Prologue
Dani
WHY DO PEOPLE FALL IN LOVE?
What do they get out of handing their heart to another human being?
Is companionship really worth the pain of exposure— exposure of your deepest vulnerabilities?
Who decided that was a good idea?
I look around the resort suite I’ve called home for the last two weeks. You would think after attending a wedding as gorgeous as this, I’d see the appeal of all this shit. I don’t.
All I see is a beautiful backdrop marred by the ugliness of the bride’s insecurities and the groom’s cowardice. Is this what love has to offer? Transforming into the worst version of yourself in its name?
No thank you.
I spent most of this trip trying to keep the bride from flying off the handle about the dumbest shit while she treated us like errand girls and ruined her relationship with her sister. I am beyond ready to get out of Tulum, having resolved to never attend anotherwedding ever again. My suitcase doesn’t seem to be getting that message, though. I’ve been sitting here trying to zip it shut for the past five minutes, but it keeps getting stuck.
Another attempt snags my nail, damn near ripping it off.
Stupid piece of …
A knock on my door stops my thought in its tracks.
“You good? It’s time to get the fuck out of here,” Evie says as I open the door to her and Janelle, both smiling yet looking exhausted.
It’s been a trying two weeks for all of us.
When we were younger, I used to compare us to the element benders inAvatar: The Last Airbender.
Evie was a firebender. Her features make her look like a Southern belle, but she is all bite and no bark. Her spirit is forged in flames.
Nelle was an earthbender, unwavering in her resilience and loyalty. It also helped that her bohemian style on her curvy body always made her look like an earthly goddess too.
Amerie was an airbender, cunning in her movements and free-spirited in her thinking.
I was a waterbender. My peacekeeping ways kept the flow of the group steady.
It’s been a long time since I referred to us that way, but seeing them standing here—Evie wearing a red sleeveless jumpsuit and her twists pulled into a high ponytail, and Nelle with her face-framing boho braids and waist beads below a sage-colored crop top—I have to laugh at the imagery.
“Almost. My suitcase won’t close.”
Nelle laughs. “What’d you buy?”
“Nothing!” I defend. I travel way too often to get sucked into souvenir hell. I didn’t overpack and I only bought eight small souvenirs—two for my mom, two for my dad, two for my assistant, Nisha, and two for my mentor, Tanya.
No, I’m not the problem here. The problem is I need a new suitcase because this one up and quit on the job.
Nelle turns up her nose at me only to immediately give up the act and let out a soft chuckle that lets me know she didn’t mean it.
“Okay, let’s see if we can get it,” she says.
“I can help her.”
A rich baritone voice drifts around the corner, and I unfortunately know who I’m going to see before he shows his face.
Micah Wright.
