She’d found him now, and she didn’t get to keep him. In a few days, this would all be over, and she’d be on her own again. Not the fierce, stubborn independence she’d fought so hard for in the last decade. Not that kind of on her own. The kind that made her chest ache with thoughts of what she could have had.
She hated it already.
When he woke up the morning before the wedding, Nick’s first thought was how lucky they all were that they’d run out of tequila halfway through the night. His second thought was that they’d run out of tequila because they’d consumed all the tequila.
“Merrrgh,” Carly groaned from beside him. He looked over, moving his head as slowly as he could, but it didn’t help. His skull throbbed dangerously as Carly groaned again. It sounded extremely loud.
“Mistakes were made,” he agreed. He groped in the direction of the nightstand, hoping he’d had the good drunken sense to put a glass of water by the bed. He hadn’t. He also hadn’t remembered to close the curtains, and the bright morning light was stabbing him in the eyeballs.
“Merrrgh,” he said.
“’S’my line,” Carly grumbled, and he couldn’t help but smile. He rolled himself carefully off the bed and trudged to the bathroom, trying to remember the last time he’d been this hungover. By the time he’d filled two glasses at the bathroom sink, he’d decided that he’d never been this hungover, and even if he had, last night’s exploits had wiped out the brain cells that had stored those memories.
“Water,” he said, to Carly’s prone form. She opened her eyes and looked up at him blearily, then took the glass he was offering her and took an awkward horizontal gulp. A few droplets ran down her chin, and she didn’t object when he lowered himself onto the mattress next to her and wiped them away with his thumb.
“Thanks,” she croaked, sitting up a little so she could take another mouthful of water. “The fuck was in that tequila?”
“Tequila. I think Izzy might secretly be trying to kill us all.”
Carly nodded, then winced. “Well, it’s working. I’m never drinking again.”
“Until tomorrow?”
“Oh God,” she groaned. “What time is it?”
He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Shit, it’s almost one. We slept through the entire morning. I’ll go get us some coffee.”
“No, no, I’ll go,” she objected. “It’s my turn.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already peeling herself off the bed. Like him, she’d slept in last night’s clothes, and her linen shirt was a rumpled mess, but she didn’t seem to notice. He watched as she pulled a hair elastic off her wrist and wrangled her hair into a haphazard high bun.
“I’ll be back,” she said, crouching to retrieve her bag from the floor. “Or I won’t be, because I’ll be dead.”
“Please don’t be dead until you’ve brought me a coffee,” he said, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. He didn’t see it, but he had a very strong feeling she’d stuck her tongue out at him on her way out the door.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he was aware of was the sound of the door swinging open, followed by rapid footsteps and rustling paper.
“It’s out! It’s out, it’s out!” Carly was saying.
Nick forced his eyes open, squinting against the sunlight. “What’s out?”
She stood over him, a half-finished iced coffee in one hand, a hot takeaway cup in the other, and a newspaper tucked under her arm. “Ivy’s story! It’s in today’s paper, front page of the arts section! And they used the best photo from the Blue Mountains. Here, coffee, with an extra shot. You drink, I’ll read.”
He nodded and took the coffee, taking small sips and hoping he wouldn’t throw them up, and Carly leapt back onto the bed.
She shook the newspaper out and cleared her throat dramatically. “The headline is BALLERINA’SSYDNEYHOLIDAYGOESVIRAL IN ASNAP.A solid pun headline.”
“Mmm, good job Ivy.”
“Carly Montgomery isn’t very good at taking time off. God, isn’t that the truth,” she said tartly.
“The 31-year-old New Yorker, a member of the corps de ballet at the world-famous New York Ballet, scheduled a three-week holiday in Sydney, where her best friend, Australian National Ballet principal dancer Heather Hays, will be married later this week. But rather than soak up the sun and relax on the beach, Montgomery teamed up with Australian dance photographer Nick Jacobs to take a series of scenic photos that have become a viral sensation.
“Jacobs, a former professional ballet dancer himself, launched a career in photography after stints dancing in Germany and France. The once-obscure photographer jumped at the chance to combine his photography talent and ballet experience with his picturesque hometown.”
Carly snorted. “Jumped at the chance? That’s not exactly how I remember it, but okay.”
Nick opened his eyes to roll them, wished he hadn’t, then gestured for her to go on.
