Just when I’m sure my lower legs are toast, it stops, looks back at the jungle, makes a noise like it’s trying to be a rooster, and takes off running between two bures and into the underbrush.
And it doesn’t come back.
The noise of leaves rattling and rustling and the chicken clucking dies away, and silence settles over the little restored village once again.
I look at Emma.
She stares back at me.
“Did that just happen?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
Instead, she doubles over, completely losing her shit in absolute amusement. She might even be cackling, she’s laughing so hard.
“Snorkeling tomorrow suddenly seems like a questionable activity,” I say.
“Afraid of robot fish?” she asks through gales of laughter.
“Yes.”
She tries to stop laughing. Tries again. On the third time, she manages to force a straight face.
And then do you know what she does?
Do you know what this runaway bride does? This viral runaway bride whose happiness has become my mission while I distract myself from my own problems?
She fuckingbagocksat me.
And callsmethe chicken.
And I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed so hard in my entire life either.
5
Emma
When I left home justover two weeks ago to head to Hawaii for the destination wedding of my dreams before a two-weekare you serious, we actually get to do this?honeymoon in Fiji, I had a much different expectation of my life than where it is now.
Andnowis with me in an upgraded villa on a remote island for privacy courtesy of my brother, with Jonas Rutherford, billionaire heir to the Razzle Dazzle fortune and star of my favorite movies, sprawled on my bed while I rub aloe on his back.
The curtains are open to let in the sea breeze. Waves crash along the rockier parts of the shore that are a barrier between my private beach and the next villa’s beach, providing nature’s soundtrack for background noise. The entire room is lit in a soft orange glow from sunset, and the remains of our seafood dinner are packed away and ready for the resort staff to pick them up.
This would be a lovely romantic night were it my actual honeymoon.
But I think I prefer this.
Notbecause I’m touching my nearly lifelong celebrity crush.
More because this man has been the friend I didn’t know I needed.
And he didn’t have to be.
He could’ve walked away—and some people would likely argue he should’ve—yet he didn’t.
That has to say something about someone’s character, doesn’t it?
“Does this hurt?” I ask, trying to be gentle with the aloe.
