Page 46 of The Best I Never Had

The difference between me and Camila is that she’s always wanted to take over the inn. She’d force me to play hotel with her, setting up a little table next to the inn’s check-in counter so she could walk me through the process. Her parents demanded she work at other hotels before committing to the inn. They didn’t want her to wake up one day and feel trapped. It may look like the same situation on the outside, but it couldn’t be more different.

Tears swim in my mom’s eyes, and she doesn’t swipe them away when they roll down her cheeks. “I hope it’s not for a long, long time, Camila, but when your parents are gone, you’ll be so happy you’re continuing their work. It will let you feel like they’re still with you, like you’re keeping them alive. Right, Owen?”

I smile, but it’s tight. She and Camila are both watching me, and I can’t just say nothing, so I force out a soft “Yes.”

Mom doesn’t need more than that and starts raving about the importance of maintaining legacy while I zone out. I’m not sure how long she talks when she finally says, “It’s way past my bedtime, so I’m going to hit the hay. Don’t stay up too late. We have plenty of work tomorrow.”

Camila waits until she rounds the corner to nudge me. “Are you ever going to tell her you don’t like your job?”

I shift on my feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Sure. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know I’m here, right?”

I pull her in for a hug, popping a kiss on her head. “Says the family gossip.”

She laughs and pokes me in the side. “This isn’t gossip. It’s your life.”

“I appreciate it,” I say, and I genuinely mean it, even though I won’t take her up on it.

Chapter 15

THEA

I spend the night tossing and turning, wishing I hadn’t deleted my number from Owen’s phone all those years ago. Did he catch Camila? If he did, was he able to convince her not to say anything? If he didn’t, does everyone think something happened between me and Owen?

We could always pretend we got back together for the week. A little part of me likes the idea, having an excuse to touch and enjoy him. But that’s the most selfish part of me talking. Us “getting back together” would pull attention away from Addy and Harrison, and I don’t want that. Plus, we’d have to fake another breakup after the wedding, which would add more drama. Right now, everyone thinks we’re two people who tried to make something work and couldn’t, but if they thought I broke his heart again, I don’t think the family would look at me as favorably as they do now.

My eyes flutter open, noticing how much stronger the daylight is now. I blink at the clock on the bedside table that currently says 11:15 AM, which makes no sense since one minute ago, it was 5:38 AM. My mind wakes up enough to register that I must have—finally—fallen asleep, which is good for my body but bad for everything else. Assuming that clock’s right, I’m fifteen minutes late for the crafting shower they’re hosting in the ballroom. I have no idea what a crafting shower entails, but it was on the schedule of events Addy handed out when we arrived.

I dig through my suitcase, grabbing the least ratty pair of jeans I own and a T-shirt from the shitty rock band I pretended to like for a couple of months while hooking up with the lead singer. My feet aren’t even fully stuffed into my sneakers before I bolt from the room.

According to the schedule—thank you, past Thea, for taking a picture—the crafting shower is in the same ballroom where the wedding reception will be on Saturday. I follow the signs as I leave the hotel, piling my curls in a bun on the top of my head as I run.

I don’t know what I’m walking into. The family could be gossiping about me and Owen right now. Addy may be ready to ream me out for fucking up her wedding. I can see her imperious face, looking down her nose even from her lower height.

You hooked up with Owen last night and it’s all anyone’s talking about.

There was a security camera, Thea, and now everyone’s watching you swallow my future brother-in-law’s tongue.

Camila figured out it’s all fake and she told everyone and now they think you’re a terrible person and decided they hate me, too, and the wedding’s off and it’s all your fault.

Okay, even I can recognize that last one isn’t likely, if for no other reason than Owen wants to keep our secret as much as I do. And if the wedding was canceled, they wouldn’t waste their time crafting things for the reception.

I skid to a halt in front of the French doors, sucking in air from the uphill sprint. The door opens, and Diana peeks her head out. She’s perfect, like always, with a pristine light pink dress that hits right above her knee. I don’t know where she finds the energy to be so put together, even on a day when we’re just going to sit and write out a bunch of place cards and shit.

I can’t help but compare this version of Diana to the one Owen described. If you’d asked me a couple of days ago, I’d have said she’s a dream parent. But I also know from experience that people give different versions of themselves to different people, and I respect Owen enough to believe what he tells me.

Her eyes slide down my outfit, one manicured eyebrow lifting slightly, but then she smiles. “We’ve been wondering where you were, darling. I’ve saved a seat for you next to Addy.”

I smile, but it feels more like a wince. “My alarm didn’t go off this morning.”

“Nothing to worry yourself about,” she says, placing an arm around my shoulder and dragging me inside.

The entire party grinds to a halt when I enter the room. And that’s when I notice Diana isn’t the only one put together. Out of dozens of women, I’m the only one who isn’t in a dress with my hair and makeup done. Addy’s sitting at the front of the room in another white outfit, this time an eyelet material with capped sleeves and a collar buttoned all the way to the top. And on her lap … a present.

Fuck.

One of Owen’s cousins is sitting in a chair next to Addy, a little notebook dangling from her fingertips as she stares wide-eyed at me. I tug on my shirt, squirming under the scrutiny, but force myself to march over and sit in the open chair to Addy’s right. The cousin jumps up, scrambling around to my seat to hand me the notebook and pen.