Page 25 of My Ex-Fiance's Best Men
Above us, sunlight shines through the treetops, their crowns almost meeting. I can see the sky beyond through the cracks, while the forest whispers everywhere around us. It now knows our secrets, keeping us safe and away from the world.
Why would I ever want to leave this place?
“Never?” I ask Dominic. “But you’ve shared other women before.”
“No other woman compares to you, Phoebe,” Theo promptly replies. “You’ll come to understand that soon enough.”
How dare they put such bold ideas into my head. Making me feel like I’m the only girl in the world. Like I’m all there is and all there ever will be.
My whole life, I’ve compared myself to other women.
But for Dominic, August, and Theo, I seem to be everything they’ve ever wanted.
What a crazy idea until it dawns on me that I haven’t given Matthew a single thought since we started this hiking trip.
7
PHOEBE
“I’m not sure about this,” I laugh nervously.
Mery, my Hula dance instructor, gives me a soft smile while the other resort clients—all of them women—giggle and keep practicing their steps with Sage, the other Hula teacher.
Just outside of the dance studio, I can see Dominic sitting at one of the gentlemen’s tables, where the husbands and fathers of my fellow dance students wait over drinks and snacks. He could’ve gone scuba diving with Theo and August while I tried this Hula thing, but he chose to stick around.
“Don’t be nervous,” Mery says. “Hula is more about expression than it is about getting the steps perfect the first time you try. We’re all beginners here.”
“You’re the instructor,” I reply with a weak smile.
“And not the one you should be comparing yourself to,” she says with a laugh.
She’s a gentle soul and incredibly patient, given how anxious and clumsy I’ve been over the past twenty minutes since we started the class.
“Okay, can we try again?” I ask Mery.
“Of course. Remember, you’re not just dancing, you’re telling a story,” she says, gently taking me through the first steps of the routine again.
“A story,” I mumble as I follow along. “It’s easier than ballroom dancing, that’s for sure.”
“You took ballroom dancing?”
“Just for a few months. My mom said I was too big and not graceful enough so she switched me to swimming.”
Mery gives me a pained look before whipping up another smile as she takes me through the routine, showing me how to move my arms. “It’s like you’re following the descent of the sun, see?” she says as she performs the moves.
All I can do is gaze at her with sincere admiration. She’s so light on her feet. So graceful. Yet she’s got love handles like I do and thick upper arms. Full breasts and thick thighs. I was taught to be ashamed of my curves, while Mery grew to worship hers through dance. It breaks my heart and heals me at the same time.
“Okay, I think I got it,” I tell her.
“You’ve got it for sure,” she encourages me. “Look at you! You just did the entire first third of the routine without missing a beat!”
“I did?”
“Yes, Phoebe, you did. Once you understand the story behind the dance, it’s easier to follow along because you identify the words with the movements.”
“Like the sun coming down over Mauna Kea.”
“Exactly. And the sea breeze rising to meet the moon.”
