| FLORIDA |
THREE
WEEKS
LATER
THE MANSION
Three weeks. That's how much detox I've endured. No, not endured. Enjoyed.
It's like something actually clicked this time -something finally makes sense inside my Brooks-free brain. I know, I know I've said it before. Jay Brooks is quite literally the shining epitome of everything I NEVER want again. Sure, 15 years ago when he was just a boy and I was just a girl and K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree was the only thing at stake, maybe he's what I wanted.
Now? As I'm encroaching on 30?
Still, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. Actually, I'd be more than lying. I am worried. About Brooks. About seeing him again. About it all. Still, here we are.
Here I am.
It's like living with a mad case of déjà vu lately. Ubers, Airports, Iced Coffees, Tormenting Anxiety -You get the picture. Again though, here I am.
The wheels touch down at West Palm Beach International. The hype is real and so is all the baggage that comes along with it. Airport mindset, couldn't resist.
Here's hoping Trix and Travis's wedding can save me from myself.
Call me a horrible person, but I never ended up talking to Brooks after I found out the news about his dad. A text seemed wrong. A call was somehow impossible to imagine. Plus, there was the whole just kicked him off my doorstep thing.
Silence screams loud, right?
Wonder if it's calling me a bitch.
I should have invested in ride-share stock, considering the innumerable times I've been using them lately. I search my phone, pulling up the email Trix sent me and Meg with the address and hit book. My driver is 1/18 of a mile away, but still 7 minutes out.
I plop my bag in the trunk and sit quietly, head against the smudged window, rereading my texts from Trix over the past week.
Brooks is MIA
Who knows if he's even coming
Are you sure navy suits aren't too nautical?
Travis's cousin can fill in for Brooks
Are your heels strappy heels or zipper?
These occupy me through the traffic leaving the airport.
ETA: 24 minutes.
...
This. Wedding. Venue. DAMN.
The SUV pulls through the copper gates and down the long driveway. The more we drive, the more the house comes into view. It never ends.
A polished flagstone driveway encircles a fountain, because why not? It matches the washed white of the house. A burnt red roof covers the house and the tops of the 37 balconies I can see from the backseat window.
My black errand shoes hit the fancy stones, and the fragrant Florida air hits my face. The fountain smells like turquoise (if colors could smell) and the air is scented like mangoes bathed in sunshine. I feel like I'm back in the Caribbean.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Alejandro, my driver, is kind enough to take all my luggage out of the trunk and wheel it up to the flowered-infested pergola that's covering the front entrance.
"AHHHHHH!" Trix squeals from the doorway as she runs out.
"Emmy babe!" Meg is right behind her.
They're already wearing silky, barely-there robes that say bride and old maid. I can't help but chuckle at them.
"Hi guys!" I hug them both.
"Damn, babe. Look like you just stepped off a plane," Meg says.
"Damn, babe, thanks," I roll my eyes. Turning to Trix, I grin at her wide-eyed, dewy, still pretending to be a virgin face. "You're getting married tomorrow!"
"Oh my GOD. I am, it's happening! AH!" Trix wails.
"And now that you're finally here, we can commence spa day." Meg says, "Or did you think I was wearing this robe for fun?"
"I'm in. I'm an old maid," I laugh.
"Spa day, yes. Quickie tour first," Trix says, taking my bag. "Come on. I'll show you your room."
"My-" I start.
"Yes, yes. Everyone gets their own room. To share with whomever you please," Trix answers, winking.
"Travis's one cousin," Meg says, making a crude but mildly entertaining hand gesture. "You better call dibs."
As I cross under the trellis, I'm engulfed by sweet floral perfume. Electric pink and sunset orange hibiscus crawl up the wood on either side, significantly shading the entryway from the sun.
Trix pulls me through the door and –
"Holy actual fuck," escapes my lips.
"My sweet Ems, I've missed that foul mouth," Trix laughs.
"I don't know. I told her it wasn't big enough," Meg shrugs with sarcasm.
"Come on," Trix says, pulling me again.
The word foyer is dying in shame somewhere, as it should. This grand entryway is worthy of a marble castle. Its walls are chic and sun-washed, and the whole vibe is very European.
"It's so dumb how sick this place is. I'm never leaving," I say.
The entire back wall is just nonexistent. Tiled floor just spills right onto the patio and disappears into a sparkling pool. Beyond the pool is a sprawling landscape of sand and rock and sea cliffs, palms trees and walkways, and basically it's one tropical Garden of Versailles.
And beyond that, stretching as far as I can see, is seafoam blue.
"And this is the walkway to the ceremony," Trix says, scooting me along with Meg in tow. "I'll show you where the dance floor's gonna be. Needed to steer it clear from the cliffs, especially with all the drunkos."
"Wait 'til you see the altar," Meg smirks.