Chapter 19 Juliette
JULIETTE
I’m going to marry him.
The thought hits me before I’m even fully awake, like my brain spent all night processing his casual “we should get married” from last night and came to this conclusion without consulting me.
Rodriguez, who asked me to marry him like he was suggesting we go see a movie, is watching me sleep. I can tell by the way he’s breathing, and the fact that he has zero concept of personal boundaries. I have the wild urge to giggle at the absolute absurdity of the situation.
I crack one eye open to peek at him, and yep, he’s propped up on one elbow, hair everywhere, grinning down at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Morning, future wife.”
“Staring is creepy. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” My voice comes out rough.
“You were asleep, so you couldn’t even tell.”
“I could tell. You know I can’t actually marry you if you don’t tell me your first name.”
“What’s in a name?” He’s doing a terrible Shakespeare voice now. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
“Oh my god, stop. I already told you the Romeo and Juliet thing isn’t funny. I will literally smother you with a pillow.”
“You don’t even know my name and you’re already threatening murder? That’s honestly very Shakespearean of you.”
I raise my arm, reaching for a pillow from above our heads but he catches my hand and pins it there. “When we get home I’m logging into Marnie’s medical files and looking you up.”
“That’s probably illegal.”
“I don’t care. I need to know what’s going on the marriage certificate.”
He laughs and buries his face into my neck. “You just admitted you’re thinking about the marriage certificate.”
“I admitted nothing.” I struggle against him slightly, his hand tightens on my wrist and I hate that I want to arch up into him. “It’s too early for this. What time is it?”
He leans over me and grabs his phone from the nightstand. “Almost eight thirty.”
“I need to be at the bridal suite by ten.”
He releases my wrist and threads his fingers through my hair, catching slightly on the tangles. “That gives us an hour and a half.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He leans in to kiss me.
I pull back. “Ugh! Morning breath.”
“Bathroom. Now. Both of us.”
We stumble out of bed and into the bathroom. Stand at the double sinks brushing our teeth side by side. He keeps making faces in the mirror, crossing his eyes, puffing out his cheeks with toothpaste foam, until I’m laughing around my toothbrush and nearly choking.
This is stupid. Perfect, but stupid. And I’m finding it way funnier than it probably is.
When we’re done he moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. We’re both looking at our reflection. His chin hooks over my shoulder and I can feel his breath against my neck.
“You know what we haven’t done all week?”
“What?”
“That giant jetted tub.” He nods toward the corner where the enormous tub sits, unused. “Criminal waste of hotel amenities.”
“We’ve been busy.”
His hands skim up my sides. “Tonight. After the wedding. You, me, bubbles, and a bottle of champagne we’re going to steal from the reception.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s a great plan.” His mouth finds a spot behind my ear and he presses his lips against it. “Unless you have a better one?”
I really don’t.
He takes my hand and pulls me back toward the bed. I follow because my body hasn’t figured out how to say no to him yet.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“JuJu.” He sits on the edge and pulls me between his legs, looking up at me. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then come here.”
He guides me onto his lap so I’m straddling him, resting his hands on my waist and I can feel the warmth of them through my thin t-shirt .
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
We sit there for a moment. Just looking at each other. His hair is still sticking up. He needs to shave. There’s a crease on his cheek from the pillow.
I lean down and kiss him.
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt and I make a sound I’d be embarrassed about if I could think clearly. His fingertips are callused from hockey or lifting weights or whatever he does and they catch slightly on my skin as he moves them higher.
This is different from yesterday. Different from every other time this week because we’re not performing. This is just us.
His thumbs brush the underside of my ribs and I arch into the touch. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging slightly, and he makes a sound low in his throat.
“JuJu,” he breathes against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
He pauses. “Can I—is this okay?”
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
So he doesn’t.
At some point my shirt comes off. Then his. We’re skin against skin and his chest is solid and warm under my palms. His mouth moves to my neck, my collarbone, lower.
His hand slides down and pauses at the waistband of my shorts. His fingers tuck just underneath but he doesn’t go further. He’s looking up at me, breathing hard.
“We should—we need to slow down.” He murmurs, but his mouth is still on my skin.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to rush this. Because you matter too much.” He stops and swallows hard. “Because when we—I want to do this right.”
“Oh, but I thought you wanted to. I mean—”
“I do. Trust me, I do.” He presses his forehead to mine.
His hands are shaking slightly where they rest on my hips and I feel his fingers dig in slightly.
“But not like this. Not when you have to leave soon. Not when—” He takes a breath.
“You deserve better than a rushed morning before your sister’s wedding. ”
“You’re serious.”
“Completely serious.”
He kisses me softly and I can feel the restraint in it.
“But tonight. After the wedding. After we steal champagne and use that enormous tub. Tonight I’m going to do this right.”
We sit there for another moment. Both catching our breath. Then he reaches over and pulls out a folded piece of hotel stationery.
“I have something for you.”
“Another note?”
He puts it in my hand. “Read it when you need it most. When you’re stressed or overwhelmed.”
I look at the folded paper. “What does it say?”
“Read it later. You’ll know when.”
I tuck it into my makeup bag carefully. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He kisses my forehead. “Now go. Before I change my mind about being noble.”
The bridal suite is on the hotel’s top floor. When I arrive the door is already open and music is spilling into the hallway.
Inside is chaos.
Flowers everywhere. White roses, pink peonies, the smell so thick and sweet it’s almost overwhelming. Someone’s speaker playing pop music. Champagne bottles are sweating in ice buckets. A clothing rack with garment bags is waiting in a corner. Hair tools and makeup scattered across every surface.
Olivia’s in the center wearing a white silk robe, champagne in hand, hair in curlers. She spots me and squeals.
“Jules! Finally!” She pulls me into a hug and champagne sloshes in her glass.
My mom appears with champagne and presses the glass into my hand. “Here. Drink.”
I take it. The bubbles fizz against my tongue, cold and crisp.
That’s when I see Melissa. Sitting in the corner by the window in a white silk robe, scrolling her phone. She looks up when I enter and smiles.
Of course she’s here.
“Jules!” Emma waves me over to the chairs near the mirror. “Come sit. We’re starting on hair soon.”
I settle in and someone hands me a mimosa even though I’m still holding champagne. The bridesmaids are taking selfies. Our aunt is fussing over something.
My phone buzzes.
Rodriguez
Made it?
Yes. Chaos.
Rodriguez
Good chaos?
Champagne chaos. How are you?
Rodriguez
Missing this morning.
I’m smiling at my phone when Emma leans over. “Okay, you have to tell us everything. How did you guys meet?”
“At the rink. He kept showing up when I was teaching.”
“And he just started hitting on you?” One of the other bridesmaids asks.
“Relentlessly. For months.”
“That’s so romantic,” Emma sighs.
“It was annoying.” But I’m still smiling. “He didn’t give up though.”
“Smart man,” Olivia says. She’s getting her hair done now. “I like him. He’s good for you.”
Melissa shifts in her chair. “How long did you say you’ve been together?”
“Just a few weeks.”
“But he was asking you out when you still had a boyfriend.” She says it lightly. “Well I don’t know what else you could expect from a professional athlete.”
Olivia frowns at her and opens her mouth but I’m faster. “Turns out my ‘boyfriend’ was occupied with something else. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”
“Juliette…” my mom starts, and Melissa at least has the grace to look away.
“He told me it was over. That it was you who—you know what never mind.” She says quietly but implication hangs there.
“How much trouble that must have been for him to lie to two women then.” I set my champagne down carefully because my hand is shaking even if my voice is steady. I reach for my buzzing phone instead.
Rodriguez
Owen just texted. Groomsmen meeting at 10:30.
Early start.
Rodriguez
Apparently drinking early is tradition.
Try not to kill Garrett. Or you know what. Kill him. I literally don’t care right now.
Rodriguez
I like you bloodthirsty JuJu. It’s pretty hot.
The hair stylist finishes Olivia and gestures to me. “You’re next.”
I settle into the chair. She starts working, brushing, sectioning, pinning. My phone sits on the counter in front of me and I keep glancing at it.
“So what does Rodriguez do?” Lauren asks. “Besides hockey?”
“That’s pretty much it. He plays for Seattle.”
“Is he good?”
“Very good.” I’m watching her in the mirror but I’m thinking about him on the ice. The way he moves. “He loves it. It’s not just a job for him.”
“That’s nice. Having passion for something.” Melissa’s voice drifts over. “Though I imagine the lifestyle is challenging. All that travel, the parties, the attention. Must require a lot of trust.”
There it is.
My shoulders pull up. “We’re fine.”
“I’m sure you are.”
My phone buzzes.
Rodriguez
Owen’s friends are already drunk.
It’s barely 11
Rodriguez
I know. They started with mimosas, now it’s whiskey.
How’s Garrett?
Rodriguez
He just got here. Quiet. Drinking.
That’s ominous.
Rodriguez
I’m keeping an eye on him.
Emma’s telling a story about her boyfriend. Everyone’s laughing. The makeup artist starts on Olivia’s face while the stylist finishes my hair.
I look at myself when she’s done. Hair pinned up in soft waves. Elegant. Put together.
My phone lights up.
Rodriguez
You’re going to look incredible today.
You haven’t seen me yet.
Rodriguez
Don’t need to.
“He texts a lot,” Melissa observes. “That’s nice. Garrett was never much of a texter.”
“Some people aren’t,” my mom says diplomatically.
“True. Everyone’s different.” Melissa takes a sip of champagne. “I’m sure Rodriguez is just very... expressive.”
The way she says expressive. Like it’s a character flaw.
Emma catches my eye in the mirror and mouths what is her problem?
I shake my head slightly. Not worth it.
The makeup artist starts on me. Foundation, contour, eyeshadow. I close my eyes and let him work. The brushes are soft against my skin and I try to focus on that instead of Melissa’s comments.
“Tell us more about Rodriguez,” Olivia says. “What’s he like? Besides gorgeous and clearly obsessed with you.”
I open my eyes. “He’s—” I pause. “He’s good. Like genuinely good. He pays attention to things. Remembers details. Makes everything fun.”
“And he’s completely gone for you,” Emma adds. “It’s so obvious.”
“We’re very happy for you,” my mom says quietly. “After Garrett—Rodriguez seems like the real thing.”
Melissa shifts but doesn’t say anything.
Rodriguez
Garrett just said something.
My stomach drops.
The makeup artist finishes and I look at myself. Full face, perfect hair. I look beautiful but I don’t look like me.
I check my phone. Nothing.
“Time for the dress!” Olivia announces.
Everyone moves to help her. Holding the skirt, buttoning the back, adjusting the train. It takes all of us working together.
When she’s finally in it, fully dressed, we all just stare.
My little sister looks like a bride.
“Oh my god,” I breathe.
“Don’t cry,” Olivia warns. “If you cry, I’ll cry.”
“Too late.” Our mom is already crying.
We take photos. The photographer is clicking constantly. Olivia with her bouquet. Olivia with our mom. All the bridesmaids. Me and Olivia together.
I check my phone between poses.
Still nothing.
Everything okay?
There’s a read receipt, but no response.
We cycle through more photos, more champagne, the energy in the room building to something electric that I can barely feel through my growing panic.
I check again.
Something’s wrong. He wouldn’t just stop responding. Not without reason.
Rodriguez seriously are you okay?
“Jules, come here for a photo,” Emma calls.
I smile. Pose. Check my phone the second we’re done.
Nothing.
It’s been almost thirty minutes since his last text.
Then there’s a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it!” Emma calls.
She opens the door.
Two hotel security guards are standing there.
Every conversation stops. The music keeps playing but no one’s moving. Everyone frozen.
One of them clears his throat. “We’re looking for Juliette Chastain?”
The floor tilts. My ears start ringing.
“That’s—that’s me,” I manage.
One of them steps forward. “Ma’am, we need you to come with us.”