A few short hours after we land, I decide I can’t hide out in the bungalow any longer. I can’t avoid Claire and Chase—and worse, my mother—forever, so I slip into a simple off-the-shoulder Kate Spade dress. I keep my hair pulled back in a low and tight chignon, and my makeup simple. It’s eighty-five degrees out, and thanks to my late-night stroll through Manhattan in the rain, this sickness is giving me hot and cold sweats. I don’t need to look like even more of a hot mess with makeup running down my face.

I’m sure Katherine will be baying for my blood because I wasn’t there to help her oversee the setup of the luau. As if she’d be doing any of the physical work anyway. What I wouldn’t give for a drink right now, but I just took another dose of cough medicine, so I decide not to raid the mini bar in my bungalow, grab my purse and my room key, and head out.

The resort is incredible. Like most in the Maldives, there’s a main building housing restaurants and ballrooms, and little huts sit perched in the shallow crystalline water, which you can only get to by following the sprawling boardwalks.

By the time I’ve reached the main building, I’m dizzy from the heat. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and gulp it down as if it were water, setting the empty flute back on his tray before he has a chance to walk away. So much for not drinking tonight.

Across the garden, my father stands talking to Leo. Directly opposite them, my mother, Mrs. Nass, and Mrs. Vanderbilt are huddled together in their pastel twin-sets, no doubt gossiping about the guest list. Because I know I can’t avoid my parents all weekend, I choose the lesser of the two evils.

“Ah, button. Good to see you.” My father opens his arms wide as I approach, and I move into his embrace.

“Hello, Daddy,” I say, kissing my father on the cheek. I step away, and glance at Nass the Ass. “Leo.”

“Hey, Pop Tart,” Leo says with a smirk, resting his hand on my waist and pulling me closer. I can only stand glued to the spot as he leans down and kisses my cheek. He tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear and whispers, “Should you be here right now? You look like hell.”

I grunt and back away as quickly as possible without making it obvious that I want to shank him for touching me. And what the hell was that hair thing? Our temporary truce was done with the second he left me sound asleep and late for work in his apartment five days ago. This man has no right to be tenderly brushing the hair out of my face.

“How are you holding up?” My father takes a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter and hands it to me. I guzzle this glass too because . . . champagne, and it’s my ex-fiancé’s wedding, so the next few hours are automatically guaranteed to be hell.

“I’m great. Just great.” I’m also far too chipper to be believable.

My father frowns. “Button, you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I’m not pretending, Daddy.”

“Poppy darling, there you are.” I freeze. Oh no. I swallow back the bile that threatens to climb up my esophagus and turn to face my mother with a plastered-on grin. Leo and Chase’s mothers flank her on either side. The three musketeers. Honestly, Claire was lucky her parents were never a part of the Vanderbilt/Nass/Porter madness that was growing up in our families.

I’m drawn in and hugged by all three women. I’m also given plenty of pitying glances, and reassuring pats on the forearm, and told that I just have to hang in there, and wasn’t it good of me to come? When Mrs. Vanderbilt hugs me, she whispers in my ear, “I have prayed to any god who would listen that Chase will change his mind.”

“Oh,” I say, because what else can you say to that?

“He was a fool to leave you.”

“Well, that’s not really what—”

“Claire is lovely, but she’s hardly blue-blooded, and I hear she’s Jewish. Imagine the chaos at Christmas time. Who doesn’t love Jesus?” Mrs. Vanderbilt asks. Mom and Eleanor nod along as if Glory’s comments aren’t completely offensive.

“Actually, Claire celebrates both holidays,” I say. “Her dad is Jewish, and her mother is Catholic.”

“Valerie, if we’d just found a way to keep our children together all this mess could have been avoided,” Glory says.

I gulp back the rest of my champagne, set the glass down on a nearby table, and bite my tongue. Then I decide life is short and to hell with it. “Hmm, well I suppose you’ll have to get used to the fact that Claire is marrying your son, because Chase is a lying, cheating prick and I wouldn’t take him back if he begged and groveled on his knees.”

Leo laughs. Champagne sprays from his mouth and showers Glory’s face and jacket. He clears his throat. “Shit, sorry.”

“Leo,” Eleanor chastises.

He hands Glory his napkin. “I’m sorry, Glory.”

“Leo.” I grab his forearm. “I’m going to need something stiffer.”

His brows shoot skyward. “Well, I can certainly help with that.”

“Excuse us,” I say, and drag him away from the Three Musketeers and their angry nattering. I lead him through the bushes and out of sight, then I let go of his hand and rub at my temples. “I’m going to need a Xanax and a whole lot of liquor to get through this.”

“That was pretty impressive. I think my mom might have a legitimate lady crush on you.”

I glance at him and shake my head in disbelief. “Tell me I didn’t make a mistake in coming here. Tell me this whole weekend isn’t going to be like this?”

“Oh, it will definitely be like this. The bride will spend the weekend hating on you, your co-worker is a pushy bitch, your ex-fiancé is marrying someone else, and Chase’s family all still wish you were together.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Yeah, they do. You clearly don’t spend enough time at Palace Vanderbilt. It’s all they talk about.”

“That’s just because they never got to know Claire.” I shake my head. “They never wanted to because they’re all elitist assholes.”

He frowns. “How can you defend her after what she did to you?”

I exhale a breath. “Because I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re too loyal for your own damn good, but that doesn’t make you an idiot.”

“What does it make me?” I ask.

Leo takes a step toward me, and I take one back, but he seems unperturbed. “It makes you sweet.”

“Me? Sweet?” I say, taking another step back. He laughs and reaches out a hand, tucking that strand of hair behind my ear. My body breaks out in goosebumps, and I thank God my dress covers my nipples appropriately so he won’t see the headlights on high beam.

“It makes you a good person.”

Another step, and I’m firmly pressed up against a well-manicured hedge. I stare into those sparkling baby blues, and it may be the cough medicine or the two glasses of champagne talking but he has really pretty eyes, framed by an incredible face. The kind of face you want to wake up to every morning . . . What the hell?

“It makes you beautiful.” Leo’s fingertips slide down my jaw to cup my chin.

“There you are. Finally. I’ve only been looking all-over,” a high-pitched British wail comes from somewhere behind Leo.

“Katherine.” I sidestep around him. That was far too close to being a thing that almost happened.

“Where have you been all evening?”

“Sorry, I had some things to attend to.”

“I can see that,” she says, sounding all kinds of creepy. “Hello. We haven’t formally met. I’m Katherine, Poppy’s soon-to-be boss.”

“Leo. Poppy’s soon-to-be—”

“Nothing,” I squeak. “Leo and I are friends—not even friends, really. More like acquaintances, or you know, enemies.” I wave their odd looks away with a lazy hand gesture. “Now, you needed me for something?”

“Yes. We need to go over the plan for the speeches.”

“Speeches, right. So we’ll just cut mine and Leo’s, and we’re done. You’re okay with that right, Leo?”

He nods, and then turns to me. “Wait, what?”

“Alright then,” Katherine says. “Jolly good.”

“Great.”

Katherine turns and stalks off across the lawn on her teetering heels. They sink into the soft sandy grass with each step, and it’s actually quite comical watching her walk away. She looks like a flamingo or some other bird with ridiculously long, skinny legs that are wildly out of proportion to the rest of her body.

I trail after her, but Leo grabs my arm and pulls me against him, his front to my back. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “We’re not done here, Pop Tart.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Okay, see you. Busy wedding planning to do, and all.”

He chuckles and releases me, and I flee faster than a rabbit into its burrow when trying to escape a predator.

***

For the next two hours I’m subjected to pitying looks and uneasy smiles and comments like, “It’s so good of you to come,” “You poor dear,” or, my personal favorite from Chase’s wicked Aunt Myrtle, “I always knew it wouldn’t work out. You Porters have never been good enough for the Vanderbilts.” Aunt Myrtle may have still had a score to settle with my Uncle Wallace.  I’ve never liked that woman, and everyone knows she only attends parties and weddings for the free meals and liquor.

It’s enough that I want to tear my hair out, but I won’t give Myrtle the satisfaction. Instead, I see us through the rehearsal, and at dinner I ensure that I always have a champagne flute in my hands anytime someone approaches our table. I’m sat between Leo and Jasper, which isn’t all bad. The Jasper part, anyway. Leo is just as infuriating as ever and has decided that occupying his own seat isn’t enough. Apparently, he needs half of mine too because his hot thigh is flush with mine and it’s making my body temperature skyrocket. Jas is like a kid after too much sugar. He drums on the table, creates music with his champagne glass, and is all too willing to keep filling my own.

I have a definite buzz going, and when Claire tries to talk to me alone I’m not even mad. I’m not exactly made of hugs and Care Bears, but I’m too drunk to really care what comes out of her mouth. As far as I can tell, she’s pissed that Clara’s hair is longer than hers and therefore it will take more time creating the classic updo. I nod along and listen like any good maid of honor would, but I’m way past the point of caring about Claire’s wants and needs.

When I return to the table, my glass is empty. Jasper is gone, Chase is nowhere in sight and Leo has his head bowed over his phone. He’s probably texting a late-night booty call—if any man can find a woman to sleep with on a deserted island, it would be Leo. I head straight over to the champagne bottle and polish it off, then, because I’m too impatient for a waiter to do so, I pick up an unopened nearby bottle and decide to pop the cork. Leo has other ideas. He takes that moment to stand up, and attempts to wrangle the bottle from me.

“I think you’ve had enough, Pop Tart.”

“No. I’ll decide when I’ve had enough. Men decide enough in this world.”

“Well, it’s clear we’re at the I-hate-men-and-all-things-penis portion of the evening. Which means you’ve definitely had too much, because a few short hours ago you were two seconds away from lovin’ up on old Leo.”

“I was not loving up on you. I could never love you. You’re trying to take my liquor away, and I don’t . . . I don’t even know why you’re here. Why are you always hanging around?”

“I’m the best man, remember?”

“Pffft. The best man. You’re no best man. You, mister, are the worst man. There should be a prize for that, because you would definitely win.” I wipe the sweat away from my brow. “Why is it so damn hot out here? Who gets married in this heat? Oh, assholes like Claire and Chase, that’s who. I’m so glad he cheated on me, got her pregnant, and left me, because I would never get married here.”

“Okay, rug rat.” Leo wraps one arm around my waist as he wrestles one-handed with the bottle. “Time to go.”

“No.” I pull away from him just as the cork pops free, flying through the air, and drunk as I may be, I watch as if it’s in slow motion.

It smacks Claire right in the nose. Blood shoots out of her nostrils. She covers her face and screams. “Oh my God! You broke my nose, you bitch.”

My hand flies across my mouth, but not before a nervous giggle escapes. “Holy shit. Did I just break her nose?”

“Yep, looks like.” Leo says, finally snatching the bottle free from my hands. “Now come on.”

A very angry Claire stalks toward us. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“What? No! I would never. I don’t even care that Chase cheated and got you pregnant and that you’re marrying my ex and having his baby,” I slur and wrestle with Leo as he tries to cover my mouth. “I’m so over him, and even though you’ve turned into this raging hormonal bitch, I still support you. Your new in-laws are assholes, though. They were ragging on you earlier, but it’s okay ’cause I totally stood up for you.”

“Pop Tart, you need to stop talking.” Leo covers my mouth, and I struggle against him, and then I puke all over his hand, my dress, and the white linen tablecloth. Over and over my stomach wretches, until there’s nothing left.

“Wow, that just kept on coming, huh?” Leo says when I’m done. I groan, and open my eyes. I’m met with a sea of horrified faces, and then the puke-covered table rushes up to meet me and the world fades to black.