Page 83 of Beached Wedding

The acknowledgement ofushadn’t come from her lips, though. That had stung, but maybe she’d been scared to say it.

The way she’d grown so upset as she shot down Shane’s attempt to make up had tied my guts into knots. The only other time I’d seen her get worked up like that had been the hairclip incident, when she’d thought I was picking on her. How had I thought that was harmless and cute? The consequences of pushing back scared her. I saw that now and I’d been compelled to stick around and let her know she was safe. She wasn’t alone. I wouldalwayshave her back.

My feelings must have been painted ten-feet tall across my face, ’cause Shane had seen ’em and read the situation without any effort.

Twenty minutes later, I remembered that she was supposed to get a pedicure. I ate the fruit cup with yoghurt I’d ordered for her and debated trying to find her at the spa, but I wasn’t up for post-analysis in front of her sister and Izzy, though. Shane’s and Sandy’s contempt were quite enough for the moment, thanks.

The front desk refused to give me access to Ash’s room, even though I assured them I only wanted to retrieve the phone I’d left there. I managed to talk them into a spare card for my own room, at least.

The blankets on the bed were still tousled. I made a half-hearted effort to straighten them, but it didn’t help sort out the disarray in my head. An hour ago, I’d been trying to think how I could possibly go back to Oz and keep this from Shane and carry on as normal.

So much for that. My whole life was unraveling and I wasn’t even sure of Ashley’s motives. Why had she fallen into this bed with me?

What did I want her to reason to be? I’d been the one who was adamant we maintain our friendship, but we’d given into lust and I hadn’t had time to come to terms with that. I didn’t know what I wanted to happen.

Did I want her to share my life? Because, after the cluster-fuck I’d just created, she was justified in asking, ‘What life?’

Fuck. What the hell was I going to do?

ASHLEY

Iheard the phone while I was in the shower and didn’t bother listening to the message, presuming it was a reminder from Whitney to bring the sunglasses she’d left here yesterday. I texted that I was running late and would meet them in the spa. Then I pulled a sundress over my damp body and combed out my wet hair. No time for make-up, even though my eyes were still red from the reactive tears I’d shed while in the shower.

Fox’s stricken look as Shane had walked out on us was sitting against my heart like a razor blade, digging in with each beat.My fault, my fault, my fault.

I cringed, grabbed my purse and kicked into my flipflops, then hurried down to the far end of the hall, to the elevator that went directly to the spa. It was only when I stood alone in the lingering scent of essential oils that I allowed myself to wonder how Fox was making out with Shane.

A glance at my phone only told me Whitney was in the spa, waiting for me.

The doors opened and I saw her sitting next to Fliss in the waiting area. Fliss lifted her gaze from her phone long enough to send me a why-am-I-here look.

“Thank you,” Whitney breathed as she shoved her sunglasses onto her face, covering make-up that looked stark against her green-tinged complexion.

Izzy came in from the stairway entrance. She wore sunglasses with rhinestones on their arms. Her denim shorts had an overall bib and she wore a neon blue crop-top beneath.

“Were weactuallydancing on the ceiling last night?” Izzy asked. “’Cause I woke up on the floor and I feel like I fell twelve feet. Getting pedicures was a way better idea when I thought we’d be partying tonight instead of last night.”

I smiled, but it didn’t stick.

“Why do you look hungover?” Izzy asked me with disgust. “You left early.”

I hadn’t decided how much to say, but figured I had to at least warn them.

“Shane’s here.”

Izzy dropped her sunglasses down her nose to blink her thick lashes at me. Whit made a strangled noise and Fliss asked, “Does that mean the wedding is on again?”

“No.”

“I was just asking.” Fliss went back to reading her phone.

I hadn’t meant to sound so bitchy, but I’d spent a lot of yesterday deconstructing my engagement with Whit and Izzy. Today’s conversation with Shane might not have been easy, but I’d had time to process that we really had been doomed. That had helped me articulate it to him, unpleasant as that had been.

“Is everyone here? Please come in,” a technician invited, leading the four of us to two pairs of massage chairs facing each other. “Shall I bring a round of mimosas? I’ll need I.D.,” she told Fliss.

“I’m twelve. I don’t want anything.” Fliss didn’t want to be here. None of us did, but we should have cancelled two days ago if we didn’t want to be charged for it. When I had tried to dothat, Whitney had insisted we should spoil ourselves. So here we were, day undeniably spoiled.

“Have you talked to him?” Izzy asked as we all kicked off our flip-flops and sat down to sink our feet into our respective footbaths.

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