2. Cherise
Chapter two
Cherise
Grace slid into the booth across from me, sunglasses still on and hair in that low-effort, high-reward bun she somehow made look bridal. “Okay, I officially owe you a mimosa. That fitting went way better than I expected.”
I raised my drink for a toast. “You mean no one got stabbed with a bejeweled heel? Yeah, I call that a win.”
Grace laughed, reaching for a tortilla chip. “I’m serious. Thank you for keeping it together.”
“I’ve never lost my temper. I just repurpose it into motivation... and maybe one little arson charge.”
She popped the chip in her mouth, chewing slowly. “You know you’re terrifying, right?”
“And loyal.” I pointed my straw at her. “Don’t forget loyal.”
Grace nodded, then leaned in. “No surprises on this trip, Cherise. Just good vibes and matching silk robes.”
“Please.” I waved a hand. “I’m the maid of honor. I’ve already got the bachelorette celebration locked and loaded.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. Welcome bags with hangover kits, customized fans for beach selfies, a private catamaran, and a mystery wine tasting that may or may not involve an exorcism for Savannah.”
Grace studied me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Shut up. You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like someone who jokes about demon removal?” I asked, pulling out my phone and facing it toward her. “Look… color-coded itinerary with emojis.” I pointed at the screen. “That’s a holy water droplet next to the tasting.”
Grace leaned in, eyes wide. “You’re insane.”
“I prefer thorough.” I slid the phone across the table. “Also, there’s a ‘Bless This Mess’ playlist queued for the brunch. Just in case.”
Grace picked up my phone. “Oh my God. You put little grapes next to the wine tasting.”
“Because I’m a professional.”
I walked her through the itinerary—every color-coded, chaos-proof detail. Grace beamed as if I’d just handed her a second engagement ring.
“Cherise. This is… incredible.”
“Don’t cry. You’ll make the server uncomfortable.”
Grace laughed again. “I knew you’d show up for me.”
I shrugged, swirling my straw in the last of my drink. “I’ll always show up for you. Even when you force me to share oxygen with Savage-annah.”
She smirked. “I know you’re going to do great.”
“When I do, I want a trophy. Or a margarita. Or a margarita served in a trophy.”
“That can be arranged,” she said through laughs. “Okay. One last question.”
“Hit me,” I said, reaching for a chip.
“Derrick was able to take off for the wedding, right?”
I froze, chip halfway to my lips. “Of course.” I lied. “Why do you ask? What do you know?”
Ok, the real answer to that question was no. Or at least he hasn’t confirmed that he was off as of yet.
I have been hounding Derrick for weeks about taking off for the trip, and every time he gives me some half-assed answer or tries to change the subject.
But it’s fine. Everything is going to work out.
How hard is it for him to take off? He’s a realtor; he's practically his own boss, right? I have nothing to worry about…or at least that is what I keep telling myself to keep me from kicking Derrick’s ass because he is not going to ruin this trip for me.
“Chill.” Grace laughs, pulling me from my inner panic. “Just wondering if I need to plan extra seating for Savage-annah’s ego when she sees you two together.”
“Please,” I said, tossing my napkin on the plate. “The only thing bigger than her ego is the ass-lift she swears is just squats. I cannot wait to see the look on her face when Derrick shows up in that suit I bought him. With his jawline doing its usual damage.”
Grace laughed. “You two are going to look like a romance novel cover.”
“Exactly. Let her bring her gym-rat husband. I’ve got Derrick.”
I hope.
***
The bass thumped through my apartment walls, rattling picture frames and probably annoying my neighbors.
I didn’t care. I was two weeks out from my best friend’s Hawaiian wedding, with outfits to slay and enemies to stun.
I had three bikinis, four backup bikinis, and a dress so fierce TSA might flag it as a weapon.
I danced across my bedroom, holding a sequined dress against my body, admiring my reflection as Rihanna belted in the background.
My suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, surrounded by a tornado of heels, swimsuits, lashes, and emergency CBD gummies.
Derrick and I were going to turn that trip into our own tropical paradise.
The thought made me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.
I twirled, nearly knocking over a tower of wedges. “I swear, if Derrick doesn’t drool the second he sees me in this dress, I’m demanding an eye exam.”
Then—
Knock. Knock.
I froze mid-hair flip.
Who the hell?
I paused the music, heartbeat still in concert mode. Who is at the door? I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Another knock. Firmer this time.
I padded to the door in fuzzy socks and booty shorts, peeking through the peephole.
Derrick. I took a deep breath.
With a grin painted on my face, I swung the door open. “If I knew you’d show up looking straight out of a GQ spread, I’d have worn something a little sexier.”
He stepped in, eyes doing a sweep of the room, lingering for a second on the chaos of my suitcase, then quickly flicking away.
“I just came to grab a few things for work,” he said.
No kiss. No smile. Just that too-casual tone people use right before they say something terrible.
I raised a brow. “You need suits for a Zoom call now?”
“They’re wrinkled,” he said, brushing past me into the bedroom. “Figured I’d get them pressed before the trip, too.”
I followed him in, watching as he moved straight to the closet like he had a list in his head. A very specific, “this might be the last time I’m here” type of list.
“Trip prep, huh?” I said, trying to keep it playful. “So, you finally took those days off?”
He nodded, folding a pair of pants with way too much focus. “Yeah. Should be good.”
“Should be good? Really, Derrick? Should be good when the wedding is around the corner? I need something more concrete than should.” I gestured with quotation marks.
His eyes roamed the closet. “Where is my Tom Ford tie?”
I rolled my eyes. There he was deflecting again. I stepped back and pointed in the room. “It’s in the nightstand.”
“Cool,” he said as he made his way to the side of the bed.
Something tugged in my chest. His voice was flat. His movements too precise. This wasn’t grabbing a change of clothes. This was inventory.
“You hungry?” I asked. “I made that lemon pasta you like. It’s in the fridge.”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? You said you barely ate at lunch—”
“I said I’m good, Cherise!” he barked.
My heart paused.
My mouth didn’t.
I had been trying to be on my best behavior for weeks now.
Not wanting to spark an argument right before the trip and be forced to deal with Derrick stick up his ass—that’s what I mentally called him when he pissed me off— for a full week of awkwardness, but that plan is currently floating out the window.
Goodbye, nice Cherise. I wasn’t putting up with this bullshit any longer.
“Excuse the fuck out of me?!” I asked, head cocked. “You got one more time to come at me with that “I’m good” tone like I didn’t just offer you food and kindness.”
He didn’t look up. Just kept folding.
“Oh, we folding now?” I stepped closer wanting to sock him in the face. “Folding shirts or folding on conversations?”
Still nothing.
“Okay,” I said slowly, dragging the word dipped in warning. “You wanna act brand new? That’s cute. Just don’t come crying to me when your perfect dry cleaner messes them up again.”
He didn’t look at me. Just kept packing his garment bag.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Talk to me. What is wrong?”
He zipped the bag. “Just tired.”
The lie landed heavy between us.
“Right,” I said. “So, you’re just going to keep pretending your silence isn’t screaming at me?”
He gave me that tight-lipped almost-smile. “I’ll call you later.”
He kissed my cheek… Barely.
Then walked out.
I stared after him for a long moment before shutting the door and locking it.
I didn’t move right away. Just stood in the quiet, the buzz from my earlier high draining out of me fast.
I wandered back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, grabbing my phone. My finger hovered over our photos. Smiling faces. Sunny days. Stupid inside jokes that used to make my stomachache.
Okay, so maybe things had been… off.
Lately, Derrick had this way of making me second-guess myself. The way I talked. Laughed. Dressed. He never said it out loud—but the vibe? Immaculate disapproval.
Still, he was the man everyone thought I should be with. Polished. Respectable. The kind of guy you bring to weddings and holiday dinners. He checked every damn box on my “someday” list.
We were going to get through this little rough patch. This trip could not have come at a more perfect time. It was going to fix everything.
A dreamy destination wedding with my best friends. A luxurious escape for two. Sunset champagne toasts, early morning beach walks, maybe even one of those sexy outdoor showers that showed up in honeymoon ads.
It was exactly what we needed.
I glanced at the absolute monstrosity of a mess in my room and immediately decided that I was way too stressed to pack now.
I tapped on Derrick's contact and sent a message.
Cherise: Can you at least confirm that you have the days off for the trip?
The read receipt popped up.
Then…nothing.
I waited a full two minutes. Still nothing.
That son of a—.
You know what. No. I was not about to let him ruin my mood.
I headed to the kitchen, grabbed my bottle of Stella Rosa from the fridge along with a wine glass, then made my way to the bathroom.
I sprinkled my favorite lavender Epsom salt in the tub and turned on the water.
“Alexa, play spa music,” I requested.
Seconds later, soft instrumental music filled my bathroom. I reached under the sink cabinet for Rosie—my trusty vibrator. She’s never failed to help me unwind.
I lit a few candles to complete the vibe, undressed, then stepped into the warm bath with Rosie in tow, instantly feeling the tension melt from my body.
I leaned back against the tub, closed my eyes, and let Rosie work her magic.
***
I woke the next day to the sound of my alarm. I grabbed my phone and immediately scrolled to my messages.
Still nothing.
My last message left on read.
I rolled my eyes and tossed my phone onto the bed before padding into the bathroom.
Fine.
If Derrick wanted to play the silent treatment, two could absolutely play that game, and he knew I held a black belt in being petty.
After brushing my teeth and pulling my hair in a high bun, I walked over to my closet to pick out an outfit for the day.
Ding.
I paused, then goose-necked my head from the closet to see my phone lit up against the comforter.
“Oh, now he wants to get some act right. It’s about damn time,” I muttered, already walking over to grab it.
Derrick: Cherise, I don’t think this is going to work out. I wanted to say it in person, but… you know how you get.
I stared at the screen.
Another text hit.
Derrick: You’re intense. Things are taking off for me right now—clients, visibility, next steps in my career—and I need someone beside me who reflects that. Someone with poise, class, and restraint. Not someone who comes in hot all the time.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
Then my fingers flew.
Cherise: So, you came over here to pack your breakup clothes yesterday? Seriously?
Derrick: I didn’t want you to burn anything if I left anything behind. You remember what happened last time we broke up. You’ve got a temper.
Come on, he wasn’t over that? His suit didn’t even fully catch fire, and his seamstress was able to stitch it back together.
My fingers slammed back over my phone screen.
Cherise: You mean a spine? Got it.
Derrick: I didn’t mean it like that. I just—
Cherise: What about the wedding?
Derrick: You’ll have to take someone else.
He is not doing this. Not now. I called him. Straight to voicemail.
“That fucking fucker!”
Dumped? Me?
Two weeks before the most important wedding of my life. With Savage-annah lurking in custom Vera Wang ready to pounce.
Oh, hell, no.
I quickly threw on some clothes, grabbed my purse, phone, and keys, and slipped on my favorite weapons—designer heels— just in case.
I’m too much for him?
He hasn’t seen nothing yet.
Derrick was about to experience Category Five Cherise.
I slammed the door behind me.
“Game on, asshole.”