The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy)

by Gretchen Galway

  “That’s the problem right there. Once you meet her you’ll understand.” Huntley grinned. “Why do you think I kept her to myself for so long? I know how chicks get one look at you and start thinking about mountain climbing.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m a real ladies’ man.”

  “Now that I’m pretty sure she loves me, I’m willing to take the risk,” Huntley said. “And you’re too slow to make any moves in time.”

  “Pretty sure? And you’re marrying her?”

  “Damn right. Though I’m keeping my parents away from her until the wedding. I’m not an idiot.”

  Miles shook his head. “I was with Felicia for three years—three—and it turned out we needed every single one of them to find out we weren’t compatible. You keep her away from your friends and family, run off to marry her like her daddy’s got a shotgun and you’re just some poor slob like the rest of us—”

  “I am just a poor slob like the rest of you. You were the first to understand that.”

  “Under the six-pack and the private jet.”

  “Exactly!” Huntley picked up the basketball and bounced it to him. “Don’t let me down now. There’s nobody else I’d rather have at my side.”

  Touched but unconvinced, Miles didn’t say anything, just shot a few hoops and worried about his friend. “I’d be honored to be your best man—”

  Huntley whooped and ran for the ball. “Excellent!”

  “—but you have to promise me to do a prenup. And be real clear with this girl—”

  “Her name is Fawn. Use it.”

  “—be real clear with Fawn about the terms of the agreement. Don’t let your heart push you into something stupid. Have your mother write the contract herself, see if this—if Fawn—loves you enough to sign on without the hopes of big cash prize at the end.”

  “Did Felicia do this to you? I’m supposed to be the paranoid one. You didn’t even get engaged. Or is this all about your dad again?”

  “Will you do it? The prenup?”

  Huntley slapped him on the shoulder. “You wasted your leverage, dude. You think my mother would let me have her grandmother’s wedding ring without a prenup? The Ballbuster of Connecticut?”

  Relieved, Miles nodded. “Of course. Right. Look, I’m sorry to be the practical one here. It’s just, you need somebody to look out for you, and ever since my own experience with this I’ve—”

  “Become a sad, bitter loser. I know. Don’t piss on my parade.”

  “I’ll piss wherever I want.”

  Huntley laughed. “Good thing we’ll be roughing it for the ceremony. We’re going Full Granola—barefoot on the beach, improvisational vows, New Age bullshit. It’ll be awesome.”

  Only half-serious, he said, “Why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t miss seeing your mother having to swallow Full Granola for the world.”

  “Excellent. The wedding is in two weeks.”

  Miles froze. “Are you shitting me? That’s—”

  “Any longer than that and my parents will find a way to cause trouble. And by the way, I’ll need you for the whole week. It’s a vacation thing Fawn has set up.”

  “A whole week? Right before school starts? There is no way I can get away from the clubhouse on such short notice for so long. I’m sorry, but—”

  “I set it up with Ronnie months ago. He’ll take over when you’re gone. He’s bringing in a young guy from the Boys and Girls Club to back him up.”

  “You little shit. You did this behind my back?” Miles stared at him in wonder. “Months ago? That must have been right after you met.”

  “I really love her, Miles.”

  Huh. Miles ran his hand through his hair. “How did you get Ronnie to agree to it?”

  Huntley’s grin faded a little. “He made me write your club a check for two million dollars.”

  Miles was only going to ask for one. Slinging an arm over Huntley’s shoulder, Miles guided him to the clubhouse lounge, wondering if he was a sentimental fool or a greedy bastard to suddenly feel better about the whole thing.

  “Guess now I have to give Ronnie a raise.”

  * * *

  The narrow, winding drive through the redwoods was making Lucy sick. Between the slow, sideways lurching of the limo on each turn and the quart of champagne in her stomach, Lucy had never been so miserable in her life. She should have gone in the Honda with Krista and Betty. No bubbly in the Civic.

  “I can’t believe you’re not even going to tell me the guy’s name,” Lucy said, trying to distract herself from the nausea.

  Fawn didn’t look so great herself. She’d stopped talking about her fantastic Huntley about forty minutes earlier to grip the door handle and stare straight ahead with her lips in an unusually thin, tight line. “If it’s meant to be, you’ll know it in your heart.”

  “But I’m going to be eyeing every man remotely my age like—I don’t know—like my dad shopping for a new recliner.”

  Fawn sipped a bottle of water. “Better that than you sitting in the cabin doing paperwork.”

  “If he doesn’t know me, either…” Lucy sank down into the limo’s leather seat. “I don’t see how this is going to work. Men don’t usually… go for me right away. This wasn’t our deal.”

  “We found the perfect guy for you. He’ll be at the spa all week. If it’s meant to be…”

  “Cut it out with this meant-to-be crap. That’s why I asked you guys to set me up. To eliminate the guesswork.”

  “I thought the point was to find a compatible life partner.”

  “With your help. How do I know you’ve really found someone for me? What if he’s not interested?”

  “He will if it’s—”

  “Don’t say it.” Lucy closed her eyes. She should have known Fawn would try to inject some touchy-feeliness into it. She sighed. Ah, well, no harm in keeping her eyes open. She’d been a little crazy to ask her friends to interfere, anyway.

  She glanced at the GPS screen mounted on the glass behind the driver: estimated arrival time, 9:27. “One more minute.”

  “I hope I don’t look as shitty as I feel,” Fawn said. “I’ll probably barf on his mother.”

  “It’ll be her first test. Any good mother-in-law would forgive you. A great one would clean it up.”

  Fawn laughed weakly. “Rosalind Sterling was even richer than Huntley growing up. From what I’ve heard, she’s never had to clean anything in her life.”

  “Not even her own butt?”

  “Stop it. If I laugh, I’ll hurl.” Fawn got up onto her knees, sticking her head out the open window on her side. “God! It smells so good here!”

  Lucy leaned her head out on her side and inhaled the scent of cedar and redwood. July days were long, but it was past nine, and the huge trees blocked the last of the daylight. They’d have to wait until the morning to see what the remote property really looked like. The slicing glow of the headlights lit up lots of trees with ferny undergrowth and not much else. No buildings, no farms, no vineyards, no people.

  She felt a bug slap her in the cheek and drew her head back in, frowning at the GPS. 9:28. “We should be there by now.”

  “I think we are. I saw a little sign back there.” Fawn came back into the car looking wind-blown and refreshed, her tangled blond hair flying around her head like a Barbie that had been stuck under the couch cushions for a while. “Oh my God, I’ve got to clean myself up.” She lurched across the seat to grab her bag, pulled out a square box shaped like a miniature suitcase—chrome and studded, like in a movie about jewel thieves—and popped it open. Shelves of makeup and brushes slid apart under a mirror. Fawn propped it on her lap and got to work while Lucy watched in fascinated disgust.

  “Don’t,” Fawn said without looking over at her. “You have your ways, I have mine.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I could hear your thoughts pouring out of your ears, like in a cartoon.” Fawn made a face into the mirror and brushed on her mascara. Her large eyes became imp
ossibly enormous, her lips lush and pouty, her skin a delicate porcelain.

  The transformation always amazed Lucy. The supermodel of today had never been popular or pretty like some of the other girls while they were in grade school. Fawn was awkward and kind of funny-looking, like Lucy, until that day in seventh grade she’d come to school with some contraband makeup she’d scored from a cousin. Something about her face, with a forehead as big as a man’s hand and the wide mouth, made her look like a magazine model as soon as she put makeup on it. Which is where she ended up within a few years.

  “I don’t suppose you have an extra brush in there,” Lucy said. “Mine is packed in the suitcase.”

  “Sure, here.” Fawn flipped open a travel brush that looked like sterling silver. It was engraved—with the initials Fawn would have next week if she changed her name—and had little crystals around the rim.

  Lucy peered more closely. Not crystals. Holy Moses.

  Afraid to touch it, Lucy ignored the treasure Fawn was waving at her and ran her fingers through her short hair, tugged out the tangles. “Never mind, this is fine.” Nobody would see her and it was dark. She had plenty of time to doll up for her potential marriage partner tomorrow.

  Fawn was smiling at her. “Your hair always looks great. I’m so jealous.”

  She would have snorted at anyone else, but she knew Fawn meant it. “Thank you,” Lucy said. “For what it’s worth, I’m grateful to be beautiful with so little effort.”

  The car slowed to a stop in the middle of a dark clearing; the driver got out and opened Fawn’s door. Lucy got out by on the other side by herself and sucked in the fresh, conifer-scented air, happy for the solid gravel under her feet. They were in a parking lot with no buildings in sight, just trees.

  “We have to take an electric golf cart to the spa from here,” Fawn said, grabbing her arm. “Isn’t that cool? It’s like going into another world!”

  “Or a country club.”

  “It keeps it pristine. Prehistoric. Totally eco. Back to earth.”

  Lucy sighed, knowing the cheapest rate at the earthy prehistoric spa was over nine hundred dollars a night. She couldn’t imagine what the exclusive use of the complete resort cost for a billionaire’s wedding party for a whole week.

  A trio of four-seater golf carts appeared out of the darkness, their electric motors quietly humming, and three men in white uniforms got out and helped the driver move their luggage. The young men were solemn and polite and said little other than “hello” and “over there.” They were more like ushers at a funeral than waitstaff at a wedding. Lucy caught one of the guy’s eyes, the oldest one with black plugs in his ear lobes and a Groucho Marx mustache.

  “How do you drive around in the dark without hitting anything?” she asked as she climbed into his cart. “Sonar?”

  He flashed her a grin, his mustache unfurling like a fan. “Hold on tight.”

  They thanked everyone and went off into the quiet night, Fawn and Lucy in the back of Groucho’s cart, their luggage—and the driver—coming on the other two carts.

  Lucy bent around and watched the third cart pull behind them. “Why is the limo driver coming?”

  Fawn shrugged. “Making sure we get there okay?”

  “Maybe somebody has to sign for you. I bet he has one of those electronic clipboards, like a UPS guy.”

  Fawn didn’t laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

  The cart bounced over a rut in the dirt road, covering up Lucy’s pained groan to think her friend was marrying somebody who would put a tracking number on her, have her in the grasp of his minions at all times.

  But she had to admit he had great taste in vacation spots. In spite of the cold and the fog and her limited nighttime view, the Soul of Muir Resort was clearly paradise. Already Lucy was thinking it might be worth a month’s salary to come back again. She’d scoffed at the golf carts, but having them slide through the trees so quietly drew her attention to the cathedral canopy above. She never would have noticed it if she’d been in the limo.

  Groucho pulled up in front of an unassuming little cabin that blended into the forest. She got out, enjoying the sound of her footsteps, muffled and peaceful, on the damp earth. For the first time that day, she let a genuine sense of peace wash over her.

  And then, like an explosion, a thundering motor roared behind them, the sound rising as it grew closer, much too fast. All five of them froze in surprise to stare back into the darkness at the single headlight that flared to life between the trees.

  The Groucho staffer pulled out a walkie-talkie. “I’ll get Linda out here,” he said to one of the other guys, moving to head off the motorcycle in the road.

  Annoyed with the disruption of her moment of peace, Lucy looked at Fawn. To her surprise, Fawn was grinning, her hands clasped together near her heart. “Oh, this is awesome! He came!”

  “That’s your prince?”

  Fawn gave her a funny look out of the corner of her eye, her lips pressed together in a smile she couldn’t read. “No, it must be Huntley’s friend. His best man. He was afraid he wouldn’t be here until later.”

  “Well, the wedding isn’t until Saturday.”

  Fawn exhaled loudly. “We reserved the whole week and want you guys to enjoy it.”

  Lucy frowned at the man in black leather as he cut the engine and straddled the bike. A mechanical popping continued, echoing into the disturbed peace of the clearing. “I don’t think he’s supposed to drive that here.”

  Fawn gave her another look, the kind she gave Lucy in junior high about not wanting to wear blue eyeliner, the one that said loosen up. She hurried over to the bike, one hand lifted in a girly wave. “You must be Miles! I’m Fawn! Huntley told me all about you and I’m so happy so see you, he wasn’t sure if you’d be here, so I’m really glad—”

  Miles held up a gloved finger, shook his helmeted head, and turned away from her. Taking all the time in the world, as though a crowd of people weren’t staring at him, he dismounted, put down the kickstand, and straightened.

  Chapter 4

  LUCY TOOK AN INSTINCTIVE STEP back. The man was ginormous. She had to tilt her head back to see the top of him.

  He took off his helmet, pulled some neon orange foam out of his ears, and fixed his gaze on the staffer with the walkie-talkie. “Excuse me, am I in the right place for the Sterling wedding?”

  He had a deep voice, soft but carrying, and looked just like the type of guy you’d want to hide behind in battle. His movements were slow and deliberate, graceful, no energy wasted.

  Groucho, walkie-talkie at his ear, stepped close to him. “I’m sorry, sir, but no motorized vehicles are permitted past the Greeting Lot.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he just didn’t realize,” Fawn said, slipping between them, flashing her trademark smile that, even lit only by the subtle glow of the cabin’s porch light, instantly captured both men’s attention. “You are Miles, right?” she asked, turning the beam of enchantment directly on him.

  “I am,” he said, then put his helmet back on, remounted the bike, and kicked it back to life. Ignoring his best friend’s future wife and the rest of them, he started to drive on.

  Lucy jogged over and stood in front of the bike. “Hey!”

  He waited, then hung his head, lifted it, and killed the engine again. “Yes?” His voice was muffled through the visor.

  Lucy pointed at Groucho, who had moved a few feet away to talk on his walkie-talkie, and at Fawn, who was biting her lips and staring at Miles like a kicked puppy. “Did you hear what they said?”

  He pushed up the visor and stared at Lucy with rather nice gray eyes. “And who are you?” His gaze slid down to her feet and back up to her face.

  She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “I’m a guest here, unlike these guys, who are just trying to do their job. If you drive past them they’ll get in trouble.”

  He glanced at the three young men in their white tunics and baggy pants. “I can’t park my bike back there.�
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  “I’m sure they can work something out,” Fawn said, though her smile was beginning to slip. She would never be happy if her husband’s best friend didn’t like her, and as far as Lucy was concerned, nobody had any reason not to like Fawn. He’d barely even glanced at her, and everyone glanced at Fawn. Sometimes right before driving into a telephone pole.

  “Look, it’s been a long drive and my ass is asleep,” Miles said. “Please get out of my way.”

  Lucy stepped closer to the bike. “After you promise—”

  Fingers wrapped around Lucy’s upper arm, Fawn yanked her away into the darkness and hissed in her ear, “Do you want him to hate me?”

  “But—”

  “Let the resort people handle it!”

  Lucy stopped struggling. She was ten inches shorter than Fawn but twenty pounds heavier; she could have broken free if she’d wanted to, but Fawn had a point. She went with her up a handful of wooden steps to the door of the cabin marked “Ceanothus” in metal script. The doorknob was wrapped with a large blue satin bow, and it opened without a key.

  She glanced back at the small crowd around the bike and decided she really should mind her own business. They stepped inside and flicked on the lights, illuminating a cozy interior decorated in creams and blues. A pair of four-poster beds, heavy with pillows in all shapes and sizes, were lined up in parallel. Though Fawn had spent every night with Huntley for months, she wanted to share a cabin with Lucy before the wedding—for appearances and for luck, she’d said.

  Looked like she would need all the luck she could get. “I didn’t like the way he ignored you,” Lucy said, dropping her purse on a loveseat near the front bay window. Someone tapped on the door, and Fawn let in one of the guys who was carrying their bags.

  When he left, Fawn said, “It was a hard drive on us, and we were in the limo. Miles was probably feeling even worse.”

  “You can’t get carsick on a motorcycle.”

  “Lucy—”

  “Sorry. Not my business.”