Chapter Four
Amiya
Nine Months Later
M y best friend is getting married!
I load my car with four weeks’ worth of luggage and my entire home office and head to Sandcastle Cove—a small island off the southern coast of North Carolina—so that I can be there to fulfill the responsibilities as the best friend, maid of honor, and head coordinating bitch of Avie and Sebastian’s extravaganza.
Lucky for me, my position as senior financial analyst with the Greater Atlanta Planning Corporation is ninety-nine percent remote work, and I can spin my magic for clients from anywhere. I love numbers. I’m good with them. So, managing the investment portfolios of the wealthy, although challenging at times, is something I excel at. I usually work three to four days a week from my tiny Buckhead apartment and go into the downtown Atlanta office a couple of days to either ruffle the feathers of my stuffed-shirt boss—who acts annoyed but secretly adores me—socialize with other human beings, or attend team meetings, but for the entire month of June, I’ll be curled up with my laptop on the sandy shores of Avie’s island home.
Avie and Sebastian’s love story is one full of twists and turns. They met when we were on vacation in Hawaii during summer break from college. They shared a steamy night on a yacht, unknowingly creating a life, and then parted ways without even exchanging contact information.
When her wishy-washy ex, Conrad, called, begging her to come back, she moved to New York to support his ass. They had a sad courthouse excuse of a wedding when they found out she was pregnant and started a life together while I was still finishing up school at the University of Georgia. That was, until he found out the baby wasn’t his. The marriage fell apart, and Avie and her little Leia came home to me in Atlanta.
It was fantastic until fate and a temporary job at a sea turtle sanctuary took them to Sandcastle Cove, where she came face-to-face with her super-sexy, secret baby daddy.
What are the odds?
As my grandmother would say, “Divine intervention likes to parade around as coincidence.”
Or, in this case, a series of coincidences.
I don’t know if I buy the whole divine intervention thing, but even my cynical ass has to admit, the road leading to this wedding has been one hell of a crazy ride.
Therefore, the whole greater power interceding bears consideration.
I like to give Sebastian shit for swooping in and stealing my bestie away, but the truth is, I’m so damn happy to see my girls get their happily ever after.
I might have even helped the divine one with the intervention, nudging them toward one another.
Sure, it would have been nice if it had been brought to fruition in the Atlanta area, but I guess I’ll have to settle for being grateful that it all went down within a six-hour drive. It’s much better than the nearly nine hundred miles between Atlanta and Manhattan with the added benefit of there being no Conrad Sullivan in sight.
I throw my sunglasses on my face and turn the radio on full blast as I guide my Mercedes onto I-95 north.
Ready or not? Here I come.
“Auntie Miya!”
As I open the door and step out onto the gravel drive, I’m greeted by Leia’s excited cry as she barrels down the walkway.
Bending at the knee, I catch the five-year-old mid-stride.
“LeLe, how’s my baby girl? Tell me all the things,” I request as I hike her up onto my hip.
“I caught a really big bass fish, and Gramps cooked it, and we ate it for dinner, and I can swim without my floaties. I have a dance recital this weekend, and I got a new tutu. It’s green, but Nana said it’s sage. Mommy and I got matching wedding dresses, but mine has a bow the same color as your dress, and I get to wear a tiara, just like a real princess, and I want a puppy, but Mommy keeps saying no, and Grandma’s here,” she says without taking a breath.
“Wow, that’s a whole lot of exciting stuff,” I say just as Avie appears in the doorway.
I place Leia onto her feet, and she runs off when she sees their neighbor, Ida Mae’s, cat.
I turn to open the trunk of my car.
“Wait,” Avie calls.
I glance up at her, and she’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. It’s her tell. Something has her agitated.
“Don’t unpack the car. Mom showed up a couple of weeks early, and she insists on staying here with us and bunking with Leia,” she says.
“So, I’m on the couch?”
She shakes her head as she makes it to the curb.
“No, of course not, but you will be staying at the cabana. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes.
The cabana, as in the groom’s beachfront bungalow.
My hand flies to my chest in mock distress.
“Oh no, not the cabana. How ever will I survive such a hardship?” I cry.
Her face crumples, and her lips start to tremble.
“Oh, girlfriend, I was kidding,” I say as I fold her into my arms.
She buries her face into my neck, and I rub circles on her back as she lets the tears flow.
“Jeez, what is going on?” I ask as I let her go.
“I’m just glad you’re here. Mom has transformed into mother-zilla of the bride. She’s increased the guest list to include every single member of our family through third cousins. It’s turned into a Carrigan family reunion. Sabel and Milly are scrambling, trying to find accommodations for everyone. Both their houses will be full. Eden’s staying at Wade’s and offered up her house. We’ve gotten every single free room and rental on the island. Why did I agree to a June wedding? In the middle of tourist season? We could have done this in September or October and practically had the entire island to ourselves.”
Sandcastle Cove, while a quaint vacation oasis, is a bit of an anomaly. It has two bridges leading onto the island from the mainland. Although it offers a charming array of local shops and eateries, the town has hard and fast rules against chain businesses, and there is a strict three-story restriction on buildings. This is a nice perk for all the homes on the ocean side of the island because no high-rise hotels can come in, take up all the available beachfront lots, and block their views of the water. However, it limits available accommodations for such occasions as the island’s golden boy’s wedding of the year.
“And risk the bridal party being washed out to sea by a hurricane?” I remind her.
We, along with Sebastian’s mother, Milly, and grandmother, Sabel, thoroughly vetted every possible scenario over the holidays last year. Once we decided that late spring was the best time for a beach wedding, we set to touring reception venues and deciding on caterers and bakeries. The entire wedding was planned before the new year, including saying yes to the gown and bridesmaid dresses, much to the chagrin of Avie’s mother.
Naomie Carrigan is a lovely woman who treats me like a daughter, but she’s also a control freak. A control freak whose only child eloped in a courthouse on a random weekday the last go-round.
Needless to say, Momma C plans to make up for it now.
“Breathe,” I command as I place my hands on Avie’s shoulders.
She begins to take deep, calming gulps of air into her lungs.
“Everything is going to be fine. It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, an absolutely blissful day, and enjoying every event up to that day is your one and only job. Are we clear?”
She nods as she continues to puff her cheeks and force air in and out.
“Avie, I’m serious. We’ll find space for everyone. Your parents are footing the bill, so if she invites the entire southeast and we need to add more seats on the beach or increase the number of dinner plates, I’ll handle it, so stop freaking out. Are we clear?” I ask again.
She lets out one last deep breath. “We’re clear.”
I smile and hook my arm around her neck. “Now, do I get to wear a tiara too? Because I think as the maid of honor, I, too, should get to be a real-life princess for the day.”