Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zoe
The bass thrums through my headphones, drowning out the jet engines’ persistent hum. My foot taps to the beat of “What You Know” by Two Door Cinema Club as I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to be anywhere but here. This private plane to Fiji should feel glamorous, but right now, it’s more like a gilded tin can with wings.
I peek one eye open, scanning the cabin: plush leather seats, champagne flutes, smiling faces. Ugh, everyone’s so damn happy. I clamp my eyes shut again, cranking up the volume.
A gentle tap on my arm makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I yank off my headphones to find Lily beaming at me like she’s just won the lottery.
“Earth to Zoe,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, my cheeks warming. “Just . . . really into this song. Maybe next time this band is on tour I’ll go and see them.”
Lily quirks an eyebrow, her expression screaming ‘Yeah, right.’ “Sure, Sis. That’s why you look like you’re about to hurl. Here.” She thrusts a flute of bubbly into my hand. “I come bearing liquid courage.”
I accept the glass, mustering up a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Thanks.”
“To tropical paradise,” Lily toasts. We clink glasses, the crystal ringing softly.
The champagne fizzes on my tongue, but it does nothing to untangle the knots in my stomach. I’m a fish out of water here, and not just because we’re thirty thousand feet in the air in a plane that feels more like a fancy tin can than a reliable mode of transportation.
And then there’s this wedding crashing feeling that feels spectacularly weird. I understand they invited me to be here, and I’m even a bridesmaid but . . . I’m totally feeling out of place.
“Zoe?” Lily’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You look like you’re mentally redecorating the plane. What’s up? ”
I nod quickly, my ponytail bouncing. “Yeah, just . . . you know. Thinking about bridesmaid duties.” Oh my God, I’m such a liar. That’s not even a thing. We already had the bachelorette party that Lily organized and well, my sister is her maid of honor. I have nothing to do other than walk down the aisle with a cute flouncy dress and be supportive. Why couldn’t I come up with some other excuse, something more . . . simple and believable?
“Relax, Zo. This is supposed to be fun, remember?” Fun. Right. Because what’s more fun than being the eternal bridesmaid? At least for Lily’s wedding, I brought Tom. Now . . . well, I’m alone.
Lily squeezes my hand, her touch warm and comforting. “It’ll be great. Trust me.”
I take another sip—bigger this time. There’s not enough champagne in this plane to make me feel at ease. As my sister stares at me with worry, I smile and say, “You’re right. I’m just anxious.”
As she turns to chat with someone else, I slip my headphones back on. The music swells, drowning out the excited chatter around me. I close my eyes, willing myself to believe her words, but doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind.
The plane shakes, jolting me out of my thoughts. I grip the armrests, my knuckles turning white. Deep breaths, Zoe.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we just hit a pocket of turbulence. A bit of rough air. Nothing to worry about,” the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom.
Nothing to worry about . . . I would feel better if I were flying this thing. Not that I know how to pilot, but being in control usually calms me down.
Chill, Zoe. You’ve had rougher flights, why are you so edgy?
The answer doesn’t come to me. There’s just something strange about this trip. I peek out the window, clouds streaming past us at dizzying speeds. The vast expanse of blue below is both beautiful and terrifying. Kind of like this whole trip.
My phone buzzes. When I check it, I groan. It’s just another text from Mom. I’m not sure that connecting to the plane’s Wi-Fi was a good idea; she keeps sending me messages. She’s concerned that I’ll have some kind of nervous breakdown like Cleo did after she broke up with her fiancé only weeks before her wedding.
Cleo was MIA for months, trying to find herself. At least that’s what we thought was happening. She just traveled around the world spending the money she got from a settlement—Dominic broke the engagement and they ended up in court. I had no idea any of that happened. The only details we know is that her trip was great. And I got to see every picture she took.
Thankfully, Mom’s message is simple this time: Dad and I are having a date night. I hope you’re having a great flight, sweetie. Don’t forget to mingle, get yourself out there more .
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. Even miles above the earth, I can’t escape her not-so-subtle hints about my love life. Or lack thereof.
Slipping my phone back into my bag, I catch sight of the ankle bracelet Tom gave me last Christmas. Ugh, why do I still have this? It’s been months since our breakup, and I still find things that remind me of him. I should’ve shoved it in the memory box that I’ve yet to burn to crisp. But how can I when it’s so pretty? And though it hurts me a little, I take it off and shove it in my purse. Later I’ll dispose of it or give it to someone.
“More champagne?” A flight attendant materializes beside me, bottle poised.
“Please.” I nod, holding out my glass, the crystal cool against my fingers.
The bubbles tickle my nose as I take another sip. The alcohol is starting to warm me from the inside out, dulling the edges of my anxiety. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. I just need to make sure that they keep my glass filled at all times.
I close my eyes again, letting the hum of the engines and the soft chatter of the other passengers wash over me. For a moment, I can almost believe I’m just heading to a tropical paradise. But reality intrudes—this isn’t a carefree vacation, it’s a wedding that subtly reminds me of my own setbacks and uncertain romantic future.
The path ahead isn’t clear-cut. My options feel limited: endlessly swiping through online dating profiles, embracing the single life, or racing against time to have a child before I turn thirty-five. It’s like being caught between a rock and a hard place, only with more champagne and fewer answers.
Reality crashes back as I open my eyes and scan the cabin. Everywhere I look, there are couples. Hands intertwined, heads resting on shoulders, shared smiles and inside jokes. My stomach twists, a knot of envy and loneliness tightening with each passing second.
“Get it together, Zoe,” I mutter to myself, knuckles whitening as I grip the armrests. “It’s just a wedding. You’ve done this before.”
I take another long sip of champagne, wincing as the bubbles hit my throat. “Maybe I should’ve brought a fake boyfriend,” I think, half-seriously. “Or a cardboard cutout of Chris Hemsworth.”
The thought makes me snort-laugh, drawing curious glances from nearby passengers. I feel my cheeks flush and I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear into the plush leather. Great. This is off to a fantastic start.
I pull out my phone again, scrolling through photos from past weddings. I’m always in a different pastel dress, always with a plastered-on smile. Always alone or with Tom if he felt like coming with me. He wasn’t that big on weddings. That was probably a big red flag, but I never thought about it until today. Oh how I hate the whole ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride.’ It’s becoming my new mantra.
Lily pokes me with her elbow, her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’m heading to Fiji—all expenses paid—and I don’t have to worry about work for a couple of weeks since I asked for extra time off. It can’t get any better.”
Lily laughs, the sound light and carefree. “God, I wish I’d done something like this. A destination wedding with almost no guests instead of the three-ring circus Mom organized just to show Ethan’s mom that we’re fucking refined.”
I roll my eyes dramatically, grateful for the change in subject. “How could I forget? I’m pretty sure I’m still finding heart-shaped confetti in weird places.”
We both chuckle, remembering the over-the-top affair that was Lily’s wedding. Three hundred guests, a ten-tier cake, and enough flowers to fill a greenhouse. It was beautiful, sure, but also a logistical nightmare.
“Mom and Dad were so proud, though,” Lily muses, swirling her champagne, her eyes distant. “You know how competitive they are with almost everything.”
I nod, feeling a pang of sympathy for my sister. “Yeah, that was . . .” I trail my voice because it’s hard to describe how exhausting the preparations and the entire wedding was. “I’m surprised you and Ethan didn’t elope halfway through the planning.”
“Don’t think we didn’t consider it,” Lily admits with a wry smile. “But in the end, it was worth it to see Mom cry happy tears while Ethan’s mom was crying because we didn’t let her help at all.”
The words hang between us, a reminder of the constant pressure we both feel. I take another sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizzle on my tongue as I contemplate my own future. Will I ever have a day like that? Do I even want one?
“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, my lips quivering into a half-smile, “at least you got it out of the way. Now I can have my small, beachside wedding without any guilt.”
Lily raises an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Oh no, when you get married, you’ll go through the same torture.”
“No,” I insist, my voice rising slightly. “But why argue . . . I’m just saying, hypothetically, when I do get married . . . if I get married . . .”
My voice trails off, and I stare into my champagne glass, suddenly feeling very small and very alone. The words “if I get married” echo in my mind, each repetition a tiny stab to my heart.
Lily gives my arm a gentle squeeze before standing up, her eyes soft with concern. “I should get back to Ethan. You okay here?”
I nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Go on, I’m fine. Enjoy your hubby.”
As Lily makes her way down the aisle, my eyes follow her, and that’s when I spot him. Maximillian McCallister. The guy I want to have, can’t have, but maybe I will. He threatened to torture me with his tongue one of these nights—preferably on the beach, right by the ocean. And he’s hoping to take me skinny dipping too.
Time seems to stand still as we look at each other. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a rush of conflicting emotions—mostly desire. My heart begins to race, pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears. The champagne in my system amplifies everything, making the moment feel surreal and charged with electricity. I want to look away, to break this spell, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes from his. It’s like we’re the only two people on this plane, in this world.
And suddenly it hits me, what if there’s a lot more—this thing between him and me. What if it’s moving to a place where . . . This can’t be happening, I think, gripping the armrests of my seat so tightly my knuckles turn white. Not him.
The rational part of my brain screams at me to look away, to ignore him, to remember all the reasons why anything other than friends with benefits and fun outings with him would be a bad idea. Not just bad, terrible.He’s just like Tom.
But there’s another part, a part fueled by champagne and loneliness, that wants to hold his gaze forever, to see what might happen if I let my guard down just this once. So maybe the whole ‘my baby sister found love and is engaged’ brought on the whole conversation about my future with Tom, but that wasn’t the only thing.
There was also Max.
Unpredictable and thoughtful Maximillian McCallister.
A man who would rather spend hours talking to me at night about everything and nothing than fall asleep by ten because it’s what his fucking trainer recommended. “It’s the only way I’ll have a lengthy life, Zoe,” Tom would say when I suggested we watch a movie together or . . . live a little.
And maybe now that I’m single I should live a little and let someone like Max swoop me off my feet for one night. Because I know that’s all he offers, nothing else. I shouldn’t though and since I can’t look away, I close my eyes. Big mistake. For a moment, I wonder what it’d be like to kiss him right here in front of everyone. I imagine him suddenly standing in front of me, pulling me to him and leaning down closer to my lips, his breath warm against my cheek as he whispers, “Zoe, babe. I fucking miss you.”
Then, I would let go of my reservations and close the distance between us. Our lips would meet in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens, a searing connection that’ll send sparks through my entire body. His hand would cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as if he couldn’t get enough.
Melting into him, my hands will find their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. The kiss would be like everything and nothing I’ve ever experienced. Fierce and passionate, yet tender and adoring. Every brush of his lips, every movement of his tongue against mine . . . I open my eyes because that’s not how kisses happen or how life goes, though.This isn’t some cheesy romantic comedy where I get the reluctant guy and we live happily ever after.
When I glance his way I catch a hint of something in his gaze—regret? Longing? Love? Or am I just projecting my own conflicted feelings?
I shake my head, trying to clear it. This is ridiculous , I think. We’re adults. We have an agreement and I shouldn’t confuse one thing with the other. This is casual.