“I’ll be armed and ready. Just promise me one thing, ok?”
“Anything.”
“No more secrets.”
I swallow, the familiar ball of guilt and anxiety swelling up in my throat like a peach pit. But no matter how much Iwantto get back at Matthew, I promised I’d keep his secret. If I tell herabout Caleb now, everything I risked for that will go up in smoke.
“No more secrets,” I repeat back to her. I want to believe I’ve learned my lesson about lying to Jules. But, I remind myself with a stab of pain, I doubt either of us will ever see Caleb again.
I grip my armrest and hope she mistakes it for fear of heights.
Maybe, I think, some secrets are meant to go down with the ship.
26
THREE MONTHS LATER
As Jules kneels with Harry while everyone except me sings something about bread and trespasses, I let myself take in the splendor of the glass-walled chapel. The day’s been so full of makeup and photos and steaming dresses, I’ve scarcely had time to breathe, let alone admire the venue. So far, my only focus has been calming down Jules and avoiding Matthew: either of which on their own would be enough to distract me from our opulent surroundings. Now, I can see that the reasonably-sized invite list Harry and Jules insisted on hasn’t kept the guests from dressing like they’re on camera. With the number of coattails in the audience, you’d think I was at the wedding of Prince Harry.
From the second row, Marianne gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up. It’s only me and Matthew up here next to the happy couple, and even though he keeps trying (and failing) to make eye-contact, it’s not as though he’s liable to start mouthing off with a bishop between us. The tall white hat certainly gives him the air of someone who’s done some serious smiting.
After a few more blessings and Latin verses, the bishop pronounces Jules and Harry husband and wife. I can’t see mysister’s expression from here, but Harry’s smile is so wide his face looks like it’s splitting in half. Given his penchant for overplanning, I was worried he’d be too stressed today to enjoy himself, but their overzealous wedding planner Jacinda seems to have alleviated the majority of his OCD. She rushes over to us as soon as Jules and Harry start moving down the aisle.
“Immediate family to the rose garden!” she hiss-whispers, and I wonder if it’s six shots of espresso talking or something stronger. Jacinda was definitely the kind of girl who had color coded pens and stickie notes for all her binders in school.
“I’ll be there in just a second,” I tell her. “I just need to find Jules’s bouquet.”
It’s partially true—locating the bouquet is a daunting task amongst an Olympic swimming pool’s worth of flower arrangements. But the second, secret reason is that I want to put as much space between myself and Matthew as possible. We haven’t spoken since we left the Vela Bianca three months ago, and I’m doing my best to keep it that way. Today is about celebration. And seeing my sister looking like the queen she is, I’m more eager than ever to put the past, and Fiji, behind us.
Eventually, I find the lavish bouquet stashed behind the pulpit and carry it into the hall with a spring in my step. Or as much spring as one can have in these ridiculously high heels. But if I’m being honest, the wedding isn’t my only reason to celebrate. Within days of returning to Chicago, I put in my notice with Carverandmy landlord. I’m finally painting again. And as of last week, I’m officially back in Seattle: the city I’ve been dreaming about since I left it ten years ago. Even more surprisingly, by some miracle, the only splotches I have from my hastily applied fake tanner are totally hidden by my sapphire blue flute dress. I am moisturized. In my lane. Thriving. Not even an elevator could bring me down.
“Stella!”
Exceptthat. I look up and see that I’m not the onlyone who took the back exit. Matthew is standing in the corridor like a hall monitor ready to chase me down and tackle me if necessary. As long as I only see him in front of the family, he can’t bring up anything spicier than crudité and seating charts. But now he has me cornered. I dart a glance back to see if I can run back into the chapel, but three choir singers are blocking the entrance. I’m going to need to woman-up and face him. I’m going to have to have the conversation I’ve been dreading for weeks.
I’m going to have to hide behind this giant potted fern.
I guess I’m not atotallynew person, yet.
“Stella,” Matthew calls angrily, “I can see you!”
I grab one of the oversized fronds and pull it over my face. This is exactly how David Attenborough must have felt on the set of Planet Earth. Only this time, the wildlife is very, very well dressed.
Matthew marches up until my eyeline is level with his knee and taps his calfskin drivers against the marble. I hesitate before looking up. What would Sir David say about making direct eye contact with a provoked predator?
“Nice hiding spot.”
I raise myself up—quite a task in my four-inch heels and thigh-tight dress.
“Matthew,” I greet him half-assedly. “I was just looking for my… earring.”
“Let me save you some time,” he says, flicking the diamond chandelier earring my sister forced on me before the ceremony that is still very much attached to my earlobe.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself!” he hisses, visibly annoyed. “You’ve been avoiding me all day!”
Can he blame me? This is supposed to be a happy weekend. The last thing I want to do is rehash old wounds with the manwhose reputation was more important to him than Caleb’s livelihood.
