Page 1 of Stuck With the Best Man

Chapter One: Ruby

“Atleasttellmeyou’re leaving the ballet slippers at home,” Eva says on the other end of the line.

I adjust the phone to my other ear and frown down at my suitcase, which definitely has a pair of pointe shoes tucked neatly between a spare leotard and some tights.

“I can’t go that long without practicing, Eva.”

She laughs exasperatedly. “It’s just a long weekend! Four days, Ruby! Don’t you deserve a rest?”

Eva doesn’t get it. No matter how many times I’ve explained it to her in the past, she insists that I’m too obsessed with ballet. Aren’t most people obsessed with their careers, though? Isn’t that the entire point?

What she doesn’t understand is that ballet isn’t natural. Our bodies aren’t technically supposed to do that, which means that dancers have to make sure they’re keeping all their muscles in perfect shape at all times. I can’t take four entire days off. Not even for Eva’s wedding.

“I promise I won’t wear my pointe shoes with the bridesmaid dress, if that helps.”

Technically, I’m not just a bridesmaid, but the maid of honor. When Eva asked me to accept the title a year ago, I was hesitant. As a professional ballet dancer, I knew I didn’t have enough time in my insane schedule to devote to my friend’s wedding. Luckily, though, Eva insisted that it was a title in name only. Much like me, she’s a bit of a control freak, and has dealt with most of the traditional maid-of-honor duties herself or delegated them to the other bridesmaids.

“I’ll take it. Hey, by the way, can I thank you for the thousandth time for suggesting your adorable little hometown as a wedding location? I mean, this place is justsocute. Obviously, we scouted it, like, three times before making the decision, but I just want you to know this place issoendearing.”

I smile to myself. I’m used to Eva’s flowery, enthusiastic way of talking by now.

Eva and her fiancé arrived in Mermaid Shores a few days ago. In about two hours, I’ll be hopping on the train to meet them and the rest of the wedding party there. My hometown is something of a fairytale and is most commonly referred to as a hidden gem among the overrated beach towns in the region. Tucked away in a tiny inlet of Cape Cod, the town hosts some of the most high-profile and high-net-worth individuals every tourist season. It also boasts the prettiest views off the coast of New England, in my humble opinion.

Eva, who was a struggling model when we met thanks to a Craigslist roommate ad four years ago, is now a veritable supermodel with seven figures in her bank account. When she told me that Sebastien, her sexy French boyfriend, proposed last year and they were looking for an idyllic seaside venue, I threw out Mermaid Shores as a casual suggestion. When Eva took it seriously, I was shocked. She could afford a destination wedding in Italy or Bali, but she chose a sweet little town in Massachusetts. People are full of surprises.

I’m happy, though. Now I get to support one of my dearest friends on her big dayandvisit my darling hometown. It’s a win-win. Despite all my anxiety about skimping on training, I’m convinced this weekend is going to be amazing.

“Glad you love it, Eva. I’m heading to Penn Station in a bit. I’ll see you soon!”

She lets out a little excited squeal that makes me snort. Classic Eva. Fame and prestige haven’t changed her one bit.

New York City is a funny place. I’m a nobody from nowhere, but thanks to many random twists of fate, one of my best friends is a millionaire model about to marry a famous photographer.

I do have to admit that it’s hard not to compare myself to Eva, though. She rocketed to success in the industry within a couple of years.

Meanwhile, I’m still fighting my way to the top. Of course, it’s no small feat to be a soloist in the New York City Ballet, but still… I want more. I want to be a principal dancer—the pinnacle of success in the ballet world.

I’m going to make it happen. At twenty-six, I’ve only got about a decade left of my career before my body will force me to retire, and I’m going to make it count. Otherwise, what was the point of it all? What was the point of spending my childhood in all those ballet classes in Boston while everyone else my age was playing on the beach with reckless abandon? Even my twin, Amy, who is now a fairly famous painter, was a relatively normal kid.

I carefully fold a pair of leg warmers into the suitcase and then triple-check that I have all the necessary wedding things: the dress, the shoes, the makeup. When I’m satisfied that I’m fully prepared, I zip up my luggage and head out.

***

“Gram, I’m surprised a seabird hasn’t plucked you off the sidewalk and carried you away to its nest.”

As usual, my grandmother’s arms, hands, and neck are covered in silver bangles, shimmering gemstones, and leather cords of handmade charms. She looks a bit like a bird herself, what with all the many chiffon-y layers of earth-toned fabric draped on her. The sea breeze pushes her long, white hair away from her face as she grins at me and folds me into her embrace.

“You look well, Ruby,” she murmurs. “Although, I’m sensing a slight disturbance in your solar plexus chakra.”

“Don’t you start,” I respond lightheartedly.

Gram chuckles and gestures for me to follow her to the car. The train from Boston doesn’t stop in Mermaid Shores—no train from anywhere stops there—so I always need to be picked up in Hyannis when I come to visit. Usually, Amy is the one to do it, but my sister is currently in Edinburgh, painting one of her famous murals.

In the driver’s seat, Gram arranges all her metaphorical feathers, then pauses to frown softly at me. “Your heart chakra too.”

I sigh loudly and drop my head back against the seat. “I’m fine, Gram.”

She tuts her tongue but puts the car in drive and steers us toward Mermaid Shores without another word.

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