Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Waverly
Bridal brunch. That’s what Angie wanted. French toast and steak. No bridal shower with stupid, forced-fun games. Just talking, eating, and dressing slightly nicer than yoga pants. Angie and Kyle have been living together for years now and she doesn’t need another robot vacuum. They already have one. Kyle stuck googly eyes on it and, when he’s feeling feisty, he tapes plastic knives to it and it chases the cat around the apartment. For the record, kitty wins every battle.
Bridal brunch means I’m back at the inn. The owner died the last time I was here, and the staff seems to have a constant veil of anxiety around them. Their happy smiles are a mask and their customer service voice is in top form.
Nichole works the front desk and normally greets me with a wave and a smile. Today her neck handkerchief is askew and her concealer creases make her appear older than she really is. She’s also the wedding’s coordinator. When I approach her, she blinks at me a few times before it clicks.
“Oh, hi, Waverly.” She pushes some papers around. “We’ve got the brunch favors in the back room and the welcome bags are ready to go.”
I told Angie I would do those, but Angie’s mom insisted we have the hotel staff put them together. Carol’s been doing that a lot; pushing the staff to do things we could’ve done on our own. It’s hijacking the cost of the wedding, but she doesn’t care. Nothing about this day is really about Angie and Kyle. It’s all for the parents.
“Thanks.”
Nichole grins. “They came out super cute.” She bites her lower lip and looks at the screen. “There’s been a tiny mix up with your room block, though, and I didn’t want to bother Angie with it.”
“What happened?”
“Due to the owner’s funeral, we had staff who weren't properly trained taking reservations and they gave away a room in your hotel block. It’s the night before the wedding.”
I shrug. “Are there rooms available for the night of the event?”
“Yes! We have a large party checking out.”
I smile at her. “Great, take my room and use it however you need to. I’ll pay full price for whatever room is ready the day of. Easy fix.”
But Nichole covers her mouth. “Oh no, you’ve had your reservation booked for over a year.”
I shrug. “It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. Anything I can do to help.”
Nichole gives me a grateful nod but then whispers, “Can you bring Carol over here? There’s an issue with her credit card.”
I glance over my shoulder to the Garden Room. It’s one of the smaller areas we reserved. Carol demanded the brunch to be in the reception hall, but Angie and I talked her out of it. Too much space, expense, and it took away the intimate nature of the brunch. Come to think of it, Carol’s been a huge pain in the ass since the wedding planning started. I have brushed it off and over rationalized it as her being nervous, but she’s just being pushy. Still, no reason to poke the beast, and the staff has been under enough pressure. They don’t need to deal with a pissy Carol either.
I pull out my wallet and slide my credit card over. “I’ve got it.”
“Oh no.” Nichole shakes her head. “I’m not asking you to pay.”
“What time did Carol get here and start bothering your staff?”
“Around nine.”
The clock behind Nichole’s head says 1:00 p.m.. “Just let me pay for it. And leave a spot for me to give you a tip. You deserve it.”
Reluctantly, Nichole agrees and takes the card.
I head back into the Garden Room, where a few women I recognize as Angie’s coworkers stop talking when I come in. Hmm. One of them is on her phone and tapping away, while another one instantly laughs. Weird.
Angie jumps up and rushes over to me. “Hey, glad you made it.”
I lift my eyebrow. “I planned this. Why wouldn’t I make it?”
Angie peers over her shoulder at her mom, who is sitting with her grandma in the corner. Both older women sneer and turn away. My best friend gives me a squeeze on the shoulder. “Sorry. Mom is always Team Adam.”
“I’m well aware.” I frown.
Angie pushes her hair from her face. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to really talk about this. Time zones. Layovers. Jet lag.” She shrugs like that explains everything.
I lean in. “I didn’t plan on breaking up with him before your wedding, but he kinda took the choice out of my hands when he put his dick inside some other woman, you know?”
Angie’s eye bulge. “He was cheating on you? I thought I read the text wrong.”
What? I was super clear about it. Is she even paying attention to anything I’ve said?
My best friend dips her head. “The family chat says otherwise. Adam told everyone you freaked out on him for no reason, waved a gun at him, and kicked him out.”
Playing the last few days over in my head, I sigh. “It wasn’t exactly like that.”
“You didn’t try to hear his side of the story?”
“His side? Really, Angie?”
She shakes her head again and steps away. “You’ve been together for three years.” She pinches her lips and stares at me. “We’ll get this all worked out, but, for now, stay far away from my mom.” She turns and leaves me standing in the doorway.
Un-fucking-believable. We’ve been best friends since we were six. Two women Angie works with are side-eyeing me and whispering. Are we in middle school?
Kyle’s younger sister, who’s also a bridesmaid, crosses the room and throws her arms around me. Ugh, is this a pity hug? Gross. “Come sit with me,” she says. Kyle’s little sister, Monica, is the lifeline I need right now.
When she pulls away from me, I notice she’s wearing a light blue sweater that matches the wedding colors. And a quick and not-so-subtle glance around the room confirms everyone else is wearing the same shade of blue… but me.
“Was there a message I missed?” I wave around the room.
Monica scrolls through her phone. “One was sent out yesterday.” She pauses and says, “Oh.”
I give her a knowing glance. “Group chat I was left off of?”
Monica nods and slides her phone back into her purse. “Sorry, I should’ve checked.”
It wasn’t her job to check. It was Angie’s.
My world is swirling. This was the exact reason I originally planned to wait until after the wedding to kick Adam to the curb—the iceberg shoulders and snide remarks. At least after it would have been easier to avoid them until everyone had moved on.
As I take a seat next to Monica, Carol pours more champagne into her glass, and the bottle drips dry. How many drinks has she had? Monica does her best to divert my attention, prattling on about work. I pick up that she’s working in a social media division of her company and she’s thinking about going freelance because her boss is a jerk. It’s one of the reasons I freelance. The more she talks, the more I’m torn between how much I like her and how much everyone else in the room seems to hate me. Angie won’t even look at me.
I’m vaguely aware something has Carol excited as she clangs her knife on her now empty champagne glass. The women hush their side conversations and turn toward the mother of the bride.
“We’re here today to celebrate love and relationships.” She slurs her speech a little. Yep, definitely claimed that entire bottle. “Relationships are not easy, and there’s a lot of give and take. Sometimes you have to understand partners make mistakes and you have to forgive them and move on.” Her glare bores into me. “Or you're being unreasonable and selfish.”
Angie leans forward. “Mom,” she hisses and glances over to me.
Selfish and unreasonable? Really? Rage, so much rage, I’m literally seeing red. Again, I’m vaguely aware there’s something that got the woman’s attention with delighted whispers.
I turn my head away from Carol to see flowers in the doorway. A shit ton of flowers. It’s not that I hate flowers, but I like them growing in the ground, not when they’ve been massacred for a bouquet. In my experience, men only buy them for women when they’re trying to distract from whatever sin they committed. If a man wants to show he loves a woman, he’d show up with tacos, not flowers.
Oh no. My stomach drops to the floor when I look at who’s holding the not-tacos.
Adam.
His eyes have deep circles like he hasn’t slept for days, but he’s put effort into his hair and clothes. He’s even wearing my favorite shirt. The one I bought him when he got a promotion.
“Waverly, baby, I love you.”
The women swoon. Monica takes a sip of wine and whispers, “Messy.”
“What are you doing here?” I hiss “This is for your sister!” My body freezes to the chair but my intrusive thoughts imagine walking up and slapping the shit out of him. Although, what’s really stopping me? Hmmm. Bail money, maybe? I don’t want to hijack this brunch any more than I have.
He flashes me the smile he uses when he’s attempting to win me over. It used to work. It would’ve worked a month ago. But now I see it for what it is—he’s a little kid trying to get out of trouble. And it’s not cute or sexy, it’s pathetic.
“Baby, I know there’s something you’ve wanted for a long time, and I haven’t been man enough to give it to you. It’s my fault.”
Yes. Yes, it is.
“You’re jealous of my sister for getting married, but…”
What? I whip around to Angie. She’s glaring at me like I did something wrong. But, over her shoulder, Carol beams in the corner.
He gets down on one knee and I throw up in my mouth, choke on my own vomit, and die right there. He’s proposing to me at his sister’s bridal brunch. What in the actual fuck? And if I say no, the next week will be an endless barrage of how selfish, jealous, and attention seeking I am.
But that’s not who I am.
And at this moment, every cloud over the last five years lifts. No, the clouds have been there longer. Maybe since Mom died. But Mom, Sheila, Nana, Izzy, or any other strong woman I know would never put up with this shit right here.
I stand, my legs moving of their own accord. The women in the room squeal in delight as I stop in front of him.
Before I can say anything, he looks up at me as I tower over him, and says, “Baby, I forgive you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Forgive me?” I whisper so only he can hear. I put my hand on his cheek, my thumb resting on his throat. “This is your sister’s day, let’s not take any more attention from her.” My voice is sugary sweet, but my nail digs into his skin. “Let’s go outside and talk.” He swallows under my fingers. “Besides, what happens next might not be appropriate to do in front of your mom and grandma,” I say with a sultry and playful tone as I turn my head back to the rest of the women and give them a melodramatic wink.
Stepping past him, I walk out of the room, not sparing anyone a backward glance. He scrambles to his feet and calls out to everyone, “She’s gonna say yes.”
I am quite familiar with this hotel by now, and I guide him past the lobby into a hallway that leads toward the conference rooms. He grabs my wrist, but I twist out of his grip.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.
“Me? I didn’t crash my sister's party and propose in front of thirty women.”
“What the hell else was I supposed to do? You won’t talk to me.”
I raise my eyebrow. “You’re supposed to talk to my lawyer.”
He throws his arms up. “Why the fuck do we need lawyers? I don’t know what you think you heard, or what you believe happened, but you’re wrong.”
Wow, gaslighting 101.
“Oh, am I? Then why don’t you tell me what I saw?”
“How the hell should I know? But you ruined my coworker’s purse and someone stuck all my stuff in a storage unit.”
“Oh, that reminds me. You’ve got thirty days to pay the storage bill. Better get on that.” No reason to hold back. I’m done protecting his feelings.
He pushes his hair back off his face and shakes his head. “Waverly, I’m trying to be nice here. Give you the benefit of the doubt. You had a lapse of judgment, and you jumped to conclusions.”
I’m not buying it, and he can tell. All kindness and fake sorrow vanish from his eyes, replaced with the truth. How did I not see it until now?
“I was having a bad day,” he sputters and throws his hands in the air. “I’m sorry.”
He’s not sorry at all. His rage masks again as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s for show. A careful, choreographed act. “I’m sorry. It was one time.”
“Do you mean cheating on me or being a general shitty boyfriend?”
He flinches when I hit him with the truth and his voice drops into a quiet whisper. “I wanted to see if I could find someone more compatible and less… immoral.”
The most boring vanilla sex in the world. Yep, not too hard to find that. But I don’t say that. No, I hit him with facts. “My condo has cameras.” He lifts his head, panic washing over his face. I cross my arms and tilt my head, “Only once? You gonna stick with the same answer?”
He pulls back. And I know this is the most dangerous time, when he’s been caught and has nothing else to lose.
But Carol calls out, “What’s taking so long?” Her excitement is short lived when she sees us. She scowls and stomps in our direction. “You fucking, selfish cow. He’s the best thing in your life.”
“Selfish cow” echoes down the hallway.
And any self-restraint I have is eradicated, as I yell, “Best thing in my life? He isn’t even in the top 500. He cheated on me with at least twelve different women. In my home! He has no respect for me, my body, my health, or my time.”
Carol’s painted-on brows are too dark for her face. As usual. She storms toward me. “Men cheat. They make mistakes. But you stand by them.”
“Oh, because I don’t remember seeing you at Lukas’s father’s funeral. Is that you standing by your man? Or is it turning a blind eye every time your current husband fucks his secretary who’s younger than his own daughter?”
Each fact is a bullet to her fragile ego.
“You guys are ruining my brunch!” Angie stands at the front of the hallway. I’ve seen her pissed before, but not like this. Behind her is hotel security, looking as menacing as rent-a-cops can be.
Carol points at me. “She’s being an unreasonable, spoiled little bitch.”
Squaring my shoulders, and in an even and calm voice, I say, “Angie, I won’t return to your brunch. If you could have someone bring my purse that would be lovely. This is your day, and I’m not going to distract from it.”
But my best friend can’t hear what I’m saying because she’s too busy muttering to herself and throwing her arms up in the air. “Unbelievable.”
Adam shakes his head. “This is what I get for taking pity on you in the first place and being with someone beneath me.”
Now all the wrath and misplaced self-doubt comes out. “Beneath you? Three of my uncles run the most powerful organization on the East Coast. My father does, too. I am the godmother to the son of Izzy Maricano, the most fearless woman in the Italian mafia. Uri, Joey, Donny, and Thiago would destroy anyone I ask. The single most feared woman in the world considers me to be one of her best friends. I have the Olympians on speed dial. Honey, I think you forgot exactly who I am. I am Waverly fucking Macleod, the best thing you ever had. And lost.”
Adam leans in and sneers, his hot onion breath on my neck. “You’re a fucking cunt.”
“Ungrateful little whore,” Carol growls as they try, and fail, to intimidate me.
The rent-a-cops and Nichole step past Angie. The larger of the two security guards barks, “We’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
Carol smugly says, “Good, get this piece of gutter trash out of here.”
But the guard puts his hands on Adam. “Sir, you need to leave or we’ll be calling the police.”
Carol bristles up like a mongoose ready to fight. “He’s a guest and I am a paying customer.”
But then Nichole steps in. “Your last payment check bounced and your credit card was declined. Ms. Mcleod has been paying the balance on your events.”
A new wave terror washes over Carol’s face. “No. That can’t be right.” She pulls out her phone and calls her husband as she dashes to the lobby.
Adam follows behind, leaving me with Angie. I don’t give her a chance to speak. I’ve placed her in an impossible situation. “I’ll be the greatest maid of honor ever, and then after the wedding, we can talk.”
Angie’s silence speaks volumes as she follows her mother and brother. I lean against the wall and wait for the pounding in my ears to stop.
Nichole leans next to me. “Sorry I made your life harder back there.” She gives a little shrug. “I don’t get to be the deliverer of ‘fuck you’ news often. I saw the opportunity and took it. It probably cost me my job.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. No one’s in charge. Hell, none of us will even have a job in a month.”
“Why?”
“The owner of the hotel died and his wife can’t handle the stress. She needs to sell it, and if we don’t find a buyer, we’ll have to close.” Nichole looks out the window toward the nearly frozen lake. She stays, resting against the wall for several minutes before pushing herself up and dusting herself off. “I better get back to work. I’ll go grab your purse for you. It’ll be at the front desk.”
“I checked my coat…” I start.
Nichole is already on the walkie. “Jeremey, grab coat number fifty-three from the rack and bring it to conference room two.” She pats me on my shoulder and walks away.
Soon, I’ve got my stuff, but I’m not in a hurry to leave. I have to clear my head first.
I walk outside. Fortunately, it's one of those cold days where it doesn’t feel as cold as the weather app says it is. There’s no wind, and that makes everything more tolerable.
The lake has a path and a smattering of evergreen bushes. I start walking toward a boathouse at the other end of the trail. It’s in need of attention. Fresh paint, and a stone front to match the path would be nice. Christmas lights around the trees and shrubs are still on, but it’s hard to see them in the afternoon light. The whole thing is really lovely. A deck wraps around that hotel steps down to a patio. It has a long forgotten Great Gatsby vibe to it.
Hmm, it wouldn’t take much to fix. Even the boat house could be restored and would make a perfect backdrop for wedding pictures.
On the other end of the lake, there’s a light through the woods. What’s back there? The woods are thick enough it’s hard to tell, but once I make it to the other side, I notice another path. It’s not overgrown and is clearly used. Old branches pull at my coat, trying to keep me out, but it only spurs me forward.
There, in the clearing, sits a stone cottage right out of a Thomas Kincade painting. It’s a cottagecore fangirl’s dream come true. The door is a thick, aged wood. The windows have been retrofitted but have a custom overlay to blend into the house’s design as much as possible. The hotel owner’s house.
One word screams in my brain.
Home.
This is where I’m meant to be.
And whatever fog I’ve been living in lifts.
I rush back to the hotel where my purse and a slice of cake wait for me at the front desk. The brunch is still happening and I kinda don’t care. I settle in the café, order tea to warm my hands, and get to work.
It would be easier with my laptop instead of my phone, but I don’t really want to leave, not while I can answer the questions I need right here. I take pictures of everything and furiously write ideas and concepts. It’s like every idea I’ve ever had opened up and dumped on the paper. After my brainstorm-turned-hurricane, the clouds part and I see the full scope of my plan… and it could work.
Lukas sends me a checking in text and I reply, “I have an idea I’d like to run past you.”
He video chats as soon as he can find a quiet place, and I give him my sales pitch. He’s quiet for a moment, his brows furrowed as he taps his finger to his lips before he says, “I think it’s perfect.” He dips his head. “I’m not sure how I can help you, but I will.”
A sense of warmth and happiness that has been absent from my life for years encompasses me. It’s the way only he can make me feel. Maybe it’s because I finally see a path forward.