My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,83

the tie done.

“Help me,” I beg.

Lorenzo nods, leaving his own shirt unbuttoned to focus on my swimsuit top. “Good,” he says, tying it easily. “There’s your bottoms too.” He points to the far side of the bed.

How did they get there? Last time I had a conscious thought, Lorenzo had pushed them to my ankles. After that . . . no idea.

I lunge across the bed to grab them and yank them up my legs, wildly kicking my feet in the air to help get the suit situated.

“Come on,” Lorenzo says sharply as he grabs my hand and leads me back out to the top deck.

The party never stopped here. The whole crowd is still happily dancing, the dark night broken by flashing rainbow disco lights and the booming music.

“Maybe we’re okay?” I say hopefully. Lorenzo doesn’t let me pretend, not even for a second, giving me a raised brow look.

“Look, there’s Janey.” He points across the floor to where Janey is dancing with her new friends. “Let’s see if they made an announcement that we missed.”

I take the lead this time, dragging Lorenzo across the floor behind me. I must look like a woman on a mission because people are hopping out of my way left and right. “Janey!” I yell over the music, waving wildly. She smiles and waves back, oblivious.

Finally, I make it to her side and shout in her ear, “Why are we stopped?”

“Huh?” I can’t hear her answer, but her brows knit together as she looks at me in confusion.

Before she catches a damn clue, the speaker crackles. “Hey there, folks! You might’ve noticed that we’ve stopped for a minute. This B-Yacht-ch is a bit temperamental sometimes. We all know a diva like that, don’t we?” he jokes with a sigh of dramatic exasperation. “Anyway, we’re having some minor technical difficulties, but don’t worry, we’ve got a fix-it man on the way. In the meantime, we’re keeping the party rolling for a bit longer. Here’s to the wild and crazy nights of Aruba!”

The announcer makes it sound like this is no big deal, as though a little longer on a relaxing party cruise is the score of a lifetime. And typically, it would be.

But not tonight.

Not when I have fewer than twenty-four hours until the rehearsal dinner and multiple arrangements to prepare. I knew I shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have come out tonight. It was irresponsible, but I’d wanted the one last night of fun with Lorenzo that he promised. I just really need the reasonable bedtime he promised too because tomorrow is coming at a record pace.

And I’m sitting still in the water, miles away from my work, unable to do anything about it.

Maybe I can swim back? How far out are we? I look toward shore and the lights look like tiny pinpricks, so . . . that’s a no.

Is there someone I can call? A lifeline I can use? Way to think like an entitled brat, Abs.

I could take one of the lifeboats and row myself to shore, row-row-row-your boat style.

I’m swirling the drain, and though I know it, I can’t stop the downward spiral of my thoughts. This wedding is too important, and I’m afraid I’m going to let everyone down.

I feel Lorenzo’s steadying hands on my shoulders, lending me strength and warmth, and I suddenly feel like such a selfish bitch for only worrying about myself.

Lorenzo’s got stuff to do too and is likely just as worried as I am about making his deadlines.

I spin in place, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking up to meet his worried eyes. “I’m sorry, I know you’re stressed out too. I just . . .”

I break.

Right there on the dance floor, with partygoers dancing to Get Low and singing about furry boots with zero cares in the world. I fall apart in the comforting embrace of Lorenzo’s arms.

The tears come hot and hard, washing away everything I’ve worked so hard for like it’s nothing. I have poured my everything into SweetPea and into this wedding, knowing that it would be make it or break it for me. I never truly considered that it might actually break me, though. I arrogantly thought I could handle anything and would make this wedding my bitch, even with Meredith working against me.

Until now.

That it’s not even Meredith’s doing but my own choice to fuck off during crunch time makes it suck that much worse.

Lorenzo holds me tight, his palms soothingly rubbing over my back.