Sweet Surrender (Outlast Her #3)

Chapter One

Barra was trying her utmost not to cry.

In fact, it was all she’d been doing ever since arriving at the most gorgeous wedding she’d ever been invited to.

Ever. The ceremony had been breathtaking.

White chairs lined the cliffside terrace in perfect rows.

An arbor draped in wisteria and jasmine stood between two Monterey cypress trees, while the jagged cliffs of Big Sur plunged into the Pacific below, where waves crashed like applause.

And then, the part where the brides walked under a tunnel of arms while rose petals flew through the air like soft snow. .. it was too much.

She ran her fingers beneath her eyes and prayed her mascara wasn’t running.

Right after the petal toss, she’d considered heading to the bathroom for a quick check in the mirror.

A few tears had escaped, but somehow her feet had walked straight to the bar, and that was where she’d been for the last fifteen minutes, silently swirling a very respectable bourbon old-fashioned.

A part of Barra wondered what the hell she was doing here.

Traveling cross-country to pine over a lost love at said lost love’s wedding wasn’t exactly the type of emotional self-care people usually recommended.

She should’ve politely declined the invitation the moment it hit her inbox.

I’m so sorry, Dominique. I wish I could be there, but, you know, watching you kiss another woman would feel like swallowing a sea urchin.

But then again, what kind of self-preserving person would willingly pass up the chance to watch the woman they were hopelessly in love with marry someone else on a cliff in Big Sur?

“The brides look gorgeous together.”

Barra glanced up.

The woman leaning beside her at the bar slid her elbow across the driftwood counter.

Barra caught sight of the delicate necklace on her neck, the tiny diamond hanging against her chest. She was tall.

Taller than most women Barra had met, though still a few inches shorter than her.

Her hair was more mahogany-colored than black, her eyes an espresso brown, and her skin so smooth that it could be mistaken for marble.

She must be one of Kiara’s cousins. One thing Barra had learned from this wedding was that Kiara’s family all looked immortal.

The woman looked back over her shoulder, and Barra followed her gaze.

At the far end of the terrace, where a platform had been built especially for photos, bordered by wild grass and clusters of pale coastal yarrow and seaside daisies, stood Dominique and Kiara, laughing and holding hands.

The photographer, a plump woman with red hair, wearing all black, was snapping photos of them.

Kiara’s champagne silk gown shimmered in the sunlight.

Dominique’s pearl dress, trimmed with delicate lace at the neckline, caught the soft sea breeze just enough to lift the fabric around her legs.

Barra had actually gasped when they’d first walked down the aisle together. Her eyes had then stuck on Dominique. In fact, she hadn’t managed to look anywhere else. Which had only made the longing stabbing through her chest like an ice pick feel that much sharper.

It had been more than a year and a half since Season Five of Outlast Her ended, and she still hadn’t gotten over the whole I’m-in-love-with-Dominique Voortman situation.

If anything, it had gotten worse. Which, frankly, felt rude.

Time was supposed to help with these things.

Time was supposed to heal. But apparently, the whole distance makes the heart grow fonder thing wasn’t just a cliché someone stitched onto a throw pillow.

Distance, as it turned out, was gasoline.

The last time Barra had seen Dominique was four months ago, when they’d met up at Washington Square Park.

Kiara had gotten her wedding dress fitted at Kleinfeld, and Barra had joined Dominique for a quick walk through the park.

For a brief, glorious moment, she’d thought the crush was gone.

But then they’d walked past a saxophone player butchering Baker Street and Dominique had grabbed Barra’s arm, squeezing it with her lovely long fingers as she declared, “I love this song.” And that crush, that sweltering, oozing, festering feeling that was infatuation had come stampeding back in like a herd of wild horses.

By the time they’d hugged goodbye, Barra had felt emotionally trampled.

“They do,” she finally said, returning her concentration to her drink. In the middle of the counter sat a small platter of appetizers: tiny crostinis topped with whipped ricotta, honey, and fig. She picked one up and stuffed it into her mouth before she could think too hard about anything.

“You look familiar,” the woman said, accepting a glass of white wine the bartender had deposited in front of her. “Have we met before?”

Before Barra could explain that they had not, the woman frowned. She must have recognized her from Season Five of Outlast Her. Not only had Barra been Dominique’s other half, but she had gone on to win the whole thing. Which meant her face had been plastered all over the TV.

“Last year at the Monterey Design Gala?”

“No,” Barra said, shaking her head. She’d grown out her hair since the season ended. Her bob was cut straight below her ears, and according to the hairdresser, she looked like a young Isabella Rossellini. A compliment she’d happily taken. “I’ve never been to Monterey befo—”

“I know,” the woman interrupted, pointing a slender finger at her. Her red nails were so dark they looked almost black. “We met at the Carmel Coastal Arts Festival. Are you an artist?”

Another shake of her head. “I was actually on—”

“I know you from somewhere. I’m certain of it,” the woman interrupted, squinting at Barra like she was trying to rack her brain for a memory. A memory that didn’t exist, and Barra could’ve told her that if she would just let her speak.

“Are you a friend of Dominique’s, then?”

“I am,” Barra said, and was just about to end the conversation because, seriously, how hard was it to just let someone speak? But just then the MC coughed into the mic.

“Can everyone please take your seats,” he said, flashing a smile.

He was tall and movie-star handsome. His forest-green suit looked like it was made from brushed velvet, and his hair was thick and swept back.

Barra hadn’t met him before. Which was no surprise.

Apart from Kendall and Frankie, who had come as each other’s plus ones, and Aggie and her wife, Barra didn’t know anyone.

She selfishly wished Tamsyn and Isla weren’t off in the Sierras somewhere, still a few months out from finishing the PCT.

The two of them were the only ones who knew about Barra’s crush on Dominique.

If they were here, Barra would’ve had a sympathetic tequila in her hand by now and would have been forced to drink it, even though she hated tequila.

“The brides will be joining us in just a few minutes,” the MC added.

“Come, let’s find our seats,” the woman said. Then she hooked her arm in with Barra’s before Barra could slip away. “I don’t know that many people here, to be honest. I’m a college friend of Kiara’s. Though I haven’t seen her in years.”

Barra was too shocked to answer. She rarely hooked arms with anyone, especially a stranger, and actually found herself staring at the woman’s arm, wondering if this was real.

“What did you say your name was?” the woman asked.

“Barbara,” Barra mumbled, though the only one who called her Barbara was her grandma Lex, who lived in New Orleans with her best friend Carol.

They’d moved in together right after their husbands died.

A sort of widow’s house. Next month they were expecting their best friend Grace to take up bedroom number three.

Grace’s husband’s death had apparently involved suspicious circumstances, which Grandma Lex refused to elaborate on when Barra had asked.

According to her, Grace was innocent. End of story. “But everyone calls me Barra.”

It was as if something clicked into place.

The woman stopped in her tracks and pulled away slightly to get a better look at Barra.

“You’re Barra Jones,” she said slowly, dragging out her name.

“You played with Dominique.” Then her jaw dropped.

“You won Season Five of Outlast Her. Oh. My. Fuck. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. I’m so sorry.”

Barra couldn’t imagine her new hairstyle was the culprit. It’s not like it made her look that different. Maybe it was the shimmering lilac dress that skimmed her frame when most people expected her to be in bicycle shorts and an ugly Hawaiian shirt. Or a suit. Or something androgynous.

“It’s fine,” Barra said, waving away the apology like a fart. “I’m not offended.” She wasn’t. She was rarely offended, and when she was, she got over it quicker than a hiccup.

“Well, you should be,” the woman said. “I’m Allie, by the way. Now you at least know the name of the woman who obviously has face blindness. I’m mortified.”

Barra smiled. Allie did, in fact, look mortified. Her cheeks were flushed pink, which cutely clashed with her fair skin. Barra couldn’t help glancing at Allie’s lips, which were full and kissable.

“Come on, people!” the MC called. “The brides will be heading out this way in exactly two minutes. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”

Barra, whose arm was still shockingly hooked with Allie’s, guided them toward the main area of the marquee where four long farmhouse tables were stretched along the length of the space.

Each table was dressed up with stonewashed linen runners and decorated with ranunculus, garden roses, and feathery cosmos spilling from low ceramic bowls.

There were hand-lettered name cards pressed with tiny wildflowers clipped into little driftwood holders, and delicate crystal glasses.

There were bone-colored plates and gleaming silverware.

And overhead, strings of Edison bulbs crisscrossed the ceiling.

With the setting sun spilling through the open canvas side of the marquee, it felt like a scene from a movie.

Except in a movie, Barra would’ve been left alone to wallow in her own self-pity and not be forcibly escorted by Allie, who couldn’t stop apologizing for not recognizing her.

At least when they reached the wooden board with the table arrangements, she shut up long enough to trace her finger along the raised gold calligraphy.

Then she squeaked. “No way! We’re sitting next to each other. ”

Barra wasn’t sure whether to groan or be happy that her heart and mind would at least be distracted. Not only was Allie gorgeous, but she also seemed like a person who could out-talk a salesperson.

“Wow!” Frankie said when they reached their seats.

It became increasingly obvious that the Outlast Her contestants were all placed together.

Distant friends of the brides were mingled in.

Kendall and Frankie sat opposite them. Aggie and her wife, Pat, were adjacent, and then all around them were people doing that very specific brand of wedding small talk where nobody actually knew each other.

Barra flicked her short hair. “I’m trying something new.”

“Well, I almost didn’t recognize you,” Frankie said, looking impressed. Of course, she was impressed. Barra looked smoking hot.

She considered flicking her hair again, but then Allie exclaimed, “Neither did I.” She then bumped shoulders with Barra as if they were old friends. “I can’t believe I’m sitting next to Outlast Her royalty.”

“Hush, hush,” Kendall said, looking amused. “Just because Barra won doesn’t mean—”

But she didn’t finish her sentence because the marquee suddenly erupted into cheers.

There were claps and whistles, and then chairs scraped back as everyone leapt to their feet.

Barra’s head snapped toward the end of the table where Dominique and Kiara walked in with their hands together, arms raised overhead.

Barra’s heart flipped. Then flapped. Then she felt sick to her stomach because what was she doing here?

Why was she secretly pining over a now-married woman?

And then, in all the commotion, Allie’s hand landed lightly on Barra’s lower back.

Barra cast a quick sideways glance to check.

.. and yep, Allie’s palm was there, pressed against her spine.

What was it doing there? Or, a better question was, did Barra mind?

Surprisingly... no. She needed a distraction more than ever.