Epilogue
“I might throw up. Like for real this time.”
“Amelia, you’ve said that like ten times since you woke up this morning,” Layla chirps, adjusting the crimson sash on her black dress.
“I know, but I’m totally serious now. I think it’s food poisoning. The sushi from the rehearsal dinner, perhaps?”
“She does look a little green,” Elle whispers to me out of the corner of her mouth as we stare at Amelia in the three-way mirror in all her wedding dress gorgeousness.
And wow, let’s just talk about gorgeous.
Red hair and sleek white gown. I might be having some wedding dress jealousy as I remember the monstrosity my mother forced me into. This is nothing like that.
“Totally agree,” I murmur back, so my voice doesn’t carry. “Could it be the sushi? I had three pieces.”
“It’s not the sushi,” Raven promises. “I had six pieces, and I’m fine. This is just Amelia, and if Amelia isn’t overthinking or freaking out about something, then Amelia isn’t breathing.”
Good point. Hard to argue about that because, well, that is Amelia.
“How’s Oliver? Does anyone know?” Rina asks, her eyes on her phone as she types into what is likely her sibling chat.
“Grace texted a few minutes ago to say Oliver is Oliver,” Elle jumps in. “Calm, excited, adorable.”
“So how do we get Amelia on the same page? The ceremony starts in like…”—Rina glances down at her diamond Tiffany watch—“twenty minutes. Shots? I could go grab a bottle of something. Tequila, I’m thinking. That’s what got me down the aisle.”
All of us exchange nervous glances. Especially as Amelia doubles over, splinting her stomach.
“Tequila,” Raven and I agree.
“So, while you’re already freaking out, I might have something to tell you.”
“What?” Amelia groans at her younger sister, Layla, cutting her a sharp gaze that clearly says she’s not in the mood.
“I sucked my first penis last night.”
And that’s it. Because all of us practically collapse with loud gasps and horrified expressions.
“Holy shit!” Rina sputters. “Tequila! I’m going to find the biggest bottle of tequila I can.” And then she races out of the room like her hair is on fire and she’s seeking water.
Except Layla is fifteen and I think I was similar in age the first time I did that deed. But still, it’s different because well, it just is.
“You did not,” Amelia snaps, righting her body and spinning on her tall, willowy sister who has at least five inches on her. “Who? Who was the little prick? I’ll kill him.”
Layla twirls a piece of her long, expertly curled hair with an impish grin that only riles her sister up more. “I wouldn’t call his prick little.”
Another round of gasps, and it’s like watching live-action soap operas.
“Layla Jean Atkins, you tell me who put his penis in your mouth right this instant.” She slams her heeled foot down, the furious thud heard around the room even though it is hitting the Oriental rug.
Layla folds her arms defiantly, tapping her strappy heeled foot. “And what if I don’t?”
“Layla, I cannot do this with you now. We have not had the BJ convo. We’ve had the sex and the masturbation and the oh my God, why didn’t I have the BJ convo with you?
I’m the worst guardian big sister in the history of guardian big sisters.
Are you okay? Were you happy? Do you like the guy?
Did he reciprocate? Who the fuck is he?!
If you don’t tell me, Oliver will find out and kill him.
Like for real, kill him. He’s a Fritz. He’ll make it look like an accident, but the boy will be dead. ”
Layla starts laughing, doing some crazy arm-and-hip-swinging dance. “Told ya you weren’t going to barf.”
“Layla!”
“Amelia, chill yourself before you pop a bead or a stitch. I just had to get you out of your head for a second.”
Oh boy. The ladies and I exchange looks.
“By telling me you gave a boy a blow job?”
“Well, can’t help a girl if she’s curious about it now, can you? You’re the one who lets me read romances.”
“Tequila!” Rina pants as she shoots through the door, a clear bottle held victoriously up in her hand. “I have tequila. Here.” She shoves it at Amelia and uncorks it for her. Amelia wastes no time taking a hearty sip.
“You’re telling me you’ve been reading romance books with BJs in them? That is so not approved.” She takes another swig from the bottle and then hands it back to Rina as she continues to square off with Layla.
Rina starts drinking from the bottle too before rejoining us and handing it to me. I stare at it for a second and then shrug. When in Rome, and yeah, I think we all need it to get through this. The alcohol burns a warm path down my throat, and I cover my cough with my arm as I pass it on to Raven.
“That might be my bad,” Raven whispers guiltily in my ear as she takes her own large gulp. “I didn’t realize the last book I gifted her had that scene. But in my defense, the freaking thing said young adult online.”
“I’ve read some seriously steamy books that call themselves young adult,” Elle tells her. “Young adult simply means age nowadays. Not necessarily sexual content.”
“Fuck,” Raven hisses, snatching the bottle back from Rina and tossing back another shot. “Well, at least she didn’t actually do the deed, right? That’s something.”
“She didn’t?” Rina asks since she was out of the room for that revelation. “Thank God. Otherwise my brothers would have gone teenage boy hunting at the reception.”
“Alright. That’s it,” I yell into the room, taking a step forward because someone has to get this party going before we head out into the garden of the Fritz Martha’s Vineyard home.
“Layla, no more BJ talk or unnecessarily raising your sister’s blood pressure, though I will give you props for the initial… blow.”
Everyone starts laughing, including Amelia, whose color is improving by the second.
“Amelia, you look stunning. So much better than I did as a bride my first go-around.”
“Thank you. I just—”
“We know,” all the ladies grouse. “You’re nervous.”
“Do you love Oliver?” Rina asks solemnly.
“More than anything in the world,” Amelia replies instantly, turning back to the mirror and taking in each of our faces before returning to the dress.
“Do you want to be his wife?” Elle continues, rubbing at a spot on the side of her dress over her bump. She, Landon, and Stella just moved into their brand-new dream house, but Elle is a tiny little thing. A tiny little thing who is sporting a tiny little bump with two heartbeats inside it.
“Of course.”
“Then vagina up, Aunt Amelia,” Stella chimes in from the corner where she’s been reading on her Kindle all this time. “Uncle Oliver loves you. You love him. I think sometimes you adults make love so much more complicated than it needs to be.”
And no truer words have ever been spoken.
“Stella, you don’t deal in men. Men are such drama.”
“Layla, legit, I think it’s us who are the drama. Or maybe you, in this instance, since I don’t think I could ever tell Elle I went down on a chick to get her mind off marrying my dad.”
“You better not.” Elle covers her face with her hands. “God, Stella. How do I have that convo with you? I’ve never done that.”
“Neither have I,” Stella tells her. “Relax. We’ll cross that vagina when we get to it. For now, Amelia, you’ve got twelve minutes and a slew of people waiting to watch you say ‘I do’ to Uncle Oliver. If you love him and he loves you, then I don’t understand why you’re nervous.”
“Now you sound like me.” Layla jumps over to her phone, picks it up, and starts playing “Confident” by Demi Lovato. And we all start getting into it. Singing along and rocking our rock star poses and drinking tequila straight from the bottle and by the time we leave the room, we’re ready.
More importantly, Amelia is ready to marry Oliver.
Which she does. With a sobbing Grace by his side and a sobbing Layla by hers.
The ceremony is small. But the party is in full swing between the Fritz ballroom and the beach where there is a bonfire and s’mores and a separate band, this one more reggaeish.
That’s the spot where Kaplan and I find ourselves as the summer sun dips into the western sky and the stars start to come out, kissing the deep-blue sky.
We sailed his catamaran here, and I’d be foolish to believe the man doesn’t have plans for us this week—since we both took it off—beyond the wedding and the island.
It’s been a crazy several months, all things considered.
Kaplan went in and made an announcement to the entire office that we were together and that it wasn’t planned or thought out, but that it was real and not going anywhere and that everyone needed to adjust to it.
He vowed not to show me any favoritism. A point he’s proven multiple times as we’ve fought over many foundation things.
The spring gala happened, and it was an absolute raging success for everyone.
All told, we raked in close to a million dollars, by far their highest total even divided by three.
We have one we’re already planning for the fall, and I can’t wait to see how this one does since we’re mixing things up a bit by hosting it on the Fritz mega yacht.
But at this point, I’m practically running the foundation and it feels good.
Other than some minor CEO oversight, Kaplan has his trust placed in me, knowing how much this foundation means to my heart and soul.
His mother and I have bonded over it several times, and on occasion, I call her for backup.
The media and the world had a slightly harder time adjusting to our relationship.