Page 51 of Bridesmaid to Bride

West and I put ourselves back together after, hands down, the hottest, best sex ever, and return to the party, fighting to act like nothing just happened. We don’t have any time to talk about any of it, which is probably a good thing. It was just a wild moment—nothing more.

When we get back to the party, I tell everyone West was helping me manage an emergency call from one of the hotel staffers about some missing table settings, but they were found.

We disembark the ship, and Foster offers to walk me back to my room. It’s not lost on me I just had wicked hot sex with another man, but I don’t know how I can say no to Foster’s kind offer. And, hey, Skye would say I’m exploring all my options, which is what I should be doing because—well, picking a lifetime partner is arguably the most important decision one ever makes. So I’m going to try and lean into this, and enjoy it for what it is. When a quiet moment passes, my thoughts move right back to West. Which makes sense because, hello—we just had mind-blowing sex. But I also miss our conversations, and I wonder if I could have the same with Foster, so I say, “Totally random question.”

“Shoot.” Foster squeezes my hand.

I laugh, feeling silly, but plunge ahead. “So, this is ridiculous, but what do you think of time travel?”

He blinks. “I don’t.”

“Fair enough,” I say, knowing full well that his answer is perfectly acceptable. But maybe I’m testing myself. Am I okay without silly, random conversations about things that don’t exist? So I say, “Really? Never wondered if you could zip back in time, redo a dodgy haircut or skip forward to see if flying cars ever happen?”

Foster offers me a bless-your-heart smile. “Why waste mental energy on something theoretical when there’s so much to think about that’s real?”

I know logically he’s right—I’m definitely the weird one here. Regardless, I push. “Because it’s not a waste to ponder things that inspire the imagination. Time travel does that.”

“Oh, speaking of travel,” Foster kicks a pebble as he gracefully segues, “have you ever been to Bora Bora?”

The disappointment slithers through me. There’s nothing wrong with Bora Bora, except that topic is simply uninteresting to me. West would’ve taken my time travel bait and run with it, spinning theories and asking questions until we forgot we were even walking. He’d make me laugh until my sides hurt, and we’d end up debating the existence of aliens or whether banana curry pizza should be considered a crime. P.S., it should. “No, I haven’t.” A hint of indifference seeps out in my tone.

Unaware of my mood shift, Foster launches into an enthusiastic description of Bora Bora’s ocean bungalows and crystal-clear waters. As he talks, I murmur, “Sounds picturesque,” and nod at all the right pauses.

In the moonlight's glow, I watch Foster’s lips keep moving, but my mind’s miles away—wondering if somewhere in another universe, there’s another version of me who could be interested in this. Or, in yet another universe still, I’m talking to someone who understands that a woman needs to discuss time machines and alternate realities.

In my favorite alternate universe, I’m talking to West.

Jeez, Foster doesn’t have a chance. The only thought in my mind is West, West, West.

“Snorkeling, jet skiing... you’d love it,” Foster says as we reach my door.

“Maybe one day.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “This is me.” I smile, crossing my arms because I don’t want him to kiss me.

He shakes his head. “It’s so strange to me how you and Paige look exactly alike but are so very different.”

“Yes. It always throws people.” I nod, sighing. “I had a great time tonight, Foster. Thank you so much.” I lean in and plant a smooch on his cheek to keep anything further from happening.

“Me too,” he says.

I give his hand a squeeze. “See you tomorrow.”

I dart inside my door, leaning back on it when it closes. I’m clearly not cut out for playing the field.

And I need to see West. Now.

25

The Real Moment

WEST

I’m back inside my room, still buzzing from everything that just happened on the dinner cruise. It was amazing, but I’m kicking myself because I didn’t say how I felt.

God, I know I’m a total chickenshit, but every time I get close, it feels like the fear will swallow me whole. I’m trying not to beat myself up too much as I throw off my jacket and tie.

I’m brushing my teeth when there’s a gentle rap on my door. Too gentle to be Skye.

I approach it, and my hand hovers on the handle for a split second because unexpected knocks usually mean bad things. I swing the door open to find... nothing. No one. I lean out the doorway, my head swiveling left and right. Maybe it’s a prank?

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