One Touch (Bluehaven Beach #2)

1. Lily

Chapter 1

Lily

I should’ve known my fairy tale wedding was doomed when that damn bird showed up.

Up until then, it had been your classic wedding set-up. Chaos. Last-minute prep. My hairstylist yanking at my hair follicles like she wanted me bald. The makeup artist attacking my face with the determination of a finger-painting five-year-old. The photographer capturing my every grimace for posterity.

All normal, standard stuff.

And then—I kid you not—a robin landed on the windowsill.

“Holy Disney princess moment,” I muttered, eyeing the little feathered omen.

My friend from high school, Mary-Beth, paused her veil-wrangling to squint at our visitor. “Lils, that bird looks shadier than your ex’s Tinder profile.”

I scoffed. “Which one?”

Mary-Beth, aware of how many shady exes I had, wisely chose not to respond.

“Come on,” I said, my eyes fixed on the bird. “She’s clearly my Fairy Birdmother, here to usher in my happily ever after with Vlad.”

“Either that, or she’s here to give you avian flu on your big day.”

Ignoring her, I held out my hand. “Hey, little friend. Come say hello.”

To my shock—and Mary-Beth’s horror—the bird actually flew over. It landed on my shoulder, cocking its head as if to say, “You sure about this, honey?”

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “I’m Snow White.”

For a moment, the chaos froze. The makeup artist and hairstylist exchanged bemused glances, momentarily pausing their frantic preparations. Even the photographer’s camera stopped its incessant clicking.

And then the little feathered jerk pooped on my dress and flew off.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I practically screamed, staring at the dirty white goo dripping down my midnight black dress.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Mary-Beth said, looking around for something to clean me with. Unfortunately, there was no sink in here so she grabbed a bottle of water. “Bird poop is very lucky. Everyone says it. And on your wedding day, it’s probably double or triple—”

“It’s not lucky! It’s, like, the dictionary definition of bad luck!”

She started to pour water onto the poop, creating a milky, poopy mess all the way down my black organza sleeve.

“This is unbelievably gross. This has to be why wedding dresses are always white—to hide the bid poop.”

“It’s coming out. Be patient. You’ll be good as new in no time. And one day, you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren all about it and laugh.”

I felt a pang in my chest. “Vlad doesn’t want kids.”

Mary-Beth’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“He calls them ‘soul vampires.’”

Mary-Beth somehow managed to keep a smile on her face. “He’s such a . . . creative spirit.”

That was true. Vlad was creative. My fiancé was the lead singer of a post-hardcore band called The Impalers. He was a force of nature.

In fact, he’d pretty much designed the whole wedding himself. We were getting married at The Gold Mine, a dingy live music venue in Goldharbor Bay where his band had played their first-ever gig. Currently, I was getting ready in the backstage area. There was a battered couch that stank of stale sweat and beer, an inexplicably sticky floor, and graffiti on the wall that read, “Groupies welcome!”

Vlad had picked out my wedding gown—a dramatic charcoal-colored number that looked more suitable for a Tim Burton movie than a wedding. As for my shoes, he wouldn’t let me wear heels because he was the same height as me—five foot ten—so if I wore heels, I towered over him. He told me to wear flats and he picked out a pair of Cuban-heeled cowboy boots for himself.

The theme of our wedding, according to Vlad, was “Till death do us party .” Basically, that meant a lot of black.

When I’d asked him if that seemed a little morbid, he’d given me this strange sort of twisted smile.

“Isn’t it beautiful, babe? The death of ourselves as single people?” He’d sighed, overcome with the gorgeousness of it. “When I die, the congregation will wear white, celebrating my marriage to the universe.”

“Right. So what shall I write on the invitations regarding the dress code? Funeral attire?”

He’d looked at me with his interesting grey eyes. “I’ll leave that to you, Lily. I value your input.”

I’d nodded, trying not to think too deeply about the tightness in my chest.

The kicker was that I’d had to pay for it. All of it. The entire funeral. I mean wedding .

“There, it’s all come out,” Mary-Beth said. “We just need to dry you off with a hairdryer, and probably don’t sniff the fabric today, just in case there’s a lingering odor.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Vlad had designed the ceremony, too. He was going to perform as I walked down the aisle, miming along to a prerecorded version of his song, “Forever Mine.”

Was I doing the right thing? It was normal to have a few minor grumbles, right? Things about your future life partner that drove you completely up the wall?

As usual, my mind started racing through a hasty pros and cons list.

Pros: He’s handsome in a quirky sort of way, with that brooding musician mystique. His creative talent is sexy. He says he loves me. Sometimes he sings it.

Cons: He’s arrogant. Self-absorbed. Constantly away on tour, leaving me alone for weeks on end. And he’s broke—for someone semi-famous, he doesn’t seem to have two pennies to rub together.

I swallowed hard, my stomach suddenly tied up in knots.

Of course, when we first got together, I hadn't seen the cons. Actually, I'd found Vlad very exciting. I loved his spontaneity and found the fact he was always serenading me romantic. Heck, I even found the fact he smoked romantic. That was my problem, unfortunately. I wanted so badly to find my happy ever after with someone that I kept missing all the warning signs. Normally, guys left me before it even dawned on me what douchebags they really were. But Vlad hadn't left me. He kept telling me he loved me so much he'd "literally kill" for me. And then he'd proposed. The first time anyone had asked me to marry them. It felt good, you know? Someone genuinely wanted to spend their life with me.

I wanted so much to settle down and be happy with the man of my dreams that I'd said yes.

And then I started to wonder . . . was Vlad the man of my dreams? Or my nightmares?

Mary-Beth must have noticed my struggle because she put a hand on my shoulder—the one the robin hadn’t anointed with poop. “Everything okay, Lils? You want me to go find Elara? Where is the maid of honor right now, anyway?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my churning gut.

Her concerned gaze met mine in the cracked mirror. “Don’t worry, honey. Pre-wedding jitters are totally normal. Just breathe.”

I nodded, sucking in a shaky breath. She was right. This was just nerves. Totally normal bridal neurosis and nothing more. I could get through this.

Desperate for a distraction, I blurted out, “So, what’s new with you? Any juicy publishing gossip to take my mind off . . . this?”

Mary-Beth hadn’t been my best friend at school—that was Elara, of course—but the two of us had run the high school newspaper together, and had bonded over a shared love of contemporary romance. After school, Mary-Beth had gone to study creative writing at Emory then joined a New York literary agency and Elara had moved to the city too, to become a chef extraordinaire, leaving little me in Bluehaven Beach, unable to afford college or big dreams. Eventually, though, after a lot of hard work, I’d saved up enough to set up Happy Ever Affogato, my romance bookstore and coffee shop, and finally, I was getting somewhere.

Mary-Beth’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I was going to tell you after the wedding, but I actually got a promotion! I’m a senior agent now. And I just signed an amazing new client—Marge Statten!”

“What! The maestro herself?” I practically squealed. “Oh my god. She’s, like, the greatest plotter in all of romance. Her novels never miss a beat. They’re meticulous. Not to mention downright addictive.”

“I know, right? I’ll let her know she has a fangirl in you,” Mary-Beth laughed. “Actually, I was thinking . . . what would you say to hosting a special event for her new book launch? We could do a signing, maybe a Q&A session . . . it would be great publicity for the shop.”

Marge Statten, in my little bookstore? It was a dream come true. For a moment, I let myself get swept up in the fantasy of a line around the block, buzzing media coverage, book sales galore. . . .

The bookstore had been struggling lately. I’d even had to let my only employee, Yolande, go. The problem wasn’t just all the money I’d poured into this wedding. Vlad has expensive taste. I’d helped him out with so much stuff—new guitars, recording sessions, and that ridiculous “Vladmobile.”

It was a 1970s Chevrolet that I’d bought from Ethan McCoy, Bluehaven’s resident broody mechanic. Vlad wanted it to be spray-painted black with purple flames on the hood. Ethan had tried to talk me out of it, asking me whether the car was: “For you or someone else? A clown, maybe?” I should have listened. I was too damn determined to make my man happy, even if it meant driving my own business into the ground.

I sighed, shoulders slumping. “An event with Marge would be incredible, but I don’t know if I can swing it right now. Money’s really tight with the wedding and everything. . . .”

“I get it. But don’t give up on the idea, okay? We’ll figure out a way to make it happen.”

I was about to reply when I heard something outside the room. It was Elara, and she did not sound happy. “You have to let me in!”

My brows furrowed. What was going on?

“Not happening,” came a gruff reply. That was Thrall, the bassist from The Impalers. He had a voice that sounded like he smoked fifty cigarettes a day. Probably because he smoked fifty cigarettes a day. “Boss said no one bothers the bride.”

“I’m her maid of honor, knucklehead!”

“Answer’s no.”

There was no way in hell I was going to stop Elara coming in. I strode forward, but before I could reach for the handle, the door burst open.

Elara barreled through, her pretty green eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and concern. She looked amazing. You could just about tell she was pregnant now, and that little round belly looked so cute on her in spite of the somber dress. Vlad had initially wanted the bridesmaids in black, too, but he’d eventually agreed that they could wear gray, on the proviso that they had black detailing on the trim.

Thrall stumbled in behind her, his expression darkening.

“El?” I asked, my voice laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

Elara’s gaze locked onto mine, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Lily, I need to tell you something.” She looked over at the beer-stained couch. “Do you want to sit down?”

I shook my head, but I felt my eyelid twitch involuntarily. Why did I feel like my whole universe was about to fall apart?

“It’s about Vlad,” Elara whispered.

My heart stuttered in my chest. “What about him?”

Thrall stepped forward, his large frame imposing. “Don’t listen to her, Lily. Whatever she’s about to tell you. Just focus on the wedding.”

Elara glared at him. “She deserves to know the truth!”

I held up a hand, silencing their bickering. I looked around at the make-up artist, the hair stylist, and the photographer, wondering if I should send them out of the room, but somehow, I didn’t have the energy. Thankfully, they were good people, and they pretended to be very interested in something at the other end of the room. “What’s going on, El?”

Elara took a deep breath, her eyes softening as they met mine. Very, very quietly, so I could barely hear it, she said, “He’s cheating on you, honey.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I staggered back, my mind reeling.

“Vlad and I had an argument. Well, more than one. So, I wanted to make up with him before the wedding. Clear the air.” She sighed. “I made him a pistachio croissant. It was meant to be a peace offering. I went to drop it off at his apartment, but when I arrived, I . . . saw a girl. Slipping out the window. Clutching a sheet around her.”

Thrall scoffed. “It’s bullshit. Probably just some groupie who got lost.”

But Elara’s gaze never wavered from mine. “I’m so sorry, Lils. I didn’t want to believe it either, but. . . .”

Determination hardened in my gut. “I need to see Vlad.”

Thrall stepped into my path. “It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

I leveled him with a glare. “A bird just shat on me, Thrall. Don’t talk to me about bad luck.”

I pushed past him, ignoring his protests. My heart pounded as I navigated the familiar hallways of The Gold Mine, my wedding dress swishing around my ankles. I reached Vlad’s door, my hand poised to knock.

I heard something from inside.

Moaning. Breathy sighs of pleasure, punctuated by rhythmic creaking.

My stomach turned to lead. I eased the door open as quietly as I could, steeling myself.

There he was. My fiancé. Fucking a woman who was bent over a beer keg on all fours. He was behind her, his tuxedo rumpled and dirty. For some reason, the most surprising thing about the whole scene, at that moment, was that the woman was wearing a white dress.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling the sob that threatened to tear from my throat. How could he? On our wedding day?

“Lily,” said Vlad. “Shit. You weren’t meant to see this. But it doesn’t mean I love you any less.” For some reason, he wasn’t taking his penis out of the woman’s vagina.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over me—shock, betrayal, fury, and oddly, a perverse sense of relief. In that moment, something inside me hardened. I wouldn’t let him see me shatter.

Suddenly, I thought back to what Ethan McCoy had said about Vlad. That he was a clown. He was so right.

I spun on my heel, and as I walked away, I heard Vlad call, “It’s just sex, Lily! You're the one I love!”

I stumbled back toward the dressing room, my mind reeling. How could I have been so blind? The late nights, the ‘groupies,’ the constant talk of being more ‘open’—it all made sickening sense now. But worse than the betrayal was the realization that I, Bluehaven Beach’s self-proclaimed love expert, had fallen for such an obvious fraud.

I took a deep breath and went back in to see my friends.

Mary-Beth’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay, Lily?”

“Yep. Just fine.” I kept my voice steady, my smile fixed.

Elara’s eyes narrowed. “Do you still wan—”

I cut her off. “Trust me. It’s fine.”

Vlad wanted a unique wedding? A wedding people would never stop talking about? Well, he was about to get one.

“Now,” I breathed to the makeup artist, “make me look fabulous.”

***

What is a fairy tale wedding?

Does it need to take place in a castle? Does the bride wear a puffy, white dress? Does the “Wedding March” play as she walks down the aisle? Do the bridesmaids catch the bouquet in a playful scramble? Does the rest of the world slow down as the happy couple share their first dance under twinkling lights?

Is there always a happily ever after?

As I waited outside the stage room of The Gold Mine, my head swirled. Elara and Mary-Beth stood beside me in their gray dresses, and I had a feeling they were as nervous as I was. I gave both of their hands a squeeze.

Elara nodded at me. It was time.

They pushed the doors open and I tried not to get teary as I surveyed the rows of faces in the crowd. All my friends from town, people I’d grown up with, had gathered here today to wish me well.

There was Cole, Elara’s fiancé, and his two daughters, Rhea and Lexi. There was Vlad’s family, who were a little eccentric, but not entirely awful. Customers from my bookstore. Connie from the local hardware store and her son, Scout. The list went on and on. I was about to make a fool of myself in front of them all.

The only people missing were my folks. I hadn’t seen my dad for years. After he abandoned us, probably fathering a bunch of other kids goodness-knows-where, Mom had a breakdown and moved to the Bahamas. She hadn’t managed to get flights to the wedding at short notice, so I decided that Elara would give me away.

Of course, that wasn’t going to happen now.

Vlad stood on stage, waiting for the music to start so that he could begin his performance. He had straightened up his tux and managed to make himself look like a man who hadn’t just boned another woman. His electric blue Stratocaster was slung across his chest and he had this irritating, pleading look in his eyes.

Ugh. I had really thought he’d cared about me. He’d written a song about me, for heaven’s sake. It included the line “You’re the one” twenty-six times.

He’d talked about us being more “open” lately, but had he really meant he wanted to sleep with other people? I thought he was just suggesting we communicate better.

Whichever way I looked at it, I couldn’t believe that Vlad truly loved me. And if I wasn’t even enough for someone as bad as Vlad, how would I ever be enough for someone good?

I clenched my jaw. I had to do this. So what if I never found another man? Better to never marry than to marry someone like him.

As I started to walk down the makeshift aisle—my shoes catching on the sticky, beer-stained floor—Vlad nodded to Renfield, another member of the band, who stood by the controls to the music. He clicked play.

“Forever Mine” is a creepy love song about a guy who stalks a girl, and she ends up falling in love with him. But that’s not what played from the speakers. Instead, at top volume, came the bright, jarring sounds of circus music.

Vlad’s gaze darted to the sound booth. “What the hell?”

The music continued, accompanied by confused murmurs from the crowd.

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Is nobody gonna fix that?” Vlad called out. Renfield hit pause, and the music cut out. Vlad cleared his throat, trying not to look humiliated. “Come on, baby,” he said, “I know things haven't gone perfectly today, but . . . you're perfect for me, Lily. You're hot, you run your own business, you sell sexy books. You're, like, cool. Let’s just tie the knot.”

I put my hands on my hips. “No.”

Silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I know what you are, Vlad. I don’t like it. And I don’t want you.”

He sneered. “What am I?”

“A clown.”

There were more mutters from the congregation.

I pulled out my phone and tapped the play button. The clown music began again. I calmly walked up to the stage and yanked the microphone away from Vlad.

“He cheated on me,” I said simply. “On our wedding day.”

Vlad blanched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Babe, we agreed we were in an open relationsh—”

“No, we didn’t. You tried to trick me into it by telling me we needed to be more ‘open.’ I never agreed to any terms. I never even understood what you were talking about.” I looked out over the sea of shocked faces, raising my voice to address them all. “My dear fiancé here? I caught him screwing another woman an hour ago. In his tux.”

Scandalized gasps rippled through the crowd. Beside me, Vlad was spluttering, scrambling for an excuse. “I thought you were cooler than this, Lily."

“The wedding’s off,” I declared, tossing my bouquet at Vlad’s feet. Petals scattered across the spit and sawdust floor. I held the microphone close to my mouth. “It’s all off. No more romance. No more men. Never again.” My voice cracked, but I pushed on. “I, Lily Lane, Bluehaven Beach’s biggest fool for love, swear that I will never marry! Love isn’t worth it, folks. Take it from the girl who’s spent her whole life playing Cupid—sometimes, happily ever after is just a fairy tale. And people who believe in fairy tales end up covered in poop.”

With that, I threw the mic onto the floor, then turned on my heel and strode back down the aisle, the circus music still blaring out of my phone. Mary-Beth had tears in her eyes and Elara reached for my hand, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I burst out of the bar and into the sunlight, gulping down lungfuls of fresh air.

I heard Vlad calling my name, his footsteps pounding after me.

But I was already running, hitching up my black dress as I fled toward the Vladmobile. I reached into my bra and grabbed the spare key I’d hidden in there. With a wicked smile, I got in the car and started the engine.