4 Thursday Morning
(Two days before the wedding)
NIKKI’S ROOM IS THEfirst place I look for Sybil. It’s very possible, I tell myself while crunching along the pebbled path from our cottage to Nikki’s, that Sybil just headed to the spa without me. It’s not what was on the itinerary, which clearly read:
Meet at Emma and Sybil’s at 8:15 a.m. Walk to the spa for 8:30 a.m. appointments.
Sybil loves an Irish goodbye, but she wouldn’t Irish goodbye her wedding. People don’t do that.
Except I know for a fact they do. People walk out of their lives all the time. My dad did. I ignore the thick bubble of anxiety in my chest. Sybil is not my dad. But she has bailed on two other engagements before…
I knock on Nikki’s door a little more forcefully than I mean to, but Nikki opens it with a smile. For a moment it feels like everything might be back to normal, and I’m sure that I’m overreacting about Sybil. “Is she with you?”
“Who?” The false optimism I’ve been clinging to with my fingernails drops away.
“Sybil.”
“No, we’re supposed to meet at y’all’s place.” She gives me a very serious look. “It says so on the schedule. I’m almost ready. If you wait a second, I’ll walk with you.” I follow Nikki inside as she fills a tote bag to take to the spa.
“Have you heard from her?” I ask. “She had a little bit of a meltdown when she got home last night, and now she’s not in her room.”
Nikki’s movements slow, and she turns to face me. “I have to tell you something, and I need you not to freak out.”
“I won’t freak out,” I lie.
“So last night, we went into a bar in town after you and Willow left, and she had a little more to drink.”
“One sec.” Through Nikki’s window, I see Willow waddling down the path, and I wave her inside.
“Are we meeting here? The itinerary said ‘Emma and Sybil’s.’” Willow leverages herself into a white bouclé armchair, and I regret every second that I put into that itinerary.
“The itinerary is done. It’s over. We’re all on Sybil Time now.” I realize that for a weekend all about Sybil, maybe I should have just planned to be on Sybil Time from the start. “What happened last night?”
“Well, Finn suggested we check out this cool tequila bar his friend owns. Apparently Finn invested in it.”
“He invests in things?” I don’t want to be impressed, but I am. I’m barely able to invest in rent and a monthly MTA card these days.
“Focus, Emma. When we got there, we lost Sybil for a little bit, and when she came back, she was pretty upset.” Nikki sinks into the chair next to Willow.
“You lost her?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Obviously, not permanently!” Nikki raises her hands in exasperation. “I thought she had just disappeared to the bathroom or something, but the rest of the night she seemed so rattled…”
There’s a soft knock on the door, and I lunge to open it, hoping it may be Sybil.
“Oh, girls. I’m glad I caught you all.” Mrs. Rain is standing there in full golf gear. “Sybil just texted me that she’s headed down to San Diego for a facial this morning, but she’ll be back by the welcome party tonight.”
I let out a sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived.
“But wait—we already had facials scheduled here.”
“She said she had too much tequila last night.” Finn. “And that she needed a lymphatic massage to get rid of all the puffiness. There’s a woman at the Hotel Del Coronado who is ‘life-changing.’” She makes scare quotes with her fingers, and shrugs. “You know Sybil. It’s probably a sentimental thing. I’m off to hit some balls. You girls have fun at the spa today.”
Something’s not sitting right. Yes, Jamie proposed at the Del, so it could make sense for Sybil to go all the way down there just for a massage. But sentimental isn’t how I would describe Sybil. She’s always looking forward—not backward.
I can feel the stress zit that I doused with salicylic acid in the hopes that I’d be able to head it off before the wedding pulse with new life. It’s classic Sybil. She never means to hurt anyone, but she also never considers any of the collateral damage she leaves in her wake.
“Why wouldn’t she text any of us?” I ask, closing the door behind Mrs. Rain.
“Probably because we would have asked follow-up questions.” Nikki resumes getting her things together for the spa. “Last night, at the bar…”
“What?” I demand.
Nikki clears her throat. “She and Finn kind of had a heart-to-heart or whatever, and he said that if she wasn’t absolutely sure she wanted to get married, she shouldn’t go through with it.” At the look on my face, she quickly adds, “Which you know is good advice, Emma.”
“I most certainly do not know that. She already decided she wanted to get married when Jamie proposed and she put the ring on her finger!”
“I don’t know if that’s how Sybil sees it, Em,” Willow says. She and Nikki seem much more relaxed after Mrs. Rain’s report, but one piece still isn’t fitting.
“But why would she take her suitcase?” That seems to get their attention.
Anxiety spikes through me as I remember Sybil’s words from last night. I’m not sure if I can do this. I need you.
“She bolted.”
“She wouldn’t bolt.” Even Willow doesn’t believe what she’s saying, though, because she follows up with “Would she?”
“But Jamie’s great,” Nikki says. “She’s been different with him.”
“She absolutely bolted,” I say with growing certainty. I think back to her sudden urge to try on her dress last night, to make sure it still fits. It makes so much more sense now. And with my growing certainty comes a growing anger at Finn. He led her to the edge, and pushed her over. Sybil needs me to pull her back. I need to fix this. She as much as asked me to last night.
“I’m going to San Diego to get her. Willow, you stay here and help the Rains greet the guests as they arrive. Nikki, you’re coming with me.”
A pained look crosses her face. “Em, I can’t. Aaron is at Torrey Pines. He posted about it last night.” I blink once not understanding. She continues, “The golf course. He’s there for the US Open. I can’t be in San Diego while he’s there. I can’t look desperate, like I’m following him around. Someone might get a photo of me. I hate that we’re even on the same coast right now.” The likelihood of Nikki running into her ex in a city the size of San Diego seems incredibly small, but she looks so miserable that I don’t push it.
“Fine. But I need a car.”
Nikki nods. “You can take mine.”
I make a face. The autopilot on Nikki’s top-of-the-line electric car gives me whiplash, but it’s my only option, so we head to the valet stand to pick it up. “Just promise me you won’t interact with Aaron while you’re there, okay?” Nikki says as the valet pulls the car around.
I nod to placate her, but can’t resist an instruction of my own. “And you just promise me that you’ll unfollow him on social media. I told you to do that ages ago.”
Nikki nods, taking the keys from the valet and popping her head inside the car. “Oh no… I forgot to charge it. Sorry, Em—”
“It’s fine.” I open up my Lyft app and search for the Hotel Del Coronado. After a minute of searching, the app says a car can be here in fourteen minutes, and the ride estimate is $347. Okay, that’s not happening.
Damn it. Why did I leave Sybil and Nikki alone with Finn last night? I should have known the king of failed commitments would find some way to derail things. But even as my agitation grows, an idea is taking shape.
“Didn’t Finn drive y’all to that bar?”
“Yeah, that’s his car right there.” She motions to a black Tahoe, and I get my first glimpse of the Porsche Mr. Rain mentioned, parked right next to it.
“You know what, Finn made this mess. He got her stupid drunk on tequila and then gave her terrible advice. He needs to help clean it up. Where’s his room?”
“I think he’s over on the west side of the resort in one of the presidential cottages. Maybe 455 or 456?” Nikki says. “But I don’t know that Finn…” I’m already turning down the path to his room before Nikki can finish her sentence, and I run smack into—
“Jamie!” I pull up abruptly and try to look as unbothered as possible. “Where are you going?” I wince at how accusatory I sound, and try to gloss over it with a smile. “I mean, anything we can help with?” Nikki rolls her eyes as she returns her keys to the valet.
“Just headed in to say good morning to Sybil.” He either misses my shortness or has the politeness to look past it. “I stopped by your room, but no one answered.”
“Um, she’s not here. She just texted that she’s already at the spa.” Which according to Mrs. Rain is not technically a lie.
“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping we could have a little time alone before everyone got here.” He looks genuinely bummed that he doesn’t get to see Sybil, which makes the worry I’m feeling for Sybil bleed into irritation that she’s pulled this disappearing act. She has a guy who is crazy about her, and she’s about to throw it all away like it’s nothing.
“Well, I’ll tell her you were looking for her. Maybe y’all can get together this afternoon?”
“Thanks, Emma. See you.” He heads into the main clubhouse of the resort, and I head toward the presidential suites.
Room number 455 or 456… I have a fifty-fifty shot. One’s facing the mountains and one is overlooking the ocean. I take a guess and start banging on the door facing the ocean. “Finnegan Michael Hughes! Open this door right now!”
The door swings open, and I plow through only realizing after the fact that my arm brushes against warm, wet skin, not cool cotton. Droplets of water glitter from Finn’s black hair, and a clump of suds slides down his neck and settles on his shoulder. He readjusts his towel, and tucks it firmly against sculpted abs.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m—yes, I’m okay.” I am not okay seeing Finn in nothing but a towel. It’s been just under five years since I last saw him half-naked, and somehow he seems to have grown even more chiseled in that time. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Emma, what? Is Sybil okay?”
I pull my eyes up to his face. “Sybil could be dead in a ditch.”
“Oh my god.” He whips open the duffel bag and grabs a T-shirt and pants. The movement dislodges the soapsuds, and they begin to travel down his chest. “Wait here.”
He’s halfway to the bathroom. “I mean, I don’t think she is. She said she went to San Diego for some lymphatic drainage, and right now she’s too puffy to make any type of public appearance.”
He turns back to me, and the suds slip from his chest to his stomach. I’ve never really had opinions on men’s chest hair, but watching the bubbles catch in Finn’s, I decide that I could definitely argue the “pro” side of that debate. “Drainage?” Finn asks. “Is that serious? Something’s wrong with her lymph nodes?”
“I—no.” I finish weakly, “It’s just a type of massage.”
His eyes narrow. “You nearly dented my hotel room door and dragged me out of the shower because Sybil went to get a massage?”
“A massage in San Diego.”
“That’s just a couple hours away, Emma. She’ll be fine.”
I straighten my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter how far away she is. It matters that she’s not here.”
“Sybil’s an adult, Emma. You need to start treating her like one.”
The suds continue down his stomach. I imagine my fingers following the trail of foam, and my hand twitches. A large bubble pops just above his belly button, and I remember why I’m here. “You told her not to get married!”
“I told her she owed it to herself and Jamie to be absolutely sure this is what she wants. Marriage is forever.”
That’s twice Finn has been wrong in the last thirty seconds. Marriage is not forever. Or, at least, forever isn’t guaranteed. He heads back into the bathroom and comes out with another towel, wiping away the bubbles left on his skin. I can admit Finn’s body is somewhat… attractive, but it’s unfortunately attached to Finn’s brain and mouth. In that moment, I make the mistake of looking at his mouth, with its full bottom lip and Cupid’s bow top, and amend my thought. It really is just the brain that’s the deal killer here.
“I need to borrow your car.”
“Emma, there is no way I am letting you take my car. You almost destroyed Mr. Rain’s Porsche junior year—”
“Almost being the key word. I would never have let something happen to a 959.”
“And you drive like a psychopath.”
“I do not!”
“You almost threw Willow out of the golf cart last night.”
“It’s not my fault one hundred percent of torque is immediately available in electric vehicles! And those tires are bald. I won’t be held accountable for this hotel’s poor vehicle maintenance.”
He cocks his head at me as if I’m a cat that has just started explaining algebra. “Wow, your car obsession is on another level, you know that? It’s kind of adorable,” he says.
I cringe at his use of adorable. It’s the word people have used to describe me my entire life. Sybil is always ethereal and enigmatic. Willow is sexy and striking. Nikki is gorgeous and all-American. But at five foot two with bright auburn hair and a spray of freckles across my nose, I get to be adorable. “Just give me the keys.”
“Wait here.” He ducks back into the bathroom with the clothes he grabbed, and the shower turns on. The suite is huge. Crossing my arms, I plop down on the bed. I immediately regret it. It smells amazing, like woodsmoke and lavender. Like Finn. His scent mingles with the citrusy smell of my own still-damp hair. Grapefruit and lavender. Sharp but sweet. Me and Finn. It’s a heady combination. I stand up. The shower cuts off, and a moment later, Finn emerges from the bathroom fully dressed. “We’ll be back before the welcome party?” he asks.
“I will be.” I put my hand out for Finn’s keys, but he just shakes his head with a smile.
“If my car’s going, then I’m going.”
He’s being incredibly precious about a ten-year-old Tahoe, but Finn is my only option at this point. “Fine, yes. We’ll be back before the welcome party. Now can we go?”
We don’t speak as we make our way back to the valet stand, but Finn is in a fantastic mood for a man who’s just been bullied into spending his day off chauffeuring a grumpy bridesmaid. We pass the valet stand, and my hand is on the Tahoe’s door, but Finn keeps walking. There’s a soft click as the doors to the 964 unlock.
My hand drops to my side, but I don’t move. “The Singer is yours.”
He can’t keep the smile off his face. “Pretty cool, right?”
I walk toward the car slowly, as if it might disappear along with Sybil. “I’m driving.”
Finn laughs. “No.”
I circle the car. It’s got the wide hips and lower stance of a car built for the racetrack. The passenger door is so light when I open it. “Is this carbon fiber?”
“The body is. The doors are aluminum.” Finn pats the roof of the car twice, and I’m struck by the unfairness of the universe. I run my hand over the bespoke woven seat inserts before I climb into the car and let out a small sigh of pleasure. If I have to chase Sybil, at least I get to do it in a perfect car.
The engine rumbles to life, and Finn turns to me. “Let’s go catch a runaway bride.”