Chapter Seventeen

Tessa

When we returned to the resort, Ben said a quick goodbye with a squeeze of my hand and left to meet with the resort coordinator about the festivities for this evening. I took a short nap and then reported to the spa where all the ladies were treated to a hot stone massage and a manicure and pedicure.

Afterward, I went back to my room to change for the bachelorette events. I brought a little red number that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, and for a moment, I consider dressing in something a little less risqué—especially since this dress has not-so-great memories for me. I was wearing it when I first met Garrett Ramirez.

I threw it into my suitcase on a whim, along with two black options and a blue strapless. I never wear white, and black… Well, I love a little black dress, but the red… It flatters me better than the others.

I stare at it laid out on my bed.

I’m safe here on this island. I’m safe with Ben. He’s made that clear.

But the men and women will be segregated this evening. Ben won’t even see me in the dress.

I grab one of the black dresses instead. If I get my courage up, I’ll wear the red one tomorrow evening, at the big party where all the guests—women and men—will be present.

It’s still on the bed, and every second it’s in my line of sight, I hear Garrett’s voice more loudly in my head. Feel him on top of me. Smell him…

No. I won’t wear this at all. Too many bad memories.

I toss the dress in the wastebasket. I’ll buy another red dress when I get home.

After a quick shower, I dry off and slide the dress over my body, paint my lips to match my newly manicured fingers and toes, pull my hair back into a sleek ponytail so it won’t hang on my neck and make me sweat, and head down to the bachelorette party, carrying my gift bag for Skye—a red satin nightie. She always says she can’t pull off the color red, but I’m sure she’ll look fantastic in it.

The women are on one side of the resort while the men are on the other, and I have to hand it to Ben—he did a fabulous job with the planning.

A table is set up beachside, and to our right is a full bar featuring two specialty cocktails—the Skye and the Braden.

Braden’s signature cocktail is a simple Wild Turkey on the rocks. From what I’ve seen, Ben and Braden both drink theirs neat, but apparently the barkeep was told to add ice. Whatever. I won’t be drinking anything anyway.

Skye is also a fan of Wild Turkey. She drank it at home in Kansas, so her cocktail also features the bourbon, and it’s a lovely sky blue.

“What’s in that?” I ask one of the bartenders, a muscular Jamaican man named Terry.

“Wild Turkey, simple syrup, lemon juice, and a touch of blue cura?ao.” He gives me a wide grin. “Can I mix one up for you?”

“No, thank you. Sparkling water, please.”

“Of course.” He pours my drink and hands it to me.

“Thank you.” I take a sip and walk over to Betsy, who’s standing on the beach and looking out to the ocean.

She turns to me and smiles. She’s wearing her signature flowing Bohemian-style dress in light blue, and her feet are bare. Good idea. I kick off my sandals.

She holds a Skye cocktail in her hand. “You want to taste this? It’s really lovely. You can hardly taste the Wild Turkey.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, Bets.”

“Tess, come on. This is Skye’s bachelorette party. I’m not saying you have to get drunk, but you should taste her cocktail. It’s so very…Skye.”

I sigh. “Fine.” I take a sip of the light blue cocktail.

And shockingly…it’s good.

Not overly sweet, and I do taste a tinge of the bourbon, but it works with the blue cura?ao and the lemon juice.

“Delicious, right?” Betsy says.

“It is good.”

“Let’s get you one.”

“I don’t know…”

“I understand. Never mind.” Betsy jingles the ice in her glass. “Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable when we toast Skye.”

She’s right. We have to toast Skye soon, and as the maid of honor, I’ll be leading it.

Old Tessa would’ve written everything out, had a lot to say, including a little bit of a roast, talking about all the trouble Skye used to get into in college—which was none because she was always a control freak. Old Tessa would have been jovial and jolly and would have had all the women laughing and crying and nearly peeing themselves.

“You know what, Bets? I’ll try the Skye.”

“If you’re sure.”

I nod, and a moment later, Betsy brings me a Skye cocktail.

It is a beautiful shade of light blue, much like the blue sky above me—which I guess is the point.

“What’s everyone else drinking?” I ask.

“Kathy’s drinking bourbon shots.” Betsy looks over at Kathy, who’s sitting next to Daniela, several empty shot glasses in front of her. “That girl can hold her alcohol. And Daniela is drinking Skyes.”

“What about champagne?” I ask. “Shouldn’t there be champagne for a toast?”

Betsy laughs. “I have no idea. You planned this, Tess. Did you plan for champagne?”

Warmth slides into my cheeks. I’m sure I’m growing red. I didn’t plan any of this. Ben did. Surely he’d think of champagne.

Wouldn’t he?

I take a sip of the drink and look over at the bar. Terry motions to me. “Excuse me,” I say to Betsy.

I walk over to Terry. “Yeah?”

“Are you ready for me to pour the Dom Perignon for the toast?”

Okay. Ben did think of champagne. Or the resort event planner did. Whoever it was, I say a silent thank you to them.

That means I need to think of something to say.

“Or you could do the toast after dinner,” he says.

Yes! Saved by dinner. “After dinner, I think. Thanks, Terry.”

“Not a problem.” He eyes my drink. “I see you decided to try the cocktail after all.”

“Yeah.” I force out a laugh. “I mean, it’s a party, right?”

“It sure is.” He turns to Daniela, who’s ordering another drink and acting pretty giggly.

I sigh. I’m filing that under the heading of not my problem. What can I do? Daniela is over twenty-one, and it’s an open bar. It’s not like anyone has to drive anywhere.

I look toward the beach, and I’m surprised to see Skye there, holding a cocktail. She looks lovely in bright pink.

I approach her. “Doing okay?”

She smiles at me. “I should be asking you that.”

“Skye, come on. We’ve had this discussion. This weekend isn’t about me. It’s about you and Braden. We’re going to give you a great sendoff.”

“This party is gorgeous,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Guilt gnaws at me. I did nothing.

“How did you come up with this cocktail? It was a wonderful idea.”

“TikTok,” I lie.

I hate lying to her, but you can find anything on TikTok.

“I love the idea. I think maybe we’ll do this at the wedding, too. Have a Braden cocktail and a Skye cocktail.”

“It’s all the rage these days,” I say, hoping I’m right. I bring my cocktail to my lips without actually taking a drink. “I was thinking about saving the toast until after dinner. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” she says. “I like that idea. We’ll all be sitting down, and I don’t want to miss one word of what you’re going to say.”

I give her a weak smile. “Whatever you want, Skye.”

Ugh. Now I really need to think of something to say.

The truth of the matter is that Skye and I had a difficult time when she and Braden were getting serious. I was being a brat and feeling left out of her life. Betsy and I got close, but then Garrett happened… And at first, I was thrilled. Garrett and I seemed like a match made in heaven.

We met at a MADD gala that Skye attended for her employer at the time, mega-influencer Addison Ames. For some reason, I was drinking daiquiris that night. Banana daiquiris instead of my usual margaritas.

I’ll never drink a banana daiquiri again.

…

Several months earlier…

The band is playing Latin music, which I love, and I’m aching to dance and make a spectacle of myself in this gorgeous red dress, so when the handsome, dark-haired man approaches me, I’m ecstatic.

“Care to dance?” he asks.

“Sure.” I give him a dazzling smile. “Watch my drink, Skye.”

Skye always says that’s her job at clubs, to watch my drink. She hates clubbing, but we’re not at a club tonight. We’re at a charity gala, the music is awesome, and my legs want to move.

“What’s your name?” he asks once we hit the floor.

“Tessa!” I say loudly. “What’s yours?”

“Garrett.”

“Nice to meet you.” I take his outstretched hand.

He knows the basic moves and the side-to-side, and we move in synchrony to the Latin beat of the drums. Once we’re warmed up, Garrett leads me in front of him, in the cross-body move. I slide into each step, following his lead like a pro. I love to dance, and Garrett knows his stuff. The red dress is formfitting, but with each move I execute, I wish I were wearing something with a flowing skirt that I could twirl around in. We dance through three numbers before Garrett wipes his brow.

“Break?” he asks.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

I head back to the table where Skye is still sitting, nursing her Wild Turkey, while Garrett walks to a different table.

I grab a tissue out of my evening bag and wipe my forehead. “Garrett can really move!” I pick up my daiquiri and drain most of it.

“Ready to go?” Skye asks.

I laugh. A big, boisterous laugh. She can’t be serious. “Good one, Skye. Finish your drink. We need to get out there. This music is great.”

“But I—”

“No excuses, babe. Just down it.”

Skye downs it. I stop myself from dropping my jaw. Skye never downs it, but there’s a first time for everything. We head to the dance floor, and I’m busting some serious moves when Garrett and a friend join us. We dance as a foursome through the next four numbers.

“Sorry, I need a break,” Skye says.

“Need a drink?” Garrett’s friend asks.

The two of them exit the dance floor, leaving me with Garrett. He grabs my hand and has me twirling around in no time, and I’m exhilarated. Is it the banana daiquiri? The music? The man?

All three?

Whatever it is, I’m totally down for all of it.

…

Present Day…

Ugh.

I quickly erase the thought from my mind. I was ready to hand him my heart that first night. He had that playboy charm and such gorgeous hair and eyes. He was dressed in a tuxedo but was only wearing the shirt and pants. The bow tie had long been discarded, and his white sleeves were rolled up, accenting his gorgeous dark forearms.

We became an item—a happy item, or so I thought. He actually dumped me at one point, and I was so upset.

But then…

We got back together…

I was on top of the world…until I found out what he’d been doing to me the whole time.

Now I feel violated and ugly and used.

I glance down at my Skye cocktail.

Funny, if I had planned this party myself—rather, if old Tessa had planned it—we’d probably be serving pitchers of margaritas and dancing to Latin pop later.

This is better.

Ben Black did a better job of planning a bachelorette party for my best friend than I would have. It’s almost as if he knows Skye better than I do. Old Tessa would have made this about her own tastes. Ben made these festivities perfect for Skye’s tastes.

I can’t help a chuckle at the irony.

“Something funny?” Skye asks.

“No. Just thinking.”

“Whatever you’re thinking about, I’m glad you are,” she says. “I miss your laugh, Tess.”

“I miss it too.”

That’s no lie. Life is so much easier when you’re happy.

That gets another chuckle out of me.

“What is it this time?” Skye asks.

“Nothing.” I look down at my bare feet in the sand. “Maybe it’s just time… Time to heal.”

Skye grabs my free hand. “I’d love for you to heal, Tessa, but you need to do it on your own time.”

“But I want to make this a wonderful evening for you, Skye. You deserve nothing less. I was a brat when—”

She gestures for me to stop. “No, Tess, that was all me. I got so involved in my relationship with Braden that I left you out. That was never my intention, and trust me, it will never happen again.”

“I know that.”

True to her word, Skye has tried to involve me every step of the way. We’ve kept our Saturday morning yoga dates, and she calls me several times a week, texts me daily. Forces me to go out to lunch once or twice a week.

I think I see her more now than I did before Braden.

Still, we were such besties, and I did feel left out.

Now?

All I want is to be left alone.

But this weekend isn’t about me. And certainly not about my need to be alone.

I’ll do well to remember that.

I take another sip of my drink.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking,” Skye says.

“Betsy talked me into it, and I have to admit it’s a delicious cocktail.”

“It is.” Skye takes another sip. I simply smile. “I think we should probably head toward the table. They’ll be bringing our dinner out soon.”

“Wonderful. I’m famished.” Skye finishes her drink quickly, and we walk toward the table that has been set up inside a large cabana.

“What’s on the menu?” Skye asks.

That’s a good question.

“Just wait and see,” I say.

Dinner turns out to be a Jamaican feast, including a colorful array of jerk chicken, pigeon peas, and roasted vegetables.

I have to admit it’s tempting.

The savory aroma alone makes my mouth water.

I consider that a good sign. My mouth hasn’t watered for food—or anything else—in quite some time, except for the other night when I wanted my mom’s enchiladas, but that may have just been for comfort.

We enjoy our dinner, and no one notices that I don’t talk much, because Skye, Betsy, Kathy, and Daniela chat animatedly the entire time. No one notices that I eat slowly, because they’re all talking so much that they eat slowly as well.

I take a bite of the chicken, and it’s moist, succulent…and spicy.

I adore spicy food. My mother’s Mexican cooking has made me immune to most heat, but this—scotch bonnet peppers, according to the printed menu sitting at each of our places—has me feeling like smoke is coming out of my ears.

I take a quick drink of my water.

“Can I get you another cocktail?” a server asks.

“No, thank you. But more water would be great.”

“Coming right up.”

I take another bite of the chicken and then a drink of water. The vegetables and pigeon peas are easier to get down. When I finally realize I can eat no more, half of my chicken is left on my plate.

But I did okay.

The server brings out our dessert—passionfruit gelato. It’s a beautiful orange color, and ice cream is one thing I have no trouble with.

I take a bite and let the creaminess flow over my tongue. The passionfruit gives it a mango-like sweetness plus a citrusy tang.

And it’s good. I find myself enjoying it.

I take another bite when something touches my shoulder.

I nearly jump out of my seat.

“Whoa,” Terry the bartender says. “I didn’t mean to startle you, sweetheart.”

I’m not your sweetheart.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but he’s been calling all the ladies sweetheart. I breathe in and exhale slowly. “It’s okay. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to check to see if you wanted me to pop the champagne. Everyone seems to be finished with dessert.”

Great. But I can’t put this off forever. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

Terry ceremoniously opens the champagne, and I stare at the cloud of condensation that drifts off the lip of the bottle. He pours Skye’s flute first and then moves on to Betsy, Kathy, and Daniela, saving mine for last. Then he bows quickly and leaves.

I pick up my spoon to tap on my flute but then realize they’re already all staring at me.

Okay, then.

Showtime.

I rise.

“I want to thank all of you guys for coming tonight,” I say.

“Are you kidding? An all-expense-paid trip to Jamaica to celebrate Skye?” Kathy laughs. “You didn’t have to exactly twist our arms, Tessa.”

Daniela and Betsy join in the laughter, and Skye’s cheeks blush.

I force a smile and continue. “I’m thrilled to be Skye’s maid of honor. When we met our first year at BU, we had absolutely nothing in common. I was a math major, and Skye was an art major. Totally different. But somehow we seemed to click, and within months we were besties. Skye’s an only child, so she asked me to be her maid of honor long ago—way before she met Braden—and now I guess she’s stuck with me.”

I get a few laughs at that, though it’s not really what I was going for.

Stop being self-deprecating, I tell myself. Speak from your damned heart.

I draw in a breath. “When Braden first approached Skye, she wasn’t sure whether she should respond to his advances. He pursued her hard. We even joked that he was a stalker. I remember telling her to ease up. He’s a damned billionaire, so until he boils a rabbit in your kitchen, you should go for it.”

More giggles. At least I was going for laughter that time.

“Skye has always been a little bit of a control freak.”

This time I get guffaws.

“You’re kidding, right?” From Betsy, rolling her eyes.

But they laugh again, and I join in, forcing out some chuckles.

“But of course Braden Black was the catch of the century, as we all know. The blue-collar billionaire himself, and he was interested in my Skye. So I told her to go for it. To let her hair down and take a chance.”

My words are true. That’s exactly what I told her. And now? I can’t even let my own hair down.

“And maybe,” I continue, without realizing what I’m saying, “maybe it’s time I take my own advice.” I pick up my flute of champagne. “So Skye decided to let her hair down, and she found something way better than a quick fuck with a hot billionaire.”

More snickers and giggles.

“She found the love of her life, and when you’re in the presence of Skye and Braden together, you can’t help but feel that love. It emanates from them. It’s thick and almost visible in its intensity.” I meet Skye’s gaze, tears forming in my eyes. “Skye, I love you. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for, and I’m so, so happy for you. So here’s to you, to your husband-to-be, and to the rest of you ladies as well. Let’s celebrate the beauty and wonder that is Skye Manning!”

I raise my glass, clink it to each of the others around me, and then take a sip.

I used to love champagne. Not so much because of its flavor or the bubbles or anything, but because of what it represents. Class and decadence.

That was the Tessa of old. She appreciated all of those things. She let her hair down and was always ready for a party.

I take another sip of the champagne and let the bubbles dance over my tongue. And the tears… They’re there, ready to spill. Emotion. I’m feeling something.

It’s been so long that it nearly guts me.

“Speech, speech, speech,” the girls chant.

They drag Skye to her feet, and she stands next to me.

“Tess, I love you more than anything.”

“Not more than Braden,” Kathy shouts.

“In an entirely different way,” Skye laughs. But then she gets serious. “Tessa, you’ve always been there for me, even when I wasn’t there for you. Thank you for forgiving me when I didn’t deserve it. Thank you for this amazing weekend.” She looks around at the tropical decor, none of which I had anything to do with. “I’m in awe of what you put together. You’ve always been great with parties, Tess, but this is amazing even for you.”

Again the guilt gnaws at me. “I’m really glad you like it,” I say sincerely.

“Are you kidding me? I love it. So what else is going on tonight?”

I wish I knew. Ben said something about putting together a DJ and some dancing in one of the ballrooms. But now I’m wishing we had just done it all outside. It’s a beautiful night, and I don’t want to leave it just yet.

“First we have gifts for you,” I say, “and after that you’ll just have to wait and see.”

But then—

The beat of a drum, steel drums, actually—and some reggae music.

I look around. Where is it coming from?

And then I see.

Oh my God…

The band. A steel drum player, a guitar player, and…

Some of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen.

Jamaican men—their skin dark and their muscles rippled.

Oh. My. God.

All wearing tight white trunks—and nothing else.

Damn you, Ben.

Fucking damn you.