'm getting married."
Because of the screech she makes, I have to turn the volume down on my phone and hold it at arm's length.
Of course, since Mom's at the other end of the bar, I can't explain to Laurenwhywe're getting married. I also can't tell her that I'm madly in love with my husband-to-be. And I can't admit that I'm too afraid to ask him what he thinks of me or about our future. This isn't a conversation for Skype in the middle of the day.
"Will you please come to the wedding?" I'm almost in tearsas I ask. "Please say you'll come. Please? You can do an Insta story on Paradise Beach."
Although she grins, I can tell that she's concerned. Confused. Maybe even a little jealous. "Of course, I'll be there," she says. "Wouldn't miss it for anything. I've got frequent flier miles and all that."
I swallow a thick lump in my throat. Will they get along? Somehow I can't imagine serious Damien having a conversation with my whimsical, impulsive best friend.
Of course I want her standing next to me at our wedding. But more than that, I want Lauren here on Paradise Beach in the days after the wedding, after Damien leaves for Syria.
That's when I'll need her the most.
damien
. . .
It'stwo days before the wedding, and I'm nervous as all hell, something my brother Remy can't stop talking about.
"You scared?" he murmurs, checking me out in the tux.
"Nah," I say.
"The hell you aren't. Look at you. Like a damned fish outta water in that tux. Does that even fit your arm muscles? You're going to rip out of it like the Hulk. Dude, take a day off from the gym."
We're in the suite where Kate and I have been hooking up for the past couple of months—it's practically my home now. Half of my shit's here, spilling out of suitcases, and the other half's back at my parents' house. Kate's also left some makeup crap in the bathroom and shoes in the closet. Every time I see her little Converse sneakers, my heart jumps.
