Page 75 of Bridesmaid to Bride

Someone cries out, and the camera moves to an elderly man clutching his leg. A circle of sunbathers gawks, smartphones out. Hayes dashes over to him, and I can see the red welt on the man’s leg.

“Ooh, a jellyfish sting.” I cringe. “Nasty.”

Hayes undoes his belt like a gunslinger in a showdown.

“Wait, is Hayes...?” I trail off, my eyes widening. “Is he doing what I think he’s doing?”

Oh, fuck no. But, yup.

Hayes whips out his equipment, which is blurred-out.

“He’s peeing on him.” I state the obvious, because what the actual fuck?

And they aired it on national TV. My jaw drops, and I’m torn between horror and hysterical laughter.

On the screen, the elderly man’s grimace softens, relief washing over his face. He reaches up, patting Hayes’ arm, and I can’t help but feel a warm fuzziness in my chest.

“Good job, Daddy!” August’s voice cuts in.

Mia’s voice floods the room again, her praise for Hayes oozing through the speakers. “Now, as it turns out, experts tell us you aren’t actually supposed to pee on a jellyfish sting. It can make the sting worse, so if this happens to you, use vinegar or go back into the ocean water. That said, in this case, it seemed to help the man. Regardless, Hayes, a widower and single dad, has become the true hero of this Wedding Weekend bonanza!”

Then the segment moves away from Hayes, and on the screen is the final blow.

It’s the footage of Eva and me entangled in each other again. And I’ve gotta say, we look damn good together.

“I’ve never wanted anyone so much,” my own voice declares, the confession ripped out of context and thrown into the ravenous weeds of prime-time television.

And there’s no denying it now, not with a nation full of eyewitnesses: Eva is my blaze, my hurricane, my recklessly beautiful disaster.

Mia’s wearing an overly perky smile. “So there you have it, folks, West Quinn is playing groomsman this weekend, but it seems he’s playing us all as he’s about to become our next Groomsman to Groom star!”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

I’m tempted to chuck the remote at her perfectly made-up face as she says, “Going as the next bachelor on our show while secretly falling for the bride’s twin sister?” Her eyebrow arches, and I can practically hear the collective gasp of the audience. “Maybe it’s time to move to another star who’s really looking for love. Maybe someone like Hero Hayes.”

“Fuck you, Mia,” I mutter, hitting the remote to turn off the TV. Then I reach for the whiskey bottle perched conveniently on the nightstand—courtesy of room service—and pour a shot with a heavy hand. I down the whiskey, welcoming the burn that follows. It’s nothing compared to the heat coursing through my body, but at least it’s something.

“Playing us all,” Mia said, and she wasn’t wrong. I never meant to end up here, tangled in a reality TV fiasco, my heart tied up in knots over an untouchable woman. If everyone only knew the truth of how much Eva’s taken over my brain cells, not to mention other parts of my body—and how much I can never have her.

“Congratulations, Weirdo West,” I mutter to myself, “you’ve now lost a second chance at love and the best shot to save your parents’ business.” I guess I’ll be selling my condo and moving into the apartment above Riley’s garage, which will be fine.

Except nothing about this feels fine.

I have to get out of here. I rush out of my room with the frenzy of a man on fire, trying to pull myself together. I’m walking so fast it’s practically a run—the urge to escape the mounting catastrophe overwhelming me.

39

Hideaway Bride

EVA

I’m up bright and early, as the wedding day has finally arrived. I’m glad I made it, and that’s enough—I’ve given up on perfection. Hell, I’ve even given up on good. Let’s just make it through the damn day.

I can’t believe the things West said to me last night. It should’ve been a dream come true, hearing those amazing things he told me. But it was an absolute nightmare. More than anything in the world, I wanted to tell West that I loved him back, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I don’t know what I feel, for sure. Which I keep rationalizing is for the best since I’m leaving for New York—a place he would be absolutely miserable.

And now, after what aired on The Bridesmaid to Bride Special Wedding Weekend episode last night, Skye told me that West’s contract with Groomsman to Groom might be off. They are in meetings to figure it out, as they don’t want a star who’s already in love and there “for the wrong reasons.”

I feel wrung out, but Skye is helping me coordinate the decorating committee and the camera crews, which I’m utterly grateful for. I’m feeling sick to my stomach, so I’m glad to have something to keep my mind occupied. My phone buzzes, and I check to see a text from West.

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