Page 10 of Stuck With the Best Man

Chapter Four: Ben

“You’renotsupposedtobe on vacation,” snaps my father from the other end of the line.

“I’m not on vacation. I’m at a wedding,” I remind him as I pace back and forth in my room at the Arabelle Inn.

My father huffs in annoyance. “I thought you said you were going to take these new responsibilities seriously. You’re on the Board of—”

“Who says I’m not taking it seriously?” I snap. “Just because I’m in Cape Cod for the weekend to celebrate my friend’s marriage doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the board anymore. Relax.”

“The summer season starts next week. You’ll be expected at the benefit gala.”

“I’m aware of that. Are you going to call Gerald next and chastise him for the fact that he’ll be in the Hamptons for the entirety of July?”

My father grumbles at the mention of the vice president of the board at the NYC Ballet. “Gerald has paid his dues. Appearances aren’t crucial for him anymore.”

“Because he’s retiring soon. Right. And then they’ll be tapping a new VP—”

“Which better be you, boy.”

I cringe at the demeaning use of the termboy, grateful that he can’t see my face.

“I’ll make it happen. Don’t worry about it,” I promise. “I know how important the arts legacy is to the family. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Those party-boy days are behind you,” he replies sternly.

I’d hardly call myself aparty boy. If anything, I’m a well-traveled boy—man, actually—with a penchant for luxurious jazz clubs and private yachts. It’s not like I’ve spent the past few years jetting off to Ibiza and getting wasted at raves every weekend.

Still, I know that I have a lot to prove. My older siblings are miles ahead of me. They’ve always been more impressive. As the youngest, I’ve been the afterthought for the past twenty-seven years. Little troublemaking Ben, who can’t take anything seriously. Silly Ben, who has no ambition or interest in a career at all.

Those days are over.

“I’m hanging up now,” I tell my father. “Take a Xanax.”

Before he can give me an earful about that last comment, I end the call and toss my phone onto the unmade bed.

Man, my head hurts. Partially because conversations with my father usually make my head pound, but also because I drank too much last night. After the rehearsal dinner, a bunch of us ended up at a bar called the Siren & Sword. Admittedly, it turned out to be a pretty cool place. There was even a Sullivan mural on the wall, which held my attention while Sebastien attempted to pour vodka shots down my throat.

Ruby didn’t join us. According to Eva, she wasn’t feeling well. I’m not surprised. Ballerinas don’t get out much. They’re a strict sort of people, with rigorous routines and rules that they refuse to deviate from. It’s worth it, though, considering how impressive they are once they get on the stage.

I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge and gulp it down. Satisfied that my attire is appropriate for a wedding picnic, I shove my sunglasses on and brave the outside world.

Technically, a wedding is supposed to take place the day after the rehearsal dinner, but Eva and Sebastien had to do some careful finagling when it came to Blakeley Manor’s packed summer wedding schedule. Apparently, another couple refused to budge, so the Linworth wedding will take place tomorrow. Today, the happy twosome is hosting a beach picnic.

As if piercing sunlight, screaming children, and gritty sand in our shoes is what we all need while nursing hangovers.

Then again, it’s not my wedding, and therefore, not my place to have such a judgmental opinion.

As soon as I step out into the hall, Erik and Lorena—name confirmed last night—emerge from the room across from mine. I didn’t realize they were together. When I nod my head in greeting, Lorena blushes and scurries down the hall to a different room. Erik grins at me lazily.

Right. Not dating. Just enjoying the inherent frivolity of a destination wedding. Good for them, I guess.

“Headed to the beach?” he asks.

“I was hoping to find some coffee first.”

“Same. Man, we got to go to Lazy Joe’s.”

“Pardon?”

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