Chapter Twenty-Seven Natalie
There’s no time like the present, Natalie thought as she reactivated her Hinge account.
Jonathan and Marigold were two hours away from getting married.
She’d made her peace with that. Yet there was no denying that their wedding would feel like a root canal for the soul and that Natalie needed to find some kind of numbing distraction, even if it meant exchanging messages with some guy who’d ghost before they ever met up in real life.
She was sitting on the inn’s back porch, a spot that was nearly always empty since it faced a nondescript copse of trees instead of the ocean, but she still looked up every few seconds to ensure that she was still alone.
The last thing she needed was for someone to spot her swiping.
In a bridesmaid’s dress. Right before a wedding she was attending alone.
If anyone snuck a photo, it’d be meme-worthy.
The coast seemed to be clear, luckily. The lobby had emptied out as the guests returned to their rooms to get ready, though a few people had still been milling about when Natalie passed through.
Some even expressed concern about not having seen Marigold yet.
“She’s on the island, isn’t she?” Bill’s cousin had asked.
“Everything’s under control,” Natalie had said with a smile, feeling like one of those sleazy press secretaries who refuse to answer direct questions.
The golf cart taking the bridesmaids over to the inn wasn’t due to leave for another half hour, so she switched her Hinge location to New York—it’d be nice to have a date lined up when she returned to town next week—and began to swipe through the usual array of offerings: real estate brokers looking for their partner in crime, analysts who loved taking advantage of everything the city had to offer, bartender/poets seeking the mysterious lady who once bummed a cigarette on a rainy night on the Lower East Side, and podcasters proclaiming, “Hot dogs are sandwiches. Change my mind.”
After a few minutes, Natalie matched with a cute, bearded associate professor at NYU named Leo and felt a flicker of excitement before remembering that she’d matched with him about five years ago on a different app.
Their first date had been the best of Natalie’s life—they’d met one Saturday afternoon at a West Village café where they’d both talked so much, they’d left their coffees completely untouched.
Then they’d gone for a walk and ended up at a bookstore where, while Natalie was browsing, Leo had snuck off to buy her a copy of the book she’d expressed interest in reading.
Then after asking if she wanted to get dinner, he took her to a Spanish restaurant hidden inside a town house on a leafy street, where they’d spent nearly three hours talking over tapas and sangria before ending the date with an epic make-out session by the subway.
Natalie had been on cloud nine the next day, unable to keep herself from weaving elaborate fantasies about the relationship that would inevitably ensue: the cozy nights they’d spend cooking and drinking wine, the trips they’d take together, introducing him as her boyfriend at weddings.
But Leo hadn’t texted her that day, or the day after that.
Finally, after a week, Natalie sent a Hail Mary text: I’m really enjoying the book—thanks so much!
Any interest in a drink this weekend? Five days later, he’d responded, Sorry for the delay.
Work’s been intense. I really enjoyed our chat but I’m also feeling pretty picky at the moment, waiting for something that feels just right, and I’m sorry that this isn’t quite it for me.
It wasn’t the rejection that’d stung—she’d been on the apps long enough to become fairly immune to that—it was the way he’d framed their seven-hour, laughter-filled, multistage date as a “chat.” As if he hadn’t been the one to keep extending it, the one who’d bought her a gift and suggested dinner.
Who’d initiated the kiss and let his hands roam down her back before whispering in her ear, “I can’t wait to do this again. ”
Before Natalie could decide whether or not to unmatch, he sent her a message.
Hey there, stranger. What have you been up to?
With a sigh, Natalie closed the app and headed back inside.
It was almost time to head over to the yacht club for the ceremony.
Natalie just needed to run upstairs to grab Marigold’s dress so it’d be there waiting for her.
At this point, there wouldn’t be time for her to get dressed at the cottage or at the inn.
She’d texted when she’d landed at the Portland airport two hours ago but hadn’t sent any updates since.
As she headed up the stairs, Natalie tried to imagine what they’d do if Marigold was late. Like, really late. Not just Marigold late. Would they make an announcement to the guests? Or just hope that most people would avail themselves of the pre-ceremony open bar and get too sloshed to notice?
Either way, there was probably time for Natalie to touch up her makeup before she left the inn. Once inside her room, she grabbed her lipstick and headed over to the antique mirror on the wall.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” she called distractedly, still focused on her lipstick. It was probably one of the bridesmaids looking for Band-Aids or bobby pins or something Natalie was known to carry with her.
“Natalie,” a deep, hoarse voice said. Reflected in the mirror, she saw Jonathan standing in the door in his tuxedo, a strange look on his face.
She whipped around. “What’s wrong?”
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“Is Marigold… married?”
Oh. My. God. “What are you talking about?” Natalie asked, stalling for time. She needed to figure out how much he knew before she said something she’d regret.
He shut the door behind him, then took a few steps forward. “Please, you have to tell me the truth.”
“What’s going on? Did you talk to Marigold?”
“I called her Maine lawyer, that guy Bruce, to ask if all our paperwork was finally in order, and he told me that we were all set because Marigold had submitted new divorce papers.” Jonathan shook his head as if he couldn’t believe those words had just come out of his own mouth.
“So tell me, is it true? Did Marigold fly to Canada the day before our wedding to finalize a divorce?”
Natalie froze in painful horror, torn between her loyalty to Marigold—her best friend, who’d welcomed Natalie into her family, who kept a set of pj’s and an emergency stash of ice cream at her apartment to cheer Natalie up after bad dates—and her loyalty to Jonathan, who was, in a sense, her other best friend, and who deserved to know the truth.
“Yes,” Natalie said finally. “It’s true.
She eloped with this guy in Canada a few years ago and then divorced him.
It all happened before she met you. But there was some mishap with the paperwork, so she had to meet up with him to… handle it.”
Jonathan lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t understand. Why did she keep all this secret?” His voice was shaky.
Natalie walked over to the bed, hesitated a moment, then sat down next to him. “I’m not sure… but I think she was afraid. She worried that you’d think less of her, knowing she’d done this impulsive thing.”
Jonathan’s head jerked up. “I wouldn’t have cared at all!
You know that. How could she not know that?
We’ve all done things we regret. But keeping a secret like that for our entire relationship?
And then lying about leaving the country to see her ex the day before our wedding? That’s…” He trailed off.
“I know it sounds bad, but she loves you so much. I think… I think she just got in over her head.”
“I knew something was off,” Jonathan whispered, more to himself than to Natalie. “Nothing about that birth certificate story made sense, but I think I was afraid to face it.”
He stood and began to pace around the room. “Does she still have feelings for this guy? Did she want to see him one last time before she made another mistake marrying me?”
“No way,” Natalie said. “I get that you’re upset, but Marigold loves you. You know she does!”
“This isn’t how you treat someone you love.
” Jonathan’s pacing took on a frantic quality, like an animal trapped in a cage.
“Why’d she think she had to hide this from me?
She could’ve told me on our first date, Hey, by the way, I’ve been married before, and I would’ve been like, Cool, no problem.
Hell, she could’ve told me a week ago and we would’ve figured it out!
But keeping it from me? And then sneaking off to another country to hide the evidence?
How could I marry someone capable of that? ”
“Okay, just take a breath.” Natalie hurried over to him and grabbed his arm. “I get that you’re freaking out, but you need to breathe.”
Natalie expected him to shake her off, but as he looked at her, his expression changed. “I’ve made a huge mistake,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m marrying the wrong woman.”
Natalie froze. Whatever synapse was in charge of sending words from her brain to her mouth seemed to have snapped. All she could do was stare at Jonathan. Then he lowered his head and leaned forward until his lips brushed against hers.
And then she was frozen no more. Just the opposite, in fact.
Every nerve came to life as a current of heat sizzled through her body until she couldn’t help but melt into him.
Her lips parted as she kissed him back, sighing as her mouth yielded to his, as his hands wrapped around her and pulled her deeper into him.
“What the hell?!”
Jonathan sprang back as both he and Natalie spun to face the door, where Marigold stood, staring at them, eyes wide with disbelief. “Oh my god,” Natalie whispered, while Jonathan muttered, “Shit, shit,” under his breath.
Without another word, she turned and ran out of the room, door slamming behind her.