Page 2 of Beached Wedding

“I know, but...” Normally I would trust Fox to sort it, but the stakes were really high. My mother was dying to find fault with my groom. I didn’t expect everything to be perfect this week, but I would do whatever necessary so things ran smoothly.

“When I get there, I want to see you in a bikini, a wedding dress, then a bikini,” Izzy stated. “That’s it.”

“Aw.” I layered my voice with a sentimental pang. “You sound like Shane.”

“That guy has gone three months without sex. Good luck wearing anything.”

I chuckled, but it came out weak. I wasn’t like Izzy in that way either, inclined to overshare about what went on in the bedroom. Shane and I were fine in the sack, but we didn’t exactly tear each other’s clothes off. I wasn’t convinced anyone ever felt as porny and horny as books and movies made out.

Was I suffering FOMO over those who did? Sure. But I’d been raised to keep my expectations low. Focus on needs, not wants, so there was less room for disappointment.

And I was marrying a gorgeous surfy-dude who had great parents and a growing business. He was giving me an excuse to move to Australia. I had no reason to be greedy.

I glanced up as a swell of travelers began streaming past me. They were mostly Asian so it was probably a different flight. Shane and Fox were coming straight from Sydney.

“Seriously, I— Oh, hang on, Ash.” Izzy muffled the phone while she spoke to someone.

I bit back a sigh, wondering if she even wanted to see me. We’d been best friends growing up, but she barely talked to me in the three months that I’d been back in Canada.

Granted she was four hours away from our home town, working at a demanding job in Winnipeg, living it up with all her city friends, but her parents still lived near me. She hadn’t come back once to see them or me. Every time I had suggested coming to stay with her in the Peg, Izzy had had other plans. She often took days to respond to a text. I felt like I was an unwelcome reminder that we came from a dot on the map that was more of a zit in the armpit of the country.

I genuinely hadn’t expected her to accept maid-of-honor duty. I asked because she was the one who had coaxed me to go to Australia with her last year, something I wouldn’t have done on my own. Then she drew me into meeting Shane after chatting up Fox. Everything about that trip had started out fantastic.

Within the week, however, Izzy abruptly went back to Canada, ditching me for the bank job she currently held.

It was a really good job. I couldn’t blame her. And her abandonment had turned out fine for me, obviously, but given how easily she had left me alone in a strange country, I had been expecting a regretful excuse the entire time I’d been planning this wedding.

Izzy came back on the line. “That was a hot-goss alert about a mat leave. They want me to apply to cover it. Guess I can’t marry Fox and move to Oz after all. Do you think he’d move here?”

“The market for surf shops in Manitobaiswide open.”

“Right? It’s one of those things you don’t know you need until it’s here.”

“Ask him when you see him. They’ve talked about expanding into California, since Fox is American, but with the price of real estate there— Oh. I just heard someone say ‘G’day.’ Might be their flight. I’ll hang up.”

“’kay. See you in forty-eight hours plus traffic.”

“Can’t wait. Travel safe.”

I pushed off the wall and dropped my phone into my bag, bouncing on my toes in my excitement to see the man who was changing my life.

FOX

Idetoured into the men’s room and dry-heaved until my lungs threatened to squeeze out of me like toothpaste. As I did, my sunglasses dropped off the collar of my shirt and hit the water in the bowl. Brilliant. At least they floated as advertised so I hadthatgoing for me.

Plucking the glasses from the toilet, I leaned against the wall, wishing it was colder, but the airport was open to the elements. No A/C. I ought to be used to the heat and most days I could stand it, but not today. Not with this humidity.

Not with this hangover.

I was shaking and lived inside each of my next three breaths, waiting for the nausea to pass. When I was pretty sure I could move without retching, I swiped my wrist across my mouth and opened the door of the stall. I braced there and met the reflected gaze of the man washing his hands.

“Rough flight?”

“Yeah.” The whole plane had listened to me alternately snore and lose my guts for ten hours. I should have stayed drunk. The minute I’d taken my seat on the plane alone, my conscience had begun to squirm. Now, I was crawling out from judgment-impaired drunk to a hard cast of DTs and felt ill in a whole new way.

What kind of asshat talked a man into jilting his bride? IlikeAshley. Shane could do a helluva lot worse. I should have kept my trap shut.

But no. I’d been ‘a good mate’ so here I was, drunk-sober and seedy, sick with the realization I had thrown a lever that would derail lives.

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