She throws herself in my arms. This is not the awkward, polite thank-you hug I gave her earlier. This is a full-on display of gratefulness.
Willow, I’m discovering, is generous in her displays of affection.
I pat her awkwardly on the back. If I were to hug her back, it could get… not what she meant it to be. Hers is a real thank-you hug.
As for me, the excitement about seeing Phish later tonight doesn’t erase my lingering emotion about Willow. It only exacerbates it. The curve of her breast, now pressed againstme, remains burned in my sensory memory. Forcing myself to pretend stone indifference is a necessity.
I clear my throat. “Knock on my door when you’re ready?”
She lets go of me and says, “You should go first. I’ll meet you at the chapel.”
I raise an eyebrow, but she continues with a smile. “It’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding.”
The vision of Willow walking alone through a Vegas hotel in a wedding gown makes me sad. “You know it’s a fake wedding, right? Bad luck is sort of built in.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. People get married for a bunch of different reasons. It might be fake in our hearts, but it’s a real wedding. The rules still apply.”
She has a point. This wedding better be airtight real if it’s to accomplish its purpose.
But how the fuck is me seeing her in her dress prior to the ceremony jeopardizing that? “I’ll see you down there, then.”
“Don’t forget your boutonniere,” she says, pointing to the console. Next to a simple pink bouquet, there’s a matching rosebud in a plastic tube. My heartbeat increases. These were Mom’s favorite flowers.
eight
Willow
Phish! I can’t believe Noah got us tickets toPhish! It feels kind of surreal. I’ve only seen them live once. Now, if anyone tells you you haven’t experienced Phish unless you saw them live—there issometruth to that. But I’m not letting that negate my own experience.
Having their music in my earbuds carried me through some stuff. No one gets to tell me that wasn’t real. It’s my life, and it’s real to me.
Just like this wedding. Sure, I know there are a lot of things about it that aren’t real. It has an end date. It’s not founded on romantic love. We won’t be intimate with each other. We won’t be starting a family.
But as I stare at myself in the mirror, hair now done in an artful updo courtesy of YouTube, discreet makeup on point, I feel proud of myself. I’m livingmylife, doing whatIbelieve is right, and in exchange the Universe is gifting me with ticketsto Phish, a wedding dress from Goodwill that looks freaking awesome on me, and if I may say so, a promising friendship with Noah.
I always knew the man had a heart of gold. Now I get to experience it firsthand. And no, I’m not letting that go to my head. Or to my heart. We’re past that now.
I don’t know how to properly thank him for how well he’s treating me. Not only did he give me a credit card (which I’ve yet to use), but he put me up in the most luxurious place I’ve ever seen. Marble bathroom with jets in the shower. A jacuzzi bath in an alcove off the bedroom, overlooking the scenery of desert and high peaks and glitz right beneath us—not least of which is the Sphere with its constantly changing colorful display.
I get that he’s benefiting from the wedding, but come on. All I can say is, the man has class.
Which—I always knew that.
My heartbeat picks up when I notice the time.Fifteen minutes left.There’s more traffic here at the elevators than I’ve ever seen in Emerald Creek, so I’d better get going.
I freeze as I enter the small chapel where Noah is chatting with the officiant. Suddenly the wedding gown, the bouquet of button roses matching his boutonniere, all this seems superfluous and… unnecessary. I feel self-conscious, silly even for putting so much effort into a fake wedding. Would I have been a bridezilla in real life?
Christ.
But Noah straightens, and his gaze on me instantly puts me at ease. “There she is,” he says with a big smile right as some canned music blares from hidden speakers.
I’m not sure how to walk down the small aisle between rows of empty seats. The Bitch Brigade isn’t here to ground me, guide me. To tell me I’m beautiful, and powerful, and he’s lucky to have me. Of course they’re not; I haven’t told them a thing. I keep telling myself it’s because Kiara’s on her honeymoon, and Alex is too pregnant, and Chloe, Grace, and the others are dealing with an influx of tourists in each of their businesses.
But the reality is, I’m alone in this one. I have to be.
And it sucks.
So I just get up there as quickly as I can, my knuckles white around the small bouquet.
