Page 3 of The VIP Package

The moment I know my relationship is done.

Screw the shared mortgage.

Screw the Netflix account.

Screw thinking Hayden Marx is meant to be my husband.

“You’re right, Hayden.” I sound eerily calm, which might be another bad sign. “This wedding was a bad idea.” If I say this next part out loud, it’s done for. “So is our relationship.”

“Hold on, just give me a sec.” He mumbles to someone in the background. “Camille? I have to go. One of the junior attorneys has a question about?—”

“Enjoy your scallops, Hayden. Enjoy yourlife.”

I hang up before he can protest. To be honest, I’m not sure he would.

A strange mist of calm settles over me. I’d probably tell a patient it’s shock. What I tell myself instead is that our honeymoon’s booked through the same company Eve used for hers.

The one with a trade-in system for brides whose weddings get cancelled. A sex club that caters to scorned women’s desires.

Calm as can be, I scroll to the icon for the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club. It’s a private island near the Caribbean that’s devoted entirely to female pleasure. Eve went a few months ago and regaled me with tales of “consorts” fulfilling guests’ wildest fantasies. From bondage to threesomes to pirate roleplay, you name it, it’s probably on the menu.

No joke, there’s amenu.

It’s not terribly hard to switch my reservation. There’s some kind of glitch that’s showing my dates as greyed out, but no matter. The system allows me to book a deluxe room. I’ll make calls from the airport, maybe fill out these forms on the plane. Good thing I just had all my bloodwork done for the wedding. Two clicks later, I’ve uploaded a copy of my squeaky-clean STI test results.

In another five minutes, I’ve swapped out two honeymoon flights for one last-minute ticket to the island closest to Crystal Bliss Retreat. Did Eve say there’s shopping on site? I’ll buy a few summer dresses there, maybe some sunblock.

There’s makeup and shampoo in my gym bag, maybe a swimsuit from when Sara and I went paddleboarding. Hopefully some extra panties, or maybe I won’t need them where I’m going.

By the time I climb into an Uber, I have a fully formed plan. There’s just one thing left, and I feel like a jerk for handling it this way.

I pull up the group text called “Strumpets.” My chest squeezes tight as I skim my last messages with Sara and Eve.They’re all about details for the wedding that won’t happen, but I push aside any sad feelings. There’s no time for that now. I fire off a text that makes it all real.

Change of plans. Hayden stood me up for the last time, so I’m headed to Crystal Bliss. Count me in as an official member of the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club.

“Hello?”

I’m clutching my lopsided gym bag as I stroll through the empty-ass lobby. My voice bounces off a big marble welcome desk gleaming beneath a crystal chandelier. Bell carts stand polished and empty, but there’s nobody manning the concierge desk adorned with three orchids in pots.

This is weird.

“Anyone here?”

My voice echoes in the cavernous space. A two-story waterfall splashes cheerfully into a pond filled with colorful koi. Pots of lush ferns line one wall and floor-to-ceiling windows frame a view of the pools and the sprawling, white-sand beach beyond that.

Anemptywhite sand beach.

“Where is everyone?”

I can’t imagine they’d close a whole freakin’ resort. This place employs five dozen consorts, plus bartenders, aestheticians, chefs, and personal trainers. My research psychologist brother did a study here several months back, so I know what goes into running this place.

Which means they couldn’t just shut it down.

“Did I miss some zombie apocalypse?” I follow the signs to the spa, which appears to be right off the lobby. My sensible wedding sandals tap cool terracotta tiles as I make my way down a dimly-lit hall. The flowy cotton dress billows behind me as I pass a big fan by the elevators. Not for the first time, I’m grateful I picked such casual wedding attire. To the undiscerning eye, it’s just a regular white sundress to wear on vacation.

Now I just need the vacation.

Rounding a corner, I move past another big waterfall with a pond. This one’s lined with smooth river rock and delicate plants sporting pink-spotted leaves. A stocky green parrot sits perched on a branch with no cage in sight. It has a bright yellow beak with a pink throat and neck, and its curious eyes track my path down the hall.

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