Page 44 of Bridesmaid to Bride

The laughter fades as they skate away, but it echoes an endless loop in my head. I’m crushed, ground into the dirt along with any shred of self-worth I’d mustered.

“Whatever,” I mutter, pushing off with more force than necessary. I skate away, but there’s a weight in my chest, heavy as lead, pulling me down. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but right now, I feel like wet tissue paper.

As I finish the story, I meet Skye’s eyes, shadowed with pain. My voice deflates when I say, “So there I was. Reminded that I’d never fit in. Never get the girl. Of course, over the years I grew up and filled out, gained more confidence. But sometimes I’m reminded that I’m still that country kid with sex shop parents, and it messes with my head.”

“Those little shits.” Skye shakes her head.

“Still feels like I’m wearing that ‘weirdo’ label under my shirt sometimes.” The confession tastes bitter.

“Let me tell you a secret.” Skye leans in, squishing the dogs a bit. “I was a weirdo. I still am a weirdo. The best people are weirdos. We’re the ones who love deeply, create magic, and change the world.”

I manage a half-smile, feeling the warmth of her words chip away at the block of doubt lodged in my chest. “Weirdo and proud, then?”

“Damn right.” She winks, and I can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope.

“Where are Rebecca Hammond and Jessica Markowski now?” Skye asks. “Are they about to be invited to appear on a reality dating show?”

“No. Neither ever left town.”

“And look at you now—smart, successful, and a total catch.” She touches my arm. “And just so you know, I think Orderly Eva and Weirdo West could be a great match. But you need to tell her how you feel.”

I swallow hard, coaxing my mouth to say the words out loud. “How? When she’s supposed to be getting with the guy her dad hand-selected for her?”

“You do it because you have to—for yourself. You tell her so you never have to live with the regret of not taking it as far as you can—or always wondering what could’ve been.” She shrugs. “Look at me and Billy. Took us years, but I’m so glad we finally admitted we were twin flames.”

“Yeah, you two are amazing.” I nod slowly, blowing out a shaky breath. “Okay. I’m going to do it.”

21

The Passion

EVA

Thursday night the sea air is cool as the yacht cuts through the Atlantic, the twinkling lights from St. Sebastian bouncing off the ripples. I’m dressed in a gown so froufrou I feel like I should be dining on the Titanic.

Paige switched up my table arrangement and had Foster placed next to me at the wedding party table, which is at the front of the deck and away from the other guests. I don’t appreciate the change, but then again, I did promise to talk to Foster. Which is exactly what I’m doing now as he leans in, his smile crisp. “You look breathtaking tonight, Eva.”

“Thanks.” I fiddle with the napkin on my lap, feeling out of place. Paige and Zach are making the rounds greeting everyone, and Foster and my dad head knee-deep into a discussion about new rulings and regulations. Blah. So I turn to Kat and say, “So what are your plans for entering the food industry?”

She smiles shyly and bats a hand. “Oh, I’d never dare venture into running my own business—I’m not as brave as you are. I’m just working on getting a permit to donate my time and services to various charity events.”

Well, that sounds honorable. Maybe I haven’t given Kat enough credit. “I’m not sure what I did was brave or foolish, but I appreciate the compliment. And what you’re doing sounds wonderful.”

She proceeds to tell me about her plans for her favorite charities, and usually, I’d be very interested. But after finding out about Zach possibly having a daughter along with what happened with West last night, my brain is like a jumbled ball of Christmas lights.

When my father takes Kat to the balcony, Foster gestures at the view with his wineglass. “The ocean is really showing off for us tonight.”

“It really is,” I say, though it feels like a backdrop to someone else’s romantic evening.

Foster’s hand brushes mine as he points to a particularly ostentatious building in the distance. “Architecturally significant,” he says with easy confidence. “Designed by Albert Zurich, a man who went to Harvard with my great grandfather.”

“Really?” I say, ordering myself to be interested.

“Yes.” He grins, taking my hand in his as he nods in another direction. “He also designed that bridge. Originally, it was supposed to be a decorative statement as well. But because they needed to finish it quickly to get traffic flowing to the island, they had to go basic.”

“Wow, that’s so interesting,” I say, because it is. Or it should be. But time to dig deeper. “So, Foster, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Shoot.”

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