4. Becca
Becca
I wake to my alarm blaring, a text already waiting:
Jack: Can’t make dinner tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.
No "good morning." No "can't wait for our trip tomorrow."
Me: Good morning!
While I wait for a response, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. It’s Saturday. Tomorrow, we leave for Mexico. Tomorrow, everything changes.
I try to recapture yesterday’s excitement as I shampoo my hair, but Holly’s words keep echoing. Have you thought about what happens after?
My phone is still silent when I get out of the shower—typical. Jack operates on his own timeline, responding when it suits him. I dress for work—I have a small wedding to coordinate this afternoon—and feed Mr. Darcy.
“Be good for Mrs. Feldman,” I tell him, scratching under his chin. My elderly neighbor has agreed to cat-sit while I’m away. “No shredding her curtains like last time. You’re lucky she adores you.”
My phone buzzes as I’m applying mascara. Finally, Jack. But when I check, it’s Clive again.
Clive: Good morning, Rebecca. Forgot to mention—water activities available at villa include snorkeling, jet skis, and a sunset sailing option. Let me know if any interest you.
I smile despite myself. There's something almost charming about his formal texting style.
Me: Good morning! All of that sounds amazing. I'd especially love to try snorkeling if possible.
I hit send before I can overthink it. Jack isn't much for water activities—he prefers lounging with a drink—but I've always wanted to try snorkeling. Maybe he'll surprise me and join.
His response comes immediately.
Clive: Excellent choice. The reef near the property is spectacular. I'll arrange equipment in your size.
My size? I feel my cheeks warm slightly.
Me: Thank you, that's very thoughtful.
Clive: Not at all. Travel safely tomorrow. Car will collect you at 7AM.
I frown at this new information.
I thought we were meeting at the airport?
Clive: Change of plans. Private jet from Teterboro. More convenient. Jack didn't mention?
Of course he didn't. I swallow my irritation and respond:
Me: Must have slipped his mind. Thank you for letting me know.
Jack: See you tomorrow.
I add the information to my mental checklist, then hurry to finish getting ready. As I'm heading out the door, Jack finally texts back:
No “can’t wait” or even an explanation about dinner. Just “see you tomorrow.” I try to ignore the disappointment settling in my chest as I lock up my apartment. Besides, I know what to expect from Jack and hoping for more is simply setting myself up for disappointment. He is who he is, after all.
The wedding I’m coordinating today is small but elegant—just fifty guests at a boutique hotel in SoHo. Surprisingly, the bride is relaxed for someone getting married in less than six hours, making my job easier. As I check table arrangements and confirm final details with the catering staff, my mind drifts to Mexico and Clive.
Private jet. The words keep replaying in my head. Jack never mentioned a private plane, which is a detail worth sharing. Then again, maybe to him, it’s not a big deal. When your stepfather is a billionaire, private jets are just... Tuesday. Although I grew up with money, my family is more like “first-class seats folks”, not private jet people.
“Ms. Jamison?” The hotel manager approaches with a clipboard. “The florist is asking about the arrangement for the sweetheart table.”
I snap back to the present. “Right. Let me speak with them.”
The rest of the day passes in a blur of last-minute adjustments and minor crises averted. When the bride and groom share their first dance, I’m exhausted but satisfied. Another perfect event in the books.
My phone buzzes as I’m saying goodbye to the newlyweds. I expect it’s my assistant confirming tomorrow’s handover details, but it’s a text from Kay:
Kay: See you in tomorrow morning, sweetie. It’s going to be a memorable vacation!
I text back a quick thank you, my excitement building again. Memorable? Is this further confirmation that I’m getting a ring on Saturday?
As I wait for my Uber outside the hotel, my phone rings. Holly.
"Hey," I answer, "what's up?"
"Last-minute packing crisis?" she asks.
"No, actually. Just finished the Webster wedding. Everything went perfectly."
"Of course it did. You're the best at what you do." There's a pause. "So, I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday."
I sigh. "Holly?—"
"Just hear me out. I love you, and I want you to be happy. If Jack is what makes you happy, then I'm all for it. I just want you to know that you’re my best friend and I wholly believe that my bestie deserves to spend her life with a man who worships her. That’s it. I know I’m a broken record.”
"I know you mean well," I say, watching for my Uber, "but I'm not settling. Jack and I have history. We've been through a lot together."
"History isn't the same as happiness, Becs."
I spot my ride pulling up to the curb. "My Uber's here. Can we table this until I get back from Mexico? Preferably when I have a giant diamond to blind you with?"
Holly laughs. "Fine. But promise me one thing?"
"What's that?"
"If he doesn't propose this weekend, really think about whether this relationship is giving you what you need."
I hesitate, then say, "I promise." The words feel heavier than they should.
"Good. Now take lots of pictures of that villa. And maybe a few of Clive in swim trunks for me," Holly adds with a laugh.
"Holly!" I exclaim, but I'm laughing too as I climb into the Uber.
Back at my apartment, I finish packing with meticulous care. Three bikinis, cover-ups, sundresses for dinner, one semi-formal outfit in case we go somewhere fancy. I fold my new white linen dress – the one I secretly hope I'll be wearing when Jack proposes – and place it carefully on top.
Mr. Darcy watches from the bed, his tail twitching with displeasure.
"I know, buddy. I'll miss you too." I scratch behind his ears, and he purrs despite himself. "But it's only a week."
My phone lights up with a notification
Clive: Weather forecast for Cozumel shows perfect conditions all week. 85° and sunny.
I smile at his thoughtfulness. Jack has never once checked the weather for one of our trips.
Me: Thanks for the update! Can't wait!
I reply, then immediately worry my exclamation points seem too enthusiastic.
I'm zipping my suitcase closed when Mrs. Feldman knocks. At seventy-two, she's spry and sharp-witted, with a collection of colorful caftans and an endless supply of cat treats.
"Becca, dear," she says, sweeping in. "All packed for your romantic getaway?"
"Just finished," I say, handing her my spare key. "Mr. Darcy's food is in the cabinet above the fridge. Two scoops in the morning, two at night."
"Yes, yes," she waves dismissively. "This isn't my first rodeo with His Majesty." She bends down to address my cat directly. "We're going to have a lovely time, aren't we? I've recorded all the bird documentaries you enjoy."
Mr. Darcy blinks at her imperiously.
"And the boy?" Mrs. Feldman straightens up. "He's finally going to make an honest woman of you?"
My cheeks warm. "Well, I don't know for sure..."
"Hmph. About time. Five years is enough to know if someone's right for you." She adjusts her purple glasses. "Though in my day, we didn't waste so much time. On my second date with my Harold, I knew he was the one."
I smile politely, having heard the story of her whirlwind romance many times.
"Just remember," she continues, patting my arm, "marriage isn't about the ring or the wedding. It's about finding someone who sees the real you and loves you anyway."
"I know," I say, though a small voice inside me wonders if Jack truly sees me at all.
After Mrs. Feldman leaves, I double-check everything one last time: passport, sunscreen, phone charger, and the novel I've been trying to finish for months. I set my alarm for 5:30 AM, giving myself ample time to prepare before the car arrives.
As I slip into bed, Mr. Darcy curls up beside me, purring contentedly.
"This time next week, everything could be different," I whisper, scratching under his chin. "I could be engaged."
My cat blinks slowly, unimpressed by human milestones.
I check my phone one last time. Nothing from Jack. I type out a message. I am so excited for tomorrow! Then, I delete it. It's better not to seem too eager. Jack hates clinginess.
Instead, I set my phone down and close my eyes, trying to imagine the moment. Jack is on one knee, a velvet box in his hand, and the Caribbean sunset painting the sky behind us. Perfect. Just like I've always dreamed.
But as I drift toward sleep, I see not Jack's face but Clive's—those intense blue eyes, that slight smile when he said my name at Christmas dinner six months ago.
I jolt awake, disturbed by the direction of my thoughts. What is wrong with me? Fantasizing about my boyfriend's stepfather? I blame Holly and her ridiculous comments about Clive's photo.
Sleep comes fitfully after that, and my dreams are a confusing tangle of white dresses and blue eyes.