Before You Go

chapter thirteen

Leon

"Come on, Serena," I hear Liz say from down the hall. It's just before six A.M., and I've come to the conclusion that me being able to sleep in was simply a fluke; I was up at five and have already been for a bike ride. I'm currently in the kitchen, wolfing down a piece of toast with peanut butter. "We're supposed to be at the Farmer's Market in twenty minutes to set up our booth! I have the car loaded – you just need to get the hell out of bed!"

"I don't want to!" Serena moans. "I'm sick from last night."

"You mean you have a stupid hangover," Liz spits.

I suppress a laugh. Serena should know better than to piss Liz off – her wrath is terrifying. And it doesn't take a genius to realize that Liz is definitely pissed off this morning. I know the girls went out last night after their dress fittings, but that's all the information I got. However, due to the comments that have been exchanged so far, I think it's safe to hazard a guess that they all got drunk last night.

"Yes!" Serena snaps. "I have a stupid hangover and it's all your fault. If you had just listened to Tenille and gotten shit done, I wouldn't be sick."

An exasperated sigh echoes down the hallway. I can picture Liz standing in the doorway, tugging at her golden-blonde hair in frustration. "So," she says, "let me get this straight. You're going to stay in bed all day and nurse an upset stomach while I work my butt off in the heat of the summer? You know how popular we are, Serena. I need your help. And don't you dare suggest asking Tenille – she has horseback riding lessons to teach today."

I hear Liz grunt, the noise quickly followed by something falling to the floor with a soft thump. I'm assuming Serena threw a pillow at her, but you can never be so sure. I take another bite of my toast. This is a helluva lot more entertaining than the shit on TV. Seriously. For all I know, Serena could have thrown her entire collection of dental-floss underwear. And the only reason I know that's the type of underwear Serena likes is because she had no problem showing me when I walked into the guest room instead of the bathroom the other night. I don't know what is with her. She's got a sweet heart, but Kit was right – she's madder than a wet hen.

Just because I'm intrigued by this dramatic conversation, I saunter down the hallway, careful that my feet don't make any noise. At the end of the hallway, on my left, I can see dim light shining on the rustic barn-wood floor.

"Find someone else," Serena says. "And stop talking so damn loud! I have a headache."

"Ugh," Liz groans. "Who am I supposed to ask? Tenille is booked for the day, as I said earlier. James is working. Kit is God knows where and Scott already left the house for one of his hiking trips with some friends. There is literally no one I can ask, Serena."

I lean against the doorway behind Liz and cross my arms. Over her shoulder, I make eye contact with Serena, who, as I figured, looks like shit. If she went as hard as I think she did, she probably consumed her weight in shots of tequila. The poor woman. Tequila is poison.