Chapter 29
FOR A SECOND, I just stare at the name, certain I’m reading it wrong. My pulse stumbles, then starts to race.
What is he doing on the guest list?
Lightning flashes—just once, bright enough through my window to catch the gold edge of the invitation.
The envelope is a different shape from the rest of the invitations, I realize—a rectangle instead of a square.
I hold it up to the light, hoping to be able to make out what’s inside.
There are lines of writing, but it’s impossible to decipher.
It’s definitely long, though, a piece of paper folded over itself. Not an invitation then. A letter.
But what could Cara possibly be writing to Aaron for?
And could this be related to the thing she and Nate were arguing about yesterday in front of the gazebo?
And—what does it mean that she never sent the letter? Did she end up reaching out to Aaron some other way?
Part of me feels like I have a responsibility to tell Cooper.
Cara did lie to him. She told him they haven’t talked in years, but she’s clearly been in contact with Aaron.
Another part of me is tempted to just grab the dress steamer and ease this envelope open right now, to satisfy my own morbid curiosity.
But everything is already so messed up. And much as I’ve been joking about all my subtle sabotage, the idea of interfering like that worries me, feels like overstepping.
Besides, Cooper’s been so defensive of Cara all this time, if I told him about the letter, he’d probably just accuse me of manufacturing the whole thing for drama.
I don’t know what to do, so I slip the envelope inside my jacket pocket to figure out later, then head to the storage room where my suitcase is to find something clean and dry to wear. After all, I’m still in my clothes from last night.
The same ones in all those photos.
And no one has yet noticed.
THE STORM RAGES ON for the next few hours, echoing my own brooding, and in the afternoon, the power goes out completely.
I happen to be in Mom’s sewing room, freshly showered and wearing cozy sweatpants, when it happens.
I’d been carefully filling pale purple organza bags with candy-coated almonds (and hiding from Nate.
Given the storm, he hasn’t been able to finish the final touches on the gazebo and has been milling around the house, trying and failing to be useful). But now it’s too dark to see.
Down in the kitchen, I find my mom and dad pulling out matchboxes to light various candles around the house, and I grab a few to carry into other rooms.
In the late afternoon, everyone from the bridal party comes back over, and we do a rough run-through of the ceremony, all of us crowded into the living room, pretending it’s the backyard—and pretending not to notice that the room smells faintly of wet dog.
By dusk, the power’s still not back on. Cooper calls it—tells the bridesmaids and groomsmen to head back to their hotels while there’s still a little light outside. “No point in everyone sitting around in the dark,” he says, and no one argues.
The elaborate rehearsal dinner my mother had planned is scrapped.
Instead, we order pizza.
We crowd around the formal dining room table—a room that, like the living room off the front door, almost never gets used—with one of Dad’s battery-powered camp lights as a centerpiece. The kids are growing cranky—the novelty of the power outage rubbed off around the time Linney’s iPad died.
Cara’s eyes are red and swollen from crying. I hear Mom discreetly offering her a soothing eye gel mask, so that they won’t look so red tomorrow.
No one is talking about the elephant in the room. At least the Wi-Fi being down gives us all a reprieve from constantly checking what the internet has to say about Cooper and Cara. (And me. And Aaron.)
I’m still furious that someone sold those photos to the tabloids. It was probably just some random person from the bar last night, but I can’t help but wonder if Mary Moore Musgrove is somehow behind this.
If not, I’m sure she’s at least reveling in the fact that I’m once again at the center of the gossip.
I rip off a bite of pizza more forcefully than I mean to. I don’t taste the peppers or mushrooms.
Down the other end of the table, Cooper is even more fidgety than usual, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers relentlessly on his glass of water.
“Cooper, please,” Mom says, rubbing her temples. He forces himself to stop… only to start up again a few moments later.
Meanwhile, I’m battling my own compulsion. My gaze has sought out Nate at least three times since sitting down to eat—though we haven’t made eye contact yet. He’s as quiet as I’ve ever seen him, mouth a grim line. I can feel the tension radiating off him.
My eyes are still on him when he stands, muttering something about checking the generator. That’s when I remember—his jacket. It’s still draped on the floor in my makeshift room.
“Hang on,” I say. “You’ll need something.”
When I come back down, he’s standing in the dining room doorway. I hold out the jacket, and for a second, he just looks at me. We both know that before now, I would have been way too worried about people finding out about us to do something as obvious as give his jacket back in front of everyone.
But we also both know that it doesn’t matter anymore.
“Thanks,” he says with a sad half smile. Then he clears his throat, slips his arms into the sleeves, and sticks his hands into the pockets, like he’s grounding himself.
That’s when his expression changes. His fingers close around something, and he pulls it out slowly.
A single envelope, creased and smudged at the corners.
My stomach drops.
“Oh!” I say quickly, reaching for the envelope. “I’ll take that.”
But he’s already seen the name on the front.
“Why are you writing to him?” Nate doesn’t take his eyes off the envelope.
Where Aaron’s name is neatly scrawled.
“I’m not.”
His eyes meet mine—sharper this time. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to elaborate. He clearly thinks I’m lying to him.
“It’s—that’s not mine.”
“Then whose is this?”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“It’s, um—”
“It’s mine,” Cara admits. Nate and I both turn to look at her. “I wrote him.”
“Wrote who?” Cooper asks, eyes darting between Cara in the chair next to him, and me and Nate by the doorway.
“Aaron,” Nate says, still sounding wary.
“Wait, what?” Cooper asks. “You said you haven’t talked in years.”
“I haven’t seen him in years,” she clarifies, then adds softly, “we still talk sometimes.”
“Are you kidding me, Cara? You’re trying to get off on some technicality.”
“We were friends for a long time before everything happened with Nikki.” Her voice turns pleading. “I just—” She struggles to find the words. “I just don’t have anyone else who knows what I went through.”
“You could’ve talked to me.” Cooper’s voice cracks. “Isn’t that what tomorrow is supposed to be all about?”
Cara has gone pale. “I’m sorry, I just—”
Cooper pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the hardwood. “Wait—so what the hell is in this letter?”
“Language,” Mom says automatically. But she looks as concerned as Cooper.
“It isn’t what you think,” Cara says. “I never mailed it. It was just me… trying to make sense of that part of my life.”
“I don’t care if you mailed it or not,” Cooper says, his voice rising. The power flickers once, briefly illuminating the strain etched across his face, and then the room plunges into shadow again. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me. We said we would never do that.”
“Yeah, no secrets.” Cara looks guilty, but then, inexplicably, her eyes dart to Nate. “Actually, Coop, there’s something—”
“Cara, don’t.” Nate’s voice is low, laced with warning.
“It’s not fair,” Cara insists, her voice cracking. She glances toward the kitchen doorway—where our parents stand in the faint light from the candles Mom found earlier. “They deserve to know—”
“Cara.” Nate’s tone hardens. The look he gives her makes the air go still.
I glance between them, pulse thudding. What the hell are they talking about? The memory of seeing them arguing outside the other day flashes through my mind. And then, a similar moment at the karaoke bar. There’s something else going on here.
A secret Nate is keeping. A secret they’re both keeping.
Possibly it has to do with whatever they argued about yesterday.
Cara shoves back her chair. “Fine,” she says, standing so fast her napkin drops to the floor. “You deal with it.” And then she’s gone—her footsteps sharp against the wood floor before fading up the stairs.
After she’s gone, Cooper whirls on me, eyes bright with anger. “Are you happy now, Nikki?”
“What?”
“You’ve been trying to end this wedding from the start,” he says, folding his arms. “Looks like you finally got what you wanted.”
“Enough!” Mom’s voice cuts through the room, shaky but forceful. She stands abruptly, tossing her napkin down beside her plate. “I won’t have you ruin this beautiful weekend, Nikki.” She shakes her head, tears in her eyes.
“Me? That’s not—” I glance around for support, but Linney just raises a skeptical brow. Dad and Pete both seem completely lost, and Mom looks… like she’s desperately trying to hide the weight of her disappointment.
Cooper starts to head to the door. “I need to make sure Cara’s okay.”
I sigh. “You know what? Don’t.” Cooper stops and turns around to look at me. “I’ll go.”