pineapple prosecco
MARLEY
“What do you think the boys are doing right now?” Carina slurs.
We’re still gathered at the long rustic wooden table on the back patio, waiting for the server to bring out dessert.
The massive vineyard is a beautiful backdrop just steps away.
And the sky is dipping into a midnight blue.
Between the wine and the fairy lights twinkling against the darkness, a peaceful calm falls over the table.
The first real moment of stillness we’ve had all week.
“Being boys,” Danielle answers, swirling the last of her red wine before taking a sip. “Who cares? I don’t think you need to stress yourself out worrying about them. Gavin isn’t going to do anything with anyone but you.”
“That’s clearly not the point,” Carina says with a pout. “I wanted him to be here for this.”
Camila waves a dismissive hand.
“It’s fine. Just a little wrinkle in your plans. We’re having fun, right?”
Carina slowly turns her head toward her.
The look she gives Danielle is so unimpressed, so painfully unconvinced, that the entire table falls silent.
For a beat, no one says a word.
Then Lety snorts.
Camila snickers and Danielle starts giggling. Before long, the rest of us join in. Doubling over with drunken laughter.
Even Carina cracks a reluctant smile. She drops her head in her hands.
“Maybe I should have had strippers,” she finally says. “I wanted them.”
“Then where the fuck are they?” Lety perks up.
“Eww, no,” Jaylah shakes her head. “Who wants raunchy ass men slinging their dicks around?”
Danielle’s hand shoots into the air. “Me. I like dicks swinging in my face.”
We’re in hysterics again. The wine has loosened everyone’s tongues, lowering our defenses and letting thoughts slip free that would normally stay tucked away.
The server arrives, carrying plates of passion-fruit cheesecake and warm bread pudding drizzled with caramel.
“Guys, I have to admit,” Carina says as we dig into our sweet treats. “This whole itinerary was planned by my mom.”
The look on Danielle’s face tells me she already knew. Jaylah shakes her head.
“Down to the guest list, the wedding colors, flowers, and the dress.”
Lety purses her lips. “Well, I won’t lie. That dress is everything. Your mom did her big one with that one.”
Carina looks at me. “A custom-made dress by Viktor&Rolf,” she says as if to keep me updated. I hadn’t seen the dress yet. But I know any gown made by Viktor&Rolf had to be spectacular.
“If it were me, I’d have a gang of strippers right here, right now,” she hiccups.
“I don’t know why you let your mom make so many decisions for you.”
“She’s a visionary. She knows what this wedding needs. And she’s just making sure it’s classy and elegant.”
“No,” Danielle shakes her head. “Your mother wants control, and you’ve gotten so used to giving it to her that you don’t even notice.”
“That’s not true,” Carina says defensively. “This is a wedding she’s envisioned for years. Something she didn’t have when she married my father. They were just starting out in the world with barely any money, and my mom always said this is the kind of wedding she would want.”
“Did you hear what you said? You said what she would want. What about you?” Jayla asks. “I love my auntie and all, but I have to admit she can be overbearing.”
“Your mom and dad have money falling out of the sky,” Danielle interjects. “They could wipe their ass with a hundred-dollar bill. Why can’t she just renew her vows and have a wedding like this for herself?”
Carina rolls her eyes, sips her prosecco, and shrugs. “I don’t know. I just know this whole wedding was her idea.”
“What would you have done instead?” I ask her.
“I know this sounds crazy, but I would seriously have a courthouse wedding.”
Camila chokes on her wine.
“Your mother would have a heart attack,” Lety laughs.
“She absolutely would,” Carina agrees, laughing herself. “But sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I just disappeared.”
“What about Gavin?” I ask. “What do you think Gavin would want?”
Carina’s eyes stare at me dreamingly. Or maybe her brown orbs are sparkling due to the wine.
“Gavin would want whatever I want. He just wants to be with me.”
Suddenly, a loud chomping sound fills the air from above. A rhythmic whump. whump. whump. Our heads fall back, looking up into the sky. It’s a helicopter.
“Seriously?” Jaylah groans.
“Seriously,” Danielle answers, pointing at a drone nearby. The red dot from the hovering machine glows in the night.
Carina’s face falls, a flicker of sadness so brief it disappears almost as quickly as it arrives. Then a smile stretches across her face, and she pushes back from the table.
“Let’s go,” she hollers, gathering the skirt of her flowing dress in one hand and waving us forward with the other. We watch her shoot off across the lawn and toward the vineyard. In most cases, when you see someone running, you run too and ask questions later.
“What are we doing?” Danielle asks through a drunken laugh. But she’s running too. We all are.
“Just run!” Carina yells over her shoulder, never breaking her stride.
We race after her into the vineyard, weaving between towering rows of grapevines while laughter echoes through the warm Maui night. The drone and the helicopter seemed farther away now, swallowed by the darkness.
“My Prada shoes!” Jaylah whines, but she doesn’t stop running. We run and run, laughing and wheezing, the ground sloping beneath our feet. The breeze tickling our skin.
I feel weightless. Disconnected. My dress billows behind me like a sail. Up ahead stands an enormous moneypod tree, its sprawling branches stretching out like open arms. Carina reaches the tree first, collapsing beneath it, her chest heaving, her cheeks rosy, her smile never fades.
One by one, the rest of us join her, dropping onto the grass and leaning against the thick trunk. We struggle to catch our breath while fighting the urge to stop laughing. We are blissfully hysterical.
Above us, the helicopter is gone. The drone is gone. It’s clear why we were running and who we were running from.
Paparazzi.
The world has caught wind of this wedding. The cameras are desperate for the inside scoop, or a glimpse behind the scenes. Something to report. To be the first to tell the world what they know.
“I should have brought that bottle of prosecco,” Carina pouts.
“I’m ten steps ahead of you, boo,” Danielle says, pulling a bottle from the pocket of her full-skirted dress. A chorus of giddy shrieks erupt around the tree.
“What?” Carina shrieks.
“How did you fit that bottle in your pocket?” I ask.
“And this is why dresses with pockets are always a go,” says Camila.
We pass the pineapple prosecco around, giving each other waterfalls and laughing about our sweet escape.