“Forget?” I rubbed an eye with my fist. She was most beautiful like this, in the few quiet moments we shared each morning—no makeup, fresh skin, messy hair. I took in the sight of her before shaking my head. “Of course I didn’t forget.”
“Do you even know what I’m talking about?”
“If I said I did, would you believe me?”
She groaned, sitting up. “We’re supposed to have cake tasting at Le Crème.”
I glanced over at the clock, grasping her hand where it rested on my chest. “I thought that was Monday?”
“You asked me to reschedule for today so you didn’t have to miss work,” she said, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger.
I sighed. She was right, of course, and it had only just slipped my mind. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I pushed myself up so I was propped on my stack of pillows. “I didn’t forget, I swear. I was just half asleep.”
She looked unconvinced but didn’t argue. “I’m going to take Winston out for his walk,” she said, shaking her head playfully. “I want you up and getting ready.”
I mock-saluted her. “As you wish.”
With that, she was up off the bed. She pulled on her black bike shorts and a loose-fitting pink T-shirt before tossing her hair up into a sleek ponytail. I watched her cross the room toward our bathroom and heard the water running as she brushed her teeth and spritzed perfume—she was the only woman I knew who wore perfume to work out.
She reentered the room, staring me down. “You should be up…”
I sat up, throwing the covers off my legs. “I’m going to get a shower now. Give me twenty minutes, and I’m all yours.”
Her smile warmed. “I’m counting on it.”
With that, she grabbed the rhinestone leash off the top of her tall, white dresser and marched out the door, the small, white fuzzball of a dog at her feet.
As I climbed in the shower, letting the hot water wake me up, I tried to focus on the task at hand. We needed to pick out a cake, I still needed to name a best man—it wasn’t easy when your best friend was a woman.
At that, I thought of Laura. If I asked her, I knew she’d do it for me. Like I’d done for her. She’d be my best woman—I’d have to come up with a better name—like I’d been her man of honor if I asked, but I desperately didn’t want to ask.
I’d been avoiding it for weeks now, trying to convince myself that asking one of my brothers to do it would be easier. Not likely. One was deployed, and there was no guarantee he’d make it back for the big day at all, let alone for the tux fittings or whatever else was required of my best man. The other, Danny, was an ass who I’d just as soon not invite at all. The fact that we hadn’t spoken in over ten years and he lived just a few miles away did little to assure me he’d be up for the job.
Twenty minutes later, I’d stepped out of the shower, drying my face and hair, when I heard quick footsteps rushing my way. I opened the bathroom door, worried something was wrong, and stared as Megan rushed in, Winston in one hand, his pink leash hanging on the ground, and a white envelope in the other. Her grin was unbearably chipper.
“What—”
“I can’t believe you did this!” she cried, interrupting me.
“What did I do?” I asked, taking the envelope from her as I tried to understand what was happening. There was a postcard inside, a couple on an island on one side with a fancy script: Isla del Amor.
“You entered us to win a honeymoon, didn’t you?” she squealed, squeezing my arm with her free hand. “An island in the Caribbean. Oh Nicky, it’s amazing!”
“H-hold on…” Shit. Now I was going to have to actually do something like that. “I haven’t—” I flipped the card over, reading it carefully. “We were nominated? Hang on a second, Megan, I didn’t do this. I don’t even know what it’s talking about. I’ve never heard of this place.”
Her face fell, but only slightly as she pulled the envelope back to her and read over it, her green eyes darting back and forth across each line of text. My mind swirled with possibilities.
“Then how did we win? I didn’t do it.”
“I don’t know,” I said skeptically, moving around beside her as I wrapped the towel around my waist. We read the invitation together again. “Could this be one of those timeshare things? They get us on an island, and we have to listen to sales pitches for days?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. What good would that do? Are you sure you didn’t do this? Maybe you’ve forgotten.”
I scoffed. “I would’ve remembered something like this. Besides, the trip’s in less than a month. We won’t even be married by then. It wouldn’t make for a very good honeymoon.”
She twisted her lips. “Well, I think we should go either way, don’t you? We can’t say no to a free vacation.”
I couldn’t believe she was serious. It sounded ridiculous. People didn’t just give you a free vacation without there being some sort of catch. Beautiful, naïve, Megan. “I don’t know, sweetheart. It could be a scam. I’ll have to do some research.”
She kissed my cheek. “You will, though, won’t you? We have a few days to respond. If it’s real, we’re going, right? It’ll be the perfect way to get away and de-stress before the wedding. We need this, Nicky.” She purred my name, leaning in to kiss my lips, though my eyes were still trained on the paper in her hands.
“I’ll look into it, but no promises, okay?”
She pushed her lips into a pout. “Sometimes good things just happen, okay? We shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She reached down, pulling my towel from my waist and placing Winston on the ground. “Now, why don’t you finish getting ready. We’re going to be late!” She squealed again and handed the envelope to me, pulling out her phone. “I need a new bathing suit… Do you want one? You didn’t get a new one last year, did you?”
I murmured something, not even sure what answer I gave her as I flipped the paper over in my hands, looking for the catch. It couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. But how was I going to prove it? And why had we been chosen in the first place?
Chapter Three
Natasha
The front door slammed, and I recoiled, my body tensing at the sound from the kitchen.
“Nolan!” I screamed, shutting off the faucet so he could hear me.
“Huh?” came the response, passive and barely listening if I knew him at all.
“How many times have I told you not to slam that door? You’re going to break the glass.” I turned around, drying my hands on a towel as my son entered the room. “And take off your shoes when you come into my house.” I groaned. “If I hadn’t done it myself, I’d swear you were raised by farm animals.”
He watched me, his expression turning from apathy to irritation. “You act like I just do it to annoy you.”
“Sometimes I think you do,” I snapped. “And pull up your pants unless you want me to buy you a belt.”