Finn gives me that perfect little grin that I’ve come to think of as his Emma Face—half-exasperated, half-affectionate. One hundred percent devastating.
“Plus you wouldn’t have wanted to fly. You always hated it.”
I feel the familiar swoop low in my belly that I get every time Finn makes a reference to our shared past—small things that he’s managed to remember even after all this time.
“Things change, Finn.”
He smiles. “I guess they do.”
I check Sybil’s location again. Still in the vicinity of Caesars Palace. I remind myself why I’m really here—to save a wedding. To find Sybil and get to the bottom of her disappearance. I think about what Liz said on the phone, about how I always save her ass. And Sybil basically saying the same thing last night—You’re my rock. I think about Finn noticing how I keep the family on track, and how he seems to understand what a burden that can sometimes be. I know it’s not my job to fix everything.
But itismy job to fix this. I owe it to Sybil. My oldest friend. The one who dragged me onto the dance floor to do an impromptu Macarena while all the other girls at the church social were dancing on their dads’ feet. It didn’t matter that the song was some sweet country ballad—Sybil shook her hips and flung her hands across her shoulders to the imaginary beat until I couldn’t stop giggling. Until the pain of missing my own dad—the anger and confusion that he wasn’t at the dance, would never be the father that these other men were for their daughters—became so distant, I almost couldn’t feel it anymore.
Sybil makes me feel like there’s nothing wrong with me, like I’m loved and included no matter what. She makes me feel safe enough to take leaps I never would have otherwise. And I keep Sybil grounded. That’s been the unspoken rule of our friendship for nearly two decades, and I’m not about to break it now.
Also, I need to know why Sybil ran—and I need to make it right. Why doesn’t she feel like she’s good enough for Jamie?It’s something that’s been bothering me all day, at the back of my mind. How small her voice sounded last night. What could make her feel that small? Certainly not Jamie himself. So what, then?
I need to find her, and find out.
Outside the Singer, the sky is streaked with pinks and purples. It’s seven thirty, nearly sunset. Soon, everyone will be gathering back in Malibu for the welcome party—everyone, that is, except the maid of honor, the bride, and the bride’s best guy friend. I fire off a quick text to Willow and Nikki.
Still on the road—cover for us at the party?
How???Nikki responds almost instantly.
You’ll think of something!
I’m about to ask Finn how much longer we have, when a sparkling sign comes into view: WELCOME TOFABULOUSLASVEGAS.
12
THURSDAY EVENING
(Two days before the wedding)
FINN PULLS INTO THEcircle drive at Caesars Palace and passes his keys to the valet. Polished columns stretch toward the ceiling and rings of golden marble ripple out from a huge fountain in the middle of the very ornate lobby. The fountain depicts three women, none of whom were carved fully clothed. It’s not quite my personal design style, but I do always appreciate a theme. I pull up my phone again to check on Sybil’s location.
“I think she must be staying here,” I tell Finn, studying my app like I’m the investigator in some BBC detective series. “She’s been up and down the Strip, but she always ends up back here. Let’s start at the casino and then just work our way through the resort.”
“Got it. And, Emma?”
“What?”
“Don’t forget about our deal. If we can’t get her back to LA, you have to say something nice about me.”
He’s laughing, but for me, it’s game on. “Oh, we’ll get her back, Finn. And I look forward to driving the two of you all the way back to Malibu, without ever having to tax my mind to think of a compliment.”
The casino is to the right of the lobby, so we head straight there. We circle through wedding chapels and swimming pools—one of which I didn’t realize allowed topless sunbathing until we were neck-deep in nipples. I look longingly at a passing server carrying a tray full of colorful cocktails with swizzle sticks and umbrellas. I could use something to calm my growing anxiety now that we’re here. Deep down, there’s this worry nagging at me. If Sybil actually wanted us to find her, she’d be broadcasting it via text, social media, and a very loud singing voice. So what does it mean that she’s doing such a good job ofnotbeing found?
Finn and I wind through fake canals, and dozens and dozens of luxury shops, but there’s no sign of Sybil. We stop in front of what appears to be a reproduction of the Trevi Fountain in Rome. “Maybe we should make a wish,” Finn suggests.
“What—a wish for Sybil to finally appear?” I can feel a sense of hopelessness creeping into my voice.
Finn fishes into his pockets and hands me a quarter, keeping one for himself. “Is that really what you want to wish for?”
I’m startled by his question. “That’s literally what we’re here for, Finn.”
“True. But look around, Emma. We’re inVegas. Surroundedby people throwing caution to the wind. Look at that lady.” He points behind me to a green-haired woman, who is laughing as she pretends to ride her friend’s back like a cowboy, while swinging a pink penis-shaped sword above her head. “Everyone else is here for themselves. Isn’t there something that you want just for you?”
