My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,85
right now, I’m going back to not thinking of you anymore. Have a nice life. I truly mean that. I hope you have a great life and a long, happy marriage.” I say that last part to Doug, whose brows are knit together in confusion. Emily can explain it to him . . . or not. I’m out of here. “Excuse me.”
Emily’s jaw has dropped open further and further during my little speech. But when I try to walk away, she grabs my arm, her nails digging into the mild sunburn on my skin.
“You always did think you were better than everyone else, didn’t you, Abi? And now, you think you can get the last word in and then walk away from me like I’m nothing?” Emily sneers.
Lorenzo would’ve let us be if she’d only verbally lashed out, but her fingers denting into the flesh of my arm is too much and he steps in close to our long-coming showdown. He growls, “Get your hands off her. Now.”
Doug seems to realize that things have gotten way out of hand and has zero interest in some fight with Lorenzo to defend their brides’ honor. “Em . . . babe, what the hell?” To Lorenzo, he tries to joke, “Might’ve gotten a little carried away with the wine, ya know?” He mimes tossing back drink after drink.
But it’s not that. Emily’s stone-cold sober. We just bring out the worst in each other like kerosene and fire.
I jerk my arm out of Emily’s grasp. “Yes, I can just walk away. I’m going to live my life and be happy . . . for me. If you need your life to be better than someone else’s just so you can enjoy it, that’s on you, and quite frankly, it has nothing to do with me.”
With that, I walk away feeling like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I can’t believe I let it get so far! What was I thinking?
Mom would probably be mortified that I’ve been so awful and equally aghast at my rudeness in handling it. And Violet would’ve told me to just rip Emily’s extensions out and call it a day. But Courtney? I think my Ice Queen sister and her cool managing of situations have rubbed off on me in a good way.
Let’s hope that stays true as I talk to the captain.
“Let’s go through it again,” I tell Janey who has swiped a notepad and pen from somewhere. Her petty theft is the least of my problems, and I’m thankful for her sticky fingers as she stands at the ready to take notes.
She nods and I start.
“Captain said the doo-hickey is the only way to get us moving again, and they can’t get one until morning when the boat repair shop opens—”
“No, he said that’s ‘worst-case scenario’. There’s a chance they’ll get the shop owner out of bed in the middle of the night to get the part. Island cooperation, he called it,” Janey corrects me.
“I think we should plan to be out here all night, just in case,” Lorenzo adds.
All on the same page, we continue. “That means our prep time for the rehearsal dinner is going to be cut short . . . way short . . . tomorrow. I’m so glad we already finished some of the arrangements.” The smallest seed of relief sprouts inside my soul at our foresight to do that. “It’s the only way we might survive tomorrow.”
“Tonight.” Janey points at her watch. “It’s already after midnight, so technically the rehearsal dinner is in” —she does the math on her fingers— “eighteen hours.”
“Fuck! Let’s mentally walk through the ballroom and double-check everything we need versus what we have done,” I decide. “I want a prioritized list that we can use as soon as we hit land.”
As Janey and I do what we do best, Lorenzo steps away to call Esmar and give him the update. He feels sure that Esmar and the kitchen crew can get things started in the morning if he’s not there, but there are some things only Lorenzo can do. And that’s what has him as worried as we are.
A couple of hours later, Janey and I have whittled our plan of attack down to minute-by-minute so we stay on target. If only we can start on time.
Because as of now, we’re still sitting dead in the water.
“Okay, Boss. I think I’m going to grab some food—they opened the buffet back up. When I walked by