Page 2 of How to Ruin a Wedding

Someone clears their throat. The Birds jerk away from each other, standing and placing themselves an arm’s length away.

Luckily a new voice masks the sound of my curse.

“Excuse us for interrupting,” a deep, amused voice says. “We thought this area would be unoccupied.” I only catch the tip of his nose from my angle.

“You’re not interrupting,” James says, so smoothly I would have believed him if I hadn’t witnessed what I did. There’s no heat rolling off him, and he stands with slightly slumped shoulders, no worries within him.

My throat tickles again, and I clap a hand over my mouth before a cough escapes.

“Are you thinking about changing locations for your wedding?” another man’s voice says from a body I can’t see at this angle. “We’re set for one of the ballrooms, but my future wife heard there was anAlice in Wonderland–esque plot of land and sent me to check it out.”

Another sneeze attempts to ricochet out of me, so I press my hand hard to my mouth to muffle as much sound as possible, but it’s still audible enough. James and Sammy glance my way, but the deeper voice says, “Ah, squirrels roaming around here. Not the best wedding guests.”

The cheating couple’s attention is drawn away from my hiding spot, and I’d breathe a sigh of relief if I didn’t think it’d send me into another fit of sneezing.

“We heard the same,” James says easily, “but it’s not well maintained. We’ll be off now. You two enjoy your day.” He walks away without checking for Sammy, who follows close behind.

My nerves barely settle as the two men still remain.

“He’s right,” my unknowing savior tells his companion. “There’s no way the staff can do enough maintenance here to be ready for tomorrow. Tell your fiancée she’ll have to live out her wonderland dreams another way.”

“Well, had to try,” the other voice says.

The two walk off, and I wait as long as I can, nearly suffocating myself, measuring out enough time until they’ll be too far to hear me.

Just as my throat feels as if it’ll burst, I remove my hand, and a string of sneezes erupts from me.

Goddamn it, I must be allergic to something here. Great time to figure that out.

I wait until the sneezes slow, but something crawls along the back of my thigh, leaving a pinch of pain and heat in its trail. The sneezes rack my body as I free myself from under the bush of flowers. I mutter curses in between each one, pulling myself to a stand and straightening my dress.

For me, the video is enough. But will it be for Eliza and the people who align themselves with James? Jennie’s hunch went ignored, chalked up to two close friends with a bond that is inexplicable to people outside the bubble.

When it comes to the ones we love, we often can’t see what’s right in front of our faces. A curse of feeling too much and loving too much is that your sense of logic halves itself.

If I’d learned that lesson earlier in life, I wouldn’t have racked up two failed marriages, but that’s a conversation for my therapist ... whenever I can afford one again. I need to regroup.

A sharp pinch burns into my arm, and I swat at the insect that hitched a ride on my skin. I’ll be finding welts, like the hives already spreading across my side, for days, but it’s fine—temporary pain for something bigger.

Every job I take gets me closer to what I’ve been working toward for years: buying into Save a Paw, the shelter where I started volunteering as a teenager. The owner’s retiring soon, and I’ve got a narrow window to come up with my share before he hands it off to someone else. I can’t let that happen. I’ve pictured myself owning part of that place since I was sixteen. All these inconveniences will fade into forgotten memories soon.

First, I’ll shower and lather myself in lotion to help with the itching. Then, I’ll check the Excel grid and see where else there’s an opportunity to catch the Birds—extra evidence wouldn’t hurt. They’re meeting at night, so that’s something, but I’d like to have less risk involved. Something might happen that means they can’t meet, or whateverevidence I gather won’t be enough. I’ll try to force as many interactions as I can before the day is up.

“Should I call security?” A voice brushes over my skin, and I yelp, whirling around.

My body stalls. I stand there in shock, half because his rough five o’clock shadow and dark, windswept hair seem so out of place in the delicate richness of where we are. This resort is like a slice of heaven, and he looks like he just sauntered his way through a storm.

The other half of me freezes to admire the height, the collection of muscles, and the eyes that seem simultaneously to be blue, green, or brown—their beautiful hazel a color I’d probably have tried to buy contacts to match a decade ago. He’s notoverlymuscled, but not too lean either. Like he works out when he feels like it, but it’s not a priority for him. His pale shirt is loose on him, aside from his biceps, where his sleeves seem to cling, rolled up to reveal veins and a Rolex.

And then I remember I just crawled out from under a bush. And his words sink in.

“And why would you do that?” I try to straighten myself out and make it seem like I’m not doing anything wrong. There’s a chance he didn’t see me unearth myself. I’m wandering around, just like him.

I get distracted by the dimple that appears as he speaks, when he points to me and then to my previous hiding spot. “I just assumed someone hiding under a bush isn’t a guest at the resort.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he speaks, his finger back to pointing at me. “Your wig is falling off.”

Shit.

I adjust the bundle of synthetic ginger curls atop my black hair as much as I can without a mirror. “Plenty of people wear wigs. Is that a problem for you?”