Chapter three
Ten Days Later
Mysuitcaseispacked,zipped, and standing upright by the door.
Mocking me. Every time I walk past it.
Even my condo seems aware of what tomorrow could mean. My friendship with Zach is my most important relationship. I’m facing a long stretch of time with him alone.
On his private jet.
For me, outside of our one transgression years ago, the potential of pushing things into uncharted territory with Zach has never been an option.
Too risky.
His invitation might mean nothing. But…the way he looked at me at dinner was…different.
Even still, there’s no scenario where I do something stupid to jeopardize our relationship. Not without a guarantee our friendship won’t change.
As if saving me from my inner dialogue, my phone vibrates on the kitchen counter.
Prague Chaos Threadnotifications ping in rapid succession.
Julian: Final rehearsal dinner headcount tonight. I refuse to reorganize tables inside a castle.
Irving: Just me. No plus-one. I demand seating far from any interpretive dancing.
Marisol: There’s no interpretive dancing.
Zach: Wanna bet?
A smile curves before I can stop it.
Marisol attaches a schedule to the string. Thursday night is reserved for law school crew. Friday rehearsal dinner at the castle. Saturday ceremony at four followed by a reception.
I respond automatically. Confirm I’ll be at the venue early. Promise to wrangle Marisol’s sister if needed. Let them know it’s only me for the meals.
Then Zach chimes in with:
Zach: Sky and I arrive at noon.
My heart begins to pound as my mind begins whirling again. I haven’t seen Zach in weeks. The last time we were together, something shifted. I felt it under my skin.
I didn’t deflect. I didn’t hide. I agreed to fly to Prague with him.
Since then, we’ve talked and texted a bit. Trade fragments of our days. Nearly two months later, I can’t help but worry there’s been too much space. Space gives my brain room to draft arguments. Construct defenses. Identify risk.
Not good.
My phone rings. Marisol.
I answer and put the phone on speaker while I pace.
“Tell me you’re not spiraling.” Her voice is bright and suspicious all at once.
I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m not spiraling.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely spiraling,” she counters. I hear her heels click faintly on her hardwood floors.
