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“Where is she?”
“No idea. I assume she’s still at the club with the girls.”I’ll cover for her instead.
He claps me on the back. “It’s just bachelor party shit. It won’t happen again.”
Unbelievable.I head toward the hotel.
An hour later, as I’m watching ESPN highlights in my new hotel room—five blocks away, my phone buzzes.
Bryan: You’re a fucking dead man!
Huh. He seems irritated.
Bryan: Wanna tell me why her last location is the fucking airport? This is all your fault!
He tracks her location? Of—fucking—course he does, becauseshe’sthe one who can’t be trusted. I roll my eyes.
Me: Let’s get one thing straight, this is YOUR fuck-up. Not mine. And what makes you think I told her? Maybe you should check with Veronica before you start throwing out accusations.
Bryan: Veronica isn’t going to tell her.
Me: Sure about that? Because when I got back to the club, the girls said Jordana wasn’t feeling well and left. I haven’t even seen her since I left XS to go to the hotel.
Me: If she found out, it’s because you weren’t careful about covering your tracks. Don’t come blaming me.
Bryan: Was it that girl youwere with?
Me: Dude, I have no idea. Look, I’m going to sleep. I’ve got an early flight home tomorrow. This is too much drama, even for me.
Bryan: K.
4
The flight home is exhausting. All I want to do is pass out and pretend tonight never happened. My mind won’t stop replaying the expression on Camden’s face when he told me. His eyes were so full of pity. That man is basically a stranger and was the only one with the decency not to lie to me. I saw the way the other girls looked at me when I got the news. It’s like they already knew. How humiliating.
Normally, I eat when I’m stressed. This time, I’ve lost my appetite altogether. Funny how I’ve been starving myself for weeks for that stupid fucking dress.Shit, Bryan, you shoulda told me you were fucking my best friend back then, this diet would have been a breeze!I’m done with that. No more skipping my iced mochas, no more salads, and sayonara to those revolting protein shakes that taste like chocolate Pepto Bismol.
The seatbelt light dings, and I slide open the window shade. The Twin Cities come into view, and it feels good to be back.But where do I go? I want to talk to my best friend about it. I want to cry to her and scream about him.
They did this. They did this together.
The signs were there—the random bobby pins in his car, the work trips—but to sleep with my best friend? The woman who was supposed to be my maid of honor atourgoddamn wedding? Gotta say, he caught me off guard with that one.
I should’ve known his jealousy stemmed from a guilty conscience. And how couldshe? And for how long? Has it been happening all along right under my nose? It really is lonely at the top. If I can’t trust my best friend or fiancé, who’s left?
I’m such a fucking idiot.
The plane lands with a gentle bounce, and I turn on my phone to twenty-some missed calls from Bryan. Ten from Veronica. I call my mom to pick me up from the airport. She’s not happy about the 4:00 a.m. phone call, but thankfully, she asks no questions. I don’t know how to tell her my fiancé, the one she and Dad love so much, betrayed me and I fell for it.
I stand outside near the charter jet hangar, still in my white bachelorette dress.The one Veronica helped me pick out.The nightclub feels like it was days ago, not hours. The Vegas strip is a lot warmer at night than the forty-degrees in Minneapolis. I could wait inside, but I welcome the numbing temperatures; I’d rather not feel.
As soon as Mom’s car arrives, I climb into the passenger seat.
“Where’s Bryan? Where’s your stuff?”
“It’s just me, Mom.”
“I don’t understand.” She gawks at me.
