Page 11 of Stuck With the Best Man

“That’s what that buff bartender dude was saying last night! Lazy Joe’s is the best coffee spot on the cape.”

“Buff bartender dude?” I echo.

“Yeah, man, he was jacked. I spent, like, twenty minutes trying to convince him to give me his personal trainer’s info. Turns out the guy doesn’t even have a personal trainer! He does that all on his own!”

“Neat.”

Erik continues to trail me down the hall, his lilting Italian accent severely at odds with his overuse of Americanisms. For an upstart fashion designer, this guy behaves more like a frat boy. Maybe he thinks that’s how he’s supposed to act in order to fit in here… despite the fact that there are dozens of other Europeans in the wedding party.

“I wonder if that blonde chick will be around today,” Erik continues chatting as we step outside. I almost hiss like a feral cat when the blinding sunlight feels like lasers burning deep into my retinas, even with the sunglasses.

“What blonde chick?” I grumble, hating the way the classless terminology tastes on my tongue.

“The mean one. Ruby, I think.”

I snort. “She’s not mean.”

“She is to you.”

I decide to ignore that comment. “Well, she’s maid of honor, so I’m assuming that she will, indeed, be at the picnic, Erik. You can flirt to your heart’s content with her as soon as we get there.”

“Oh, no, dude. Not for me. I’m with Lola.”

“Who’s Lola?”

“The girl you literally just saw me with.”

Oh. Oops. Namenotconfirmed, then.

“Right.”

Erik snickers. “It’s fun to watch. Girls always like you. But not her! What did you do to her? Is she an ex?”

I frown at him as we head toward a tiny café that is, in fact, called Lazy Joe’s. It’s almost noon and the main street of Mermaid Shores is packed with tourists. Not the usual sort of sticky, sweaty, whiny tourists that clog up the sidewalks in New York, though. These people have a more easy-breezy vibe to them. They’re all relaxed and smiling in a way that makes me wonder if there’s some kind of magic spell in the air.

I’m also certain that I spot more than a few familiar faces among the crowd. Familiar faces as in, movie stars and famous musicians. Not just because the Linworth wedding has its fair share of celebrities on the guest list, but also because Mermaid Shores is apparently a hot spot for high-profile individuals. Hidden gem, indeed.

Erik nudges me with his elbow, and I remember that he asked me a question.

“No, she’s not an ex. I don’t know her at all. Not really.”

Still, I swear I’ve met Ruby before. The familiarity isn’t because she’s a dancer for the ballet or because her twin is an esteemed painter. It’s something else.

I just can’t put my finger on it.

Thankfully, I don’t have to endure much more of Erik’s company, because we run into two of Sebastien’s cousins at the café. Then, I’m being introduced to a director who just debuted at Cannes, and a sculpture artist from Sweden, and a whole crowd of important people who are either here for the wedding or their own vacations.

I’m good with people. I always have been. My father’s criticisms aside, that’s the one thing I’ve always excelled at. People are easy, after all.

Well, most people.

Even though I swear I’m not looking for her, I find Ruby on the beach in the early afternoon. One of Eva’s model friends is close acquaintances with the rockstar Aiden Marx, and even though Aiden’s out of town—traveling with his girlfriend in Thailand, apparently—he was kind enough to lend his private beach access to the wedding party for the picnic.

Ruby is lounging on a white beach blanket with Lola—notLorena—and Olenka, another bridesmaid. She’s wearing a lavender sundress with her graceful ballerina legs stretched out to soak up the sun. Her blonde hair is hanging loose down her back. I hadn’t realized it was so long. I’ve only seen it in a prim little bun or in the chignon she had it in last night. I think.

Either way, she’s insanely pretty.

I know I’ve been staring at her for a moment too long, even as I casually make my way over to Sebastien, but I can’t seem to stop.

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