You May Kiss the Bridesmaid

by Camilla Isley

  Archie groans awake. “What—?”

  I place a hand over his mouth. “Shhh. It’s my sister.”

  The knocking turns to pounding. “Sammy. Summer.”

  Archie picks up the hand covering his mouth, kisses the palm, and lowers it to his chest. “What does she want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Aren’t you going to answer?”

  “With you here? No way. Winter will think I’m in the shower or something and leave.”

  Sure enough, after a few more minutes, the attack on the door ends and the hall beyond goes quiet.

  I drop back onto the pillow, blowing hair away from my face. “That was close.”

  “Would it be so bad if she found us together?”

  I raise on my elbows. “With everything she told me about you, the way she worries about me, and it being the day before her wedding? Yeah-ha. She’d go nuts!”

  Archie puts a hand over his chest in mock pain. “I feel deeply stereotyped here.”

  “Poor you.” I bend over and kiss him on the forehead. “You want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I slip on my panties and pull the white, long-to-my-knees T-shirt I use as pajamas over my head. The shirt has taken a vacation on this trip so far as I’ve slept mostly naked… Mmm… I let out a contented sigh and get up. The moment I step into the kitchenette, however, my sense of serene satiation evaporates as the pounding on the door resumes.

  “Sammy, Sammy, it’s me.”

  Oh my gosh, is my sister ever going to give up? She’s going to wake up the entire floor at this rate. I put a finger to my lips in a shush gesture directed at Archie. If we keep quiet, Winter will have to chase and desist, eventually.

  But that hope shatters when I hear a key turning in the lock. How does she have a key to my room?

  My chest explodes in a panic, my heartbeat picks up a frenzied tempo and then decelerates when the door opens barely an inch before the inner bolt stops it with a loud thud. Thank goodness I always put the extra lock on by reflex, even if I don’t have a recollection of doing it last night. Apparently old habits can survive even rabid sex exploits.

  In a blur, I collect all of Archie’s clothes from where they’re scattered around the bedroom. Jeans, shoes, and socks on the floor. His sweater from the back of a chair, and his T-shirt draped over the bed’s headboard.

  “Get up,” I hiss, and frantically scan the room to check if I’ve missed anything.

  Meanwhile, my sister is trying to peek her head inside while she keeps calling my name.

  When Archie is up, emerging stark naked from under the sheets, I don’t even take the time to admire his sculpted body. A clear sign of how agitated I am. I simply force the ball of clothes in his arms and push him into the bathroom, saying, “Hide in the shower. Pull the curtain.”

  Then, I rush back into the main room, closing the bathroom door behind me. Hand still on the handle, I take a steadying breath, and finally answer my sister.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I hurry to the door. “Get your head out so I can remove the bolt.”

  Winter obeys, and I close the door with a soft click, remove the lock, and reopen the door wide to let her in.

  “Oh my gosh!” She barrels into the room. “Are you okay?” Winter grabs my shoulders and pats down my arms as if to check I’m whole.

  “Yeah, I am.” I shrug free. “What are you doing in my room at seven in the morning? And why do you have a key?”

  “You weren’t answering, so I went to the reception and pretended to be you to get a duplicate. Why weren’t you answering?”

  “That’s illegal,” I say, ignoring the second question.

  “Oh, please, as if you’ve never pretended to be me.”

  “Not since we were teenagers,” I retort pettily. “What’s up, did something happen?”

  “No, I just wanted to catch you before you disappeared off to yoga, and then… What is it again you’re doing today?”

  I see my plan of spending the day with Archie exploring Napa together, having lunch in a quiet bistro, and pretending we’re a couple evaporate before my eyes once again.

  Is it a wise plan? Pretending we’re together? Probably not. Do I care? Nu-uh.

  And I hate that I have to lie to my sister, but I want one full day with Archie so much. Tomorrow is the day of the wedding, and there won’t be any sneaking off then. And tomorrow night will be our last together. I squash the panic rising in my chest at the mere thought.

  Bottom line is, I need today. This entire week is about her; I deserve a day for myself.

  “I told you, nothing in particular. I planned to go exploring a little.”

  “Yeah, some me time you said, right?” She’s not buying it.

  I’m trying to come up with a believable answer when I spot Archie’s boxer briefs peeking out from under the bed, one second before my sister’s laser-focused gaze clocks in on them.

  “Are those man underpants?” Winter asks.

  In a desperate move, I kick them further under the bed. “No,” I say, blushing head-to-toe.

  “You have a man stashed up in here!” My sister smiles. “That’s why you didn’t come to the door. Why are you hiding him?”

  “Please, no one else is here.”

  Winter’s face turns suspicious. “No, seriously, where is he hiding?” Then her gaze narrows. “Who is he?”

  “He doesn’t exist.”

  “Really?” Winter crosses the space between us. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I looked”—with a theatrical gesture, she opens the closet door—“in here!”

  Hanging from the rack, only my bridesmaid dress comes into view.

  “See?” I say. “No one’s here.”

  Winter still looks unconvinced, but I’m beginning to hope she’ll let it go, when the clear sound of a sneeze echoes from the bathroom.

  With an ah-ha look, my sister marches into the en suite, and, after a few seconds’ pause, I hear the shower curtain being yanked open.

  “You?” Winter gasps.

  “Hi, Snowflake,” Archie’s husky voice replies. “If I said I was here only to take a shower ’cause mine is broken, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

  “I can’t believe this!”

  Winter marches out of the bathroom and Archie follows her, wearing only his jeans—commando style. He looks deliciously disheveled, like a half-unwrapped candy. And even after the night we’ve had, I only want for my sister to get out of the way so I can have my sugar fix.

  But Winter doesn’t seem keen on going anywhere.

  “How could you?” She points an accusing finger at him.

  “Relax, Winter,” I say. “Nothing shady is going on. We’re two consenting adults who decided to have fun together while at a wedding. No need to go ballistic.”

  The comment, even if technically accurate, sounds a little empty now. So much has changed from that first night when all I wanted to do was forget my name.

  My sister turns on me, and I’m not sure if I’ve been quick enough to hide the uncertainty from my features, because she stares at me with her mouth gaping open, incredulous.

  “Having fun—” she scoffs. “Of course.” Then she throws a look at Archie so seething it’d finish melting the Arctic. “Get dressed and come to my room,” she orders him. “We need to talk.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say. “This is none of your business.”

  The icecap-melting gaze pivots to me. “This is my wedding. Everything is my business.”

  Then she turns on her heel and marches out, calling, “Archibald Hill, get your ass to my room, now!” Winter slams the door behind her.

  Fifteen

  Archie

  Better dressed—the briefs were a bitch to retrieve from under the bed—but still unshowered, I knock on Winter and Logan’s door, ready to have my ass kicked.

  When I get in, Logan throws me a “Seriously, man?�
� look, with a passive-aggressive postscript of, “If you had to screw the bride’s sister, couldn’t you at least not get caught the day before the wedding?”

  So, my friend is up to speed on the situation.

  On the other side of the room, Winter doesn’t spare me a second glance; she’s too busy pacing around.

  When she stops and turns on me, her features contort in a gut-freezing expression of fury I pray never to witness on Summer’s face.

  “Explain yourself,” Winter demands.

  “You want me to give a speech about the birds and the bees or something?”

  “Don’t you try to be a smartass about this. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Listen, you’re overreacting… Summer and I, we have an understanding.” I ignore the, “No, man, don’t even try to go down that road,” face Logan is making behind Winter’s back and keep going. “All the cards are on the table. We’re going to enjoy each other’s company while we’re here, and then go our separate ways at the end of the week.”

  That doesn’t sound as right as it did a week ago, but the logistics of our future is something Summer and I will have to figure out later, on our own. Her sister doesn’t get a say.

  Winter has a different opinion on the matter. “Unbelievable. What are you, bridesmaid-and-best-man-with-benefits?”

  “If you had to put a label on it, sure.”

  “My sister doesn’t do casual sex.”

  I’m about to say she does it pretty damn well, when Logan’s, “Don’t you dare,” silent warning stops me, and I purse my lips.

  “Why are you so mad, exactly?” I ask.

  “Because you’re taking advantage of my sister.”

  “I’ve been clear from the start what this was—”

  “Please, don’t give me any of that crap. You knew she was lonely and vulnerable and you used it to get laid. How long has it been going on?” Winter points an accusing finger at me. “I told you that first morning at breakfast my sister was off-limits.”

  I shrug. “Well, sorry, you were exactly one night too late.”

  Her jaw drops. “What? How? You were late on Monday; when did you find the time? You… you what? Walked into the lobby and, five minutes later, my sister was warming your bed?”

  “We had dinner at the same bar and we bonded over a game of hockey.”

  “You mean you seduced her.”

  I don’t answer.

  “Oh my gosh! So, you’ve been sneaking around behind everyone’s backs since we got here?”

  Still, I don’t speak.

  “Every night?”

  And a few afternoons, too. I muse while keeping my mouth firmly shut.

  Now she turns to Logan. “Say something. He’s your best man!”

  My friend shrugs. “I can’t control what he does, and neither can you.”

  “Of course you’d be on his side,” Winter snaps.

  I’d hardly call that having my back, but I can see why Logan needs to keep neutral.

  “Listen, Snowflake, I promise no one is getting hurt here.”

  “Don’t you dare Snowflake me. And are you really so dumb to think Summer won’t be crushed when you ride away into the sunset alone on Sunday night?”

  “That was the initial plan, but nothing has to end on Sunday. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Great! So, you’re ready to have a girlfriend? A relationship? With my sister?” She walks toward me, stopping a mere foot away. Winter is shorter than me, but somehow manages to look down her nose at me. “Care to know where Summer was just a few weeks ago?”

  “Uh?”

  “She was in New York, freezing her eggs. Comprende?”

  I squint. What is she talking about?

  The rant continues. “You know why? Because Summer is the kind of woman who wants to get married and to have a family so bad, she was willing to put herself through weeks of medical exams and hormone shots to secure that future. And not just any family. She wants a big one. A soccer team of cute, chubby babies squealing around the house. So, tell me, how many kids do you want?”

  Honestly, I don’t know if I see myself as a father. And definitely not in the immediate future.

  Winter must read the answer on my silent features, because next she says, “That’s what I thought.” She comes an inch closer and hisses, “Do me a favor next time you’re”—she makes air quotes—“having fun with my sister. Take a good look at how she stares at you, and then tell me again how no one is going to get hurt.”

  ***

  Winter’s words stay with me long after I leave her room. Does she have a point? Are Summer and I not right for each other? Our chemistry is amazing, and I always have fun when I’m with her, but it’s true we haven’t discussed any of the more serious topics. Because that’s not what people who plan to have a week-long fling do. But I won’t lie: being with her hasn’t felt like a casual fling past that first night together.

  Let’s take a look at the hard facts.

  I don’t want to say goodbye to Summer come Sunday. But I also don’t want to get married or have kids.

  Are we as incompatible as Winter claims? We can’t be, not when we fit so well together.

  Summer is the first woman who stirred in me something other than lust, something deeper.

  But frozen-eggs deep?

  Sixteen

  Summer

  Two hours, and Archie still hasn’t returned. What did my sister say to him? Why is it taking so long? Are our plans for today still on?

  I check my phone for the hundredth time; the screen remains black. Like a watched pot, it won’t ring, ping, vibrate… nothing.

  To kill time, I’ve showered and tried out at least a million outfits before settling on light-washed jeans and a simple T-shirt, with my comfortable-to-walk-in-but-pretty tie-up wedges.

  How long should I wait? Should I call—

  A knock on the door puts an end to the self-doubting. I run to open, and then chide myself in a not-cool way, slow down to a walk, and wait a respectable number of heartbeats before I throw the door ajar.

  Archie is standing on the other side, gloriously hot in dark jeans and a white T-shirt so tight he could be bare-chested. The hair at his nape is still damp, meaning he must’ve just gotten out of the shower. If I had to assign him a fantasy today, he’d be the sweaty window washer man from that old Diet Coke commercial.

  “Hey,” I say. “You’re alive.” I step aside to let him in, and then close the door behind him. “How was it?”

  He’s staring out of the window and has avoided meeting my gaze since he walked in.

  “Apparently I’m not allowed to date you.”

  Date me? I try not to dwell on the label or read too much into it. He’s probably trying to find a classier way to say, “I’m not allowed to have sex with you and then dump you at the end of the week.”

  No, that’s not fair. It was mutually agreed this fling would have an expiration date, and I can’t get mad at him for sticking to the plan. I won’t be one of those women who say it’s okay to have a casual relationship and then ask for a ring within a week.

  A nervous chuckle croaks up my throat. “I’m an adult, you know. I don’t need my sister’s permission to do anything.”

  “Right,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t come to yoga.”

  Oh, guess our big, “Where is this going?” talk is over. I recover quickly from the disappointment and follow his lead, saying, “No, don’t worry. I didn’t go either.”

  A lie.

  I dressed up and waited downstairs at the resort’s entrance to see if he’d show up. When he didn’t, I trekked back to my room, tail between my legs. And not because I couldn’t go to a yoga class on my own; I skipped to do the rest of the class a favor. Those folks have been doing Acro practice in couples for a week, and I didn’t want to ruin the last lesson for everyone else with my odd number status. A pity, since there are no classes on th
e weekend, and this would’ve been our last Acro Yoga class together… forever?

  And there I go again, wondering about a future that involves him.

  Archie is silent and a little disconnected, so I ask, “You still want to go to that brewery?”

  “Sure,” he says. “You have a warm jacket?”

  I don’t understand the question. Or rather, I get its literal meaning, but not its point. “Yeah, why?”

  I grab my gray suede jacket from the closet, which I brought in case the nights became chilly.

  “Want to go on the bike?” Archie asks. “I have an extra helmet.”

  I refrain from asking how many ladies have donned that same headgear, because that is a question a jealous girlfriend would ask, and I’m neither his girlfriend nor the possessive type. Instead, I accept.

  The bike is everything I expected: big, black, and sleek. But seeing Archie zip up his black leather jacket, don his helmet, and mount his ride, it’s not something I’m prepared for. Watching him rev the bike gets me all hot and bothered, prompting the usual flutters in my belly I can’t control. And thuds in my chest I can’t control. And I might’ve drooled if I hadn’t swallowed in quick succession a couple of times. This man is hitting all my emotional and lust buttons simultaneously.

  The coup de grâce comes when Archie grins at me, the first real smile since he came back from seeing my sister. “Ready?”

  The sun is bouncing off his black helmet and motorcycle bodywork, and he has never been more of a forbidden fruit I crave with all my being. With a sinking heart, I realize I do want him to be mine. I want to see that smile every day, while the reality of our situation couldn’t be further away from this fantasy.

  The grin drops from his face as he stares up at me. “Are you scared?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  Only not about the bike, I add in my head.

  “Don’t be,” Archie says, an incredible tenderness in his tone as he extends a hand toward me. “I’ve got you.”

  I take his hand and mount behind him. In for a penny, in for a pound. I mean, at this point the pain of letting him go will be the same no matter what I do in the next few days, so I might as well enjoy the time we have left together before I retire to a convent and really go off men for the rest of my life.