by Lila Monroe
“What do you mean?” I say, as steadily as I can manage.
“If you hide what’s in your heart when it’s what is in your heart that matters, the people it matters to may misread your intentions. And that helps no one.” She tips her head. “It’s not my place to meddle. I’m only making the observation.”
“Well, uh, thank you.”
She retreats behind her desk. I turn my attention back to the reception room.
Maybe I do have the answer. I gave it to Kenneth just yesterday. Change the narrative. Put a different, more powerful story in place of the one you want to kick aside.
Be yourself. Share your heart. All that jazz.
I even know what kind of story to offer. I don’t need to justify what I said to Brooke last night. I need to tell Will what I actually feel. Be real, like I told Kenneth.
The thought makes my throat tighten, but that’s no excuse. All my clients are putting themselves out there all the time for millions of internet strangers to see. How can I let myself be too scared to acknowledge the contents of my heart to the one guy it’s all for?
There’s still the problem of getting Will’s ear. But as I march back to the reception room with renewed resolve, it occurs to me that I’ll have one moment this evening when everyone will be listening. I just have to use it right.
I’m sure the wedding dinner tastes as excellent as all the resort’s food, but I hardly notice. My stomach is still tight, my thoughts whirring. Through the salads and the main course, I keep up my smile and light chatter with Brooke beside me and the rest of our table—minus Will, who’s smoothly avoiding me even while sitting three seats away. But that’s okay. I can wait.
In fact, waiting is the easy part. The MC steps up to the podium at the edge of the dance floor, and my back stiffens.
“Before we get to dessert,” he says, “the maid of honor has a few words to say. Let’s hear them, Ruby Walters!”
I stand up to make my way over. My heart thuds. I’ve never been afraid of audiences, and this one is going to be a particularly forgiving one. But the words I’m about to say feel particularly momentous. There’s an audience of one whose judgment matters more to me than any has before.
I take the microphone and lean my arm on the podium, looking first at Brooke. Whatever else this speech is going to mean, it’s still mostly for her.
“As many of you might know, Brooke and I met way back in seventh grade. Twelve years old. Such a weird age, isn’t it? You don’t feel like a kid anymore, but you look at the actual teenagers and they seem totally alien too. I remember one day we were flipping through a couple of magazines—you know those ones, all full of makeup tips and how to tell if that boy in homeroom is into you, and what to do if that boy in homeroom accidentally sees you without your makeup on—and Brooke said to me, ‘I thought falling in love was supposed to make you happy. It seems like all it actually does is stress people out. Maybe we should skip the whole thing.’ ”
That line gets me the laugh I thought it would. Brooke half covers her face with her hands, but she’s grinning. Trevor gives her a nudge and a kiss on the temple.
“My best friend has always been very practical,” I go on, “but thankfully she revised her thinking in that particular area. Because you kind of have to when you meet that person who’s your The One.”
My gaze slides along the line of faces to Will’s. He’s watching me, still with that unyielding expression. My pulse skips as my eyes hold his.
“When you find a partner like that, you can still get stressed out, sure. But that doesn’t matter when the one you’re stressing over also makes you feel like you could conquer any challenge, as long as they’re beside you. Like you’ll always be understood, even in your strange or awkward moments. Like you can become exactly the sort of person you most want to be.”
Like I feel, when I’m with you, Will. Can he hear that I’m saying this for him? I haven’t looked away from him once, and his gaze is still fixed on me.
I glance back at Trevor and Brooke. “I think we’ve all been able to see that Brooke and Trevor have found that person in each other. I couldn’t be happier that you two made it into each other’s lives and have come this far since. It’s scary, taking that leap, putting your heart on the line.” I catch Will’s eyes again. “You can feel so vulnerable when you love someone that much. I know from experience how easy it can be to think it’s safer to hold back.”
I step around the podium, bringing my full attention back to the newly weds. “So I’ve got to say, you are two of the bravest people I know. It’s been an honor watching your love grow. I’m working on being just as brave myself, and maybe someday I’ll be as lucky as you. I wouldn’t know how to start if I didn’t have such perfect role models. Here’s to love, courage, and being true to our hearts. May you live long and prosper. Cheers!”
“Cheers!” the crowd calls out, raising their glasses. Someone lets out a whoop. Then the clapping starts. I’m smiling for real as I hand the mic back to the MC. My chest really does feel lighter. At least for the instant before I set off for my seat and look over to see Will’s reaction.
His seat is empty. He’s gone.
I scan the room, but he’s nowhere to be seen. My heart sinks. Did he even hear what I had to say? I meant those parts of my toast as part apology, part confession, but maybe he didn’t take it that way. What if I somehow made things between us even worse?
Brooke stands up to embrace me. I hug her back as tightly as she hugs me. “Thank you,” she says. “That was awesome. You are awesome. I’ll always be here for you, no matter who else is coming or going. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I say around the lump that’s risen in my throat. “Same to you.”
The dessert tastes like sugary dust in my mouth. Brooke and Trevor get up to take their first dance as husband and wife. Will’s spot at the other end of the table remains vacant. I watch Trevor bow and Brooke set her hand in his, and fold my arms over the ache spreading through my abdomen.
That was it. My last chance. And apparently I blew it, again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The elevator hums down toward the lobby. I look at my message history on my phone one last time, as if I don’t already have the last text I sent burned into my memory.
Just so there’s no misunderstanding, all the things I said in my toast about The One? That’s how I feel still feel about you. I don’t know how you’re feeling about me right now, or how you were before I fucked up, but that shouldn’t have mattered. I should have been honest. I’m sorry.
With a ping, the elevator door opens. I wheel my suitcase out into the lobby. It’s busier than usual now that check-out time is closing in. I head to the desk to turn in my key card and settle my account.
Helene waves me over from the regular line. “Special guest of the owner,” she says without a hint of irony. I’m not sure how I feel about this perk when the owner won’t even speak to me.
“Is Will around?” I can’t help asking.
She shakes her head. “Mr. Cassidy had to leave on an earlier flight than he expected this morning.”
Ah. So he’s outright fled the country. Nice work, Ruby.
“Thank you again,” I say, with more grace than I think I managed last night. “For your advice about honesty. You were absolutely right.” Even if I didn’t get a response, I’m glad I laid it all out there. At least I know I gave it my best shot.
Helene gives me a small but warm smile. “You’re welcome. I wish you a smooth trip home.”
I’m outside waiting when Brooke appears. “Ruby! Were you going to sneak off without saying goodbye?”
I grab her in a hug. “I didn’t want to interrupt you less than twenty-four hours into your honeymoon! It’s not as if I won’t see you back in LA in a bit.”
She laughs and squeezes me back. “We’ve got another five days for the official honeymoon. We’ll have plenty of couple time.” When she steps away, her eyes are concerned. “You
and Will seemed kind of awkward yesterday. Is everything okay?”
“Not really,” I admit. “But, I mean, I thought we were going to be done at this point anyway, so …”
“What happened?”
I shrug. “It’s a long story. Another misunderstanding. We seem to be very good at getting our wires crossed. And he hasn’t been interested in talking to sort it out.”
Brooke’s brow knits. “Do you want to give it another try? I could go find him—I’ll make him hear you out.”
I have to smile at her tenacity. “He’s already left. And I’ve already said everything I could. If that’s not good enough, then, so be it. There’ll be other guys.”
Ones who affect me as much as Will does? I haven’t met any of those yet. I’ll just have to hope.
“This was supposed to be a week for you to relax,” Brooke says, looking sad. “I’m sorry it went sideways.”
I look up at the jungle foliage that shadows the drive. The leaves sway in the breeze, which carries the salty scent of the ocean even on this side of the resort. It mingles with the sweetness of the tropical flowers in the air. I draw it into my lungs as deeply as I can. As I exhale, a knot inside me lets go at the same time.
“No,” I say. “It’s all right. I still had an amazing time. One wrong thing can’t ruin all the rest. Especially when the rest included the most gorgeous wedding I’ve ever had the honor of attending.”
Brooke grins. “It wouldn’t have been half as much fun without you there with me.”
“Of course it wouldn’t have.” I tap my elbow against hers. “Don’t get into too much trouble with your new husband now that you’re left to your own devices.”
Just as the courtesy car pulls up, Maggie and Lulu come dashing out. “Oh, is there room in that one for us?” Lulu exclaims.
“I think I can manage to share,” I grin.
There are more hugs and goodbyes. Then the three of us pile in. I turn to wave to Brooke through the back window, and to get one last look at the little kingdom Will built. My throat tightens with regret.
Whatever we had, whatever it meant, it was sweet while it lasted.
“All right,” I say to the driver, swallowing back a pang. “We’re ready to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two weeks later, the vacation feels like a dream. I’m back in LA, and back to work—and all my plans for PR domination. “And he’s got no idea?” I check, asking the producer’s assistant. “You’ve all managed to keep it under wraps?”
I have to lean close for her to hear me over the din of the TV studio. She answers with a jerky nod, and I smile. Perfect.
She scurries off, so I turn back to my client. Kenneth Romano is practically bouncing on his feet in anticipation. He’s wearing his standard “stage outfit” of baggy jeans and jersey, his hair gelled and his tough-guy expression in place. None of it stops me from seeing that eager glitter in his eyes. There’s an excited kid hiding under the swagger.
In theory this is a small-time gig: the entertainment segment on a local news show. They called to set up this interview a few days after his YouTube mash-up went so viral the karaoke recording that inspired it was left eating its dust. But it’s the first time he’ll be broadcast from a set that’s not inside his house—one step closer to the stardom he’s dreamed about. And there’s a very special surprise on the way.
“Five minutes,” one of the crew calls over to us. The glitter in Kenneth’s eyes turns slightly panicked.
“What if they don’t get, like, this, Ruby?” he says, gesturing to said outfit. “Me. My music. I mean, no offense, but this set-up is pretty … mainstream.”
Oh, kid, so edgy it’s cute. “I think they can handle your brand of out-of-the-box,” I reassure him. “You’d better believe they watched some of your other videos before deciding to invite you on.” I reach over to knuckle his arm. “You were real with your fans about the mainstream music you like, so be real with these guys about the rest of you. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
He shifts his weight from foot to foot. A grin stretches across his face. “A lot more people are going to know who I am after this.”
“You’d better believe it. You’ve got this, Mr. Krunk.”
He rolls his eyes at me, but his grin doesn’t budge.
Mr. and Mrs. Romano close in for last-minute encouragement and hand squeezes that Kenneth brushes off with a protest of “Mo-om.” Then he’s called on. He saunters over to his interview chair with a full heaping of sixteen-year-old bravado.
I head over to the screens where a guy with a headset is picking promo clips from the footage so far. “Not that one,” I say when he lingers on one where Kenneth is making a goofy face I know he’d cringe at. “Those other two I have no problem with.”
“Noted,” he says. “I got my instructions to run the final clips past you before they air.”
On the set, Kenneth’s voice breaks with a stutter. His hands clench. I wave to him from behind the cameras and offer a thumbs-up. He catches my eye and gathers himself. And then I see my surprise walking up on the other side of set.
“We’ve arranged an additional special guest here today,” one of the hosts says to Kenneth. “We were all so impressed by your performance, we just had to reach out—and it turns out someone else was very impressed too.”
Technically I reached out, but whatever, let them have a bit of the glory.
“Hey, Kenneth the Krunk,” Harlan Everett says as he steps onto the stage.
Kenneth’s eyes just about fall out of his head. He jumps out of his chair. “Harlan—Mr. Everett—” He catches himself, lifts his chin, and offers his hand. “It’s really great to meet you.”
“Same to you,” Harlan says with drawl. “Now, after I saw how you handled my song on your own, I can’t help wondering what we could come up with if we came at it together. What do you say to putting on a little show with me right here?”
Pure joy that lights up Kenneth’s face. “Yeah,” he says. “That would be awesome.”
It is. The performance goes off without a hitch, and everyone in the studio is smiling by the time they’re done recording. I just know this thing will be YouTube gold. I wouldn’t be surprised if Harlan’s record label decide to cut a special-edition duet, since I’ve been hearing they want to cross over to a younger audience … Not to mention the CMA awards are coming up. The PR possibilities are endless.
Kenneth practically bounds off set to rejoin his parents. “Holy crap!”
Mrs. Romano winces a bit at the not-really-a-swear, but she restrains herself from chiding. Good mom. “You were amazing, honey,” she gushes instead.
As I’m walking with them out of the building, my phone buzzes. “To the first of many TV appearances,” I say to Kenneth. “And many more awesome duets.” He high-fives me and waves goodbye. Then I pause in the studio lobby to see what new catastrophe has landed in my lap.
It’s the exact opposite of a catastrophe, actually. Brooke has posted the highlights of the wedding photos.
I can’t help but smile as I flip through them. The photographer caught all the best moments, goofy and romantic. There’s the bunch of us girls having a blast on the beach. Trevor and Brooke holding hands and laughing, and just behind them, Will catching me from behind, his chin tucked over my shoulder.
We’re looking at each other like there’s no one else in the world.
My finger hovers over the screen. A familiar ache of regret spreads through my chest. The sensation has faded, but I’m not sure it’ll ever go away completely.
I was so happy in that moment. From the looks of it, Will was too. It doesn’t seem fair that a few careless comments could have ruined that feeling completely.
But they did. And life moves on. It has to. I drag in a breath and skim through the rest of the photos, not letting myself linger on any Will is in too long. I’ve tortured myself over the past enough already.
I’ve just reached the last picture when a Tw
itter alert pops up. Sierra has tagged me in a tweet. That’s odd. My clients don’t usually draw me publicly into their social media chatter. I tap over to see what she had to say.
I hear there’s something big happening by Sunset Plaza today at six o’clock, she’s written. A bunch of her friends are tagged too. That’s … very vague. She must have thought it was gossip I’d be interested in. Sometimes figuring out how teens think is like attempting extraterrestrial interpretation.
As I stand up, the app pings again. One of my other clients, a sixteen-year-old who does super-popular video game commentary, has tagged me too. What’s going down at Sunset Plaza in half an hour? I don’t know, but it sounds like it’ll be crazy!
I stare at the tweet for a minute, frowning. What the heck is going on? There’s no way that’s a coincidence.
Then a third tagged tweet pops up. Dionne Jackson is giving me a nudge with the somewhat lesser subtlety that I guess comes with being twelve.
You’ll want to be over at Sunset Plaza at six today! Especially if your initials are R.W.
Okay, this is just ridiculous now. Clearly my clients are in on some scheme. I hail a Lyft as I call Dionne’s number. She’d better tell me what’s up.
My call goes through to her voice mail. Hmmm. I shoot her a quick text telling her to call me and then try the other two. Neither of them responds either. I’m thinking a little chat about appropriate client-PR rep communication is going to be in order.
It’s ten to six when I arrive at Sunset Plaza. Nothing looks odd among the expensive boutiques and cafes. Tourists and locals mingle as they amble along the wide sidewalk. The traffic rumbles by. A B-lister is signing a napkin for a fan who probably staked out this part of the Strip specifically to celebrity-watch.
I meander along uncertainly. My phone hasn’t buzzed again. Bizarre as this situation is, if my clients are wrapped up in it I should stick around to see what happens.
The clock hits six. Suddenly, the opening notes of a song peal out into the air. Several passers-by stop and glance around. I step back against the wall, looking curiously around.
