Marigold shuddered. “Oh god, all that money…”
“Good thing your stepfather is a literal billionaire.”
“Um, he’s literally not. And I thought you hated when people misuseliterally.”
“I literally hate it.”
Marigold rolled her eyes. “You and Natalie really are meant for each other. Or is itone another? I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Come on,” Jonathan said, wincing. “I told you, that was a mistake. I was out of my mind, and I—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Marigold said, surprised to realize she meant it. “And speaking of which, there’s something I need to tell you. You know all those cards I gave you? I had some help writing them…”
Jonathan stared at her before understanding dawned on his face. “It was her the whole time, wasn’t it?”
Marigold nodded.
“Okay, wow…” Jonathan said. “Okay.”
They both rose somewhat shakily to their feet, drained from the conversation and slightly off-kilter from the whiskey. Jonathan pulled her into a tight hug. “I’ll always care about you,” he whispered. “Nothing will ever change that.”
Marigold found herself blinking back tears as she pulled away. “Same.”
They made their way slowly up the stairs. “Should we go now?” Jonathan asked.
“Just give me a few minutes. I have some more apologizing to do.” First Natalie, and then… well…
It was probably too late to change things, but she had to try. She’d already ruined her chances with the most objectively perfect man on the planet.
She couldn’t also lose the man who was perfect for her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREENatalie
Natalie stared longingly at the bar that’d been set up on the yacht club lawn. Her need for a strong vodka soda was a physical ache. She wanted to feel the alcohol scorch her throat and scour her insides, burning away the sludgy shame that’d been thickening for the past hour. But how could she possibly walk by so many people? Surely they’d notice the scarletANatalie could feel blazing against her chest. No, forget Hawthorne. She had nothing in common with poor, wronged Hester Prynne. Natalie’s crime was closer to that in Poe’s most famous tale, and it was just a matter of time before her guilty heart began to bellow,I kissed Jonathan! The maid of honor hooked up with the groom on his wedding day! I’m the most treacherous, backstabbing bitch of all time!
Oh, fuck it, Natalie thought glumly. They were all going to find out at some point. There was no way the wedding would happen now, and it wouldn’t take long for the guests to discover why. If Marigold didn’t tell people about the kiss, then Oliviawould, and honestly, Natalie didn’t blame them. With a sigh, she began to trudge across the lawn toward the bar. A uneasy tension had begun to spread through the crowd. None of the guests had set eyes on Marigold, and no one would confirm whether she’d made it back from New York. Bill, Lulu, Jonathan, Zack, and Olivia had all vanished, adding to the air of confusion and suspicion. Jonathan’s parents had grown overwhelmed trying to field questions and were hiding in some remote corner of the yacht club. Natalie was vaguely aware of people trying to talk to her—she could see their mouths moving—but she couldn’t hear anything over the shrill wail of her own thoughts.
You kissed your best friend’s fiancé. On her wedding day.
And it was a great kiss.
You’re the shittiest maid of honor in human history.
And you want to do it again.
She ordered her drink, downed it in three gulps, considered ordering another, then decided on water instead. It was going to be a long night no matter what; she needed to pace herself.
The vodka had its intended effect. A pleasant warmth spread through her body, and for one brief moment, she felt like she could breathe again. And then she remembered the look on Marigold’s face, and the stinging accusations she’d made:
You loved being super-helpful Natalie. It was, like, your whole personality.
You let your fear of failure convince you that you’re not good enough for anything, so there’s no point in trying.
How much of that was true? Had all this happened because of Natalie’s cowardice? If she’d just told Jonathan how she felt during college, or at the reunion, or at literally any momentbefore he and Marigold had gotten engaged, she wouldn’t have ruined her best friend’s wedding. But why hadn’t she ever said anything? Because she hadn’t wanted to look foolish? Or make anyone uncomfortable? Was this what happened when you had a pathological fear of conflict? You suppressed your own feelings, kept them in the dark until they turned putrid and toxic. Until they couldn’t be contained any longer and the whole mess exploded, scalding anyone in the blast zone.
“Natalie?” She turned to see a pretty middle-aged woman in a plunging navy silk gown. Natalie didn’t recognize her face, but the tightness of her skin and the plumpness of her lips marked her as a New York guest rather than a Maine one.
Natalie forced a smile and prepared to tell one more lie about where Marigold was and when the wedding would start. “Yes?”
