I pace back and forth in the hotel room, my phone pressed to my ear. I’ve called every airline I could find, trying to find anyone who can get Jace here this morning. They all tell me the same thing — no flights until tonight.

My phone pings and I look down to see that I have a text from him. My heart leaps for a second, until I read it and realize that he isn’t having any luck either.

This can’t be happening. It just can’t. I had already driven a wedge between him and his brother when I had let it slip that we weren’t really engaged. If he misses the wedding because of me — well, there’s no way he could ever forgive me. I’m sure of it, because I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’ll ever forgive myself either.

“Argh!” I hurl my phone against the wall in frustration, hard enough to leave a tiny dent in the striped wallpaper. I throw myself down on the bed, not caring that I probably look like a toddler having a tantrum.

After I punch the mattress enough times that my stress is somewhat alleviated — and I’m feeling mildly ridiculous — I sit up. I’m still wearing my pajamas, and my hair is in a tangled rat’s nest. I should have a shower. I should call more airlines. I should try to do something — anything — productive right now.

Instead I decide that the only thing I want in the world is to talk to my best friend.

I climb off the bed and go fish my phone out from behind the desk, where it fell. I navigate to Rori’s contact info and hit the call button, praying she’ll be up this early on a Saturday but not caring if I wake her up.

Sure enough, her voice on the other end of the line is groggy.

“Hey,” she mumbles. “What’s up?”

Instead of answering, I burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” Rori’s voice is instantly alert. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I manage, before a fresh wave of sobs overtakes me.

I can almost hear Rori pacing on the other end of the line. “Celia, talk to me, sweetie. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I fucked up,” I mutter dejectedly. “Big time.”

And then I’m telling her the whole story, about Trent overhearing my conversation with Jace, about him flying back to New York to try to find me.

Rori makes appropriately sympathetic noises and I’m starting to feel a little bit better, but by the time I get to the end of my story, I can hear something almost like …

“Are you laughing?” I ask, horrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says, catching her breath. “I’m not laughing. It’s just so … unlike you.”

“What is?”

“All of it. This whole thing. Going to a wedding with a stranger, pretending to be his fiancee, storming dramatically out of a restaurant…. This isn’t the Celia I know.”

“I know.” I flop backwards onto the bed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. It’s like, ever since I threw those muffins at Martin, I’ve been a completely different person.”

“Wait, back the truck up,” she says. “Ever since you did what to Martin?”

I giggle. “I thought I told you this story.”

“Uh, I think I would remember a story like this.”

I laugh again, shaking my head at the memory. “A week or so before I left, I confronted Martin in the break-room at work. Words were said. Muffins were thrown.”

“Celia!” Rori says, sounding equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s … amazing.”

I laugh. “Yeah, it actually kind of was. Until one of the senior partners walked in and told me my behavior was unbecoming. They made me take a personal leave. I don’t know, maybe that’s why I agreed to this whole thing with Jace — I didn’t want to think about Martin, or about the fact that I couldn’t even go to my job anymore.”

Rori’s quiet on the other end of the line. Which, knowing Rori, means she’s either about to judge me or to drop a truth bomb on me. Maybe both.

“You know, I thought you were crazy when you told me about this thing with Jace,” she admits. “I thought you’d gone off the deep end. That you’d given up on love entirely. But now I wonder …”

My heart flutters in my throat.

“Wonder what?”

Rori takes a moment before she answers. “I wonder if maybe it wasn’t exactly the opposite. Maybe you were finally jumping.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve always been so caught up in your own head,” she continues. “Always having to be Miss Perfect. But no one’s perfect, Celia.”

“I know.” At least I know that now.

“Maybe Jace is good for you. And maybe you’re finally ready to let go a little.”

Tears are streaming down my face down, pooling on the duvet underneath me. I try to wipe them away but the tide seems endless.

“What do I do now?” I ask Rori. “Jace is stuck in New York. He’ll never forgive me if he misses the wedding.”

“Well,” Rori says thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I agree with you about that. But … you know who could help you with this, don’t you?”

As soon as she says it, my jaw clenches.

“No.”

“I’m not saying you have to call him. I’m just saying if anyone could pull in a favor and get a flight on such short notice, it’s probably him.”

“You’re right,” I mutter, even though I hate the very notion. “Thanks for your help, Rori.”

“Of course, babe. Let me know if you need anything, and keep me posted. You can send Jace my contact info if you want, in case he needs anything while he’s here.”

I promise I will, and then I hang up. I stare at my phone in my hand is if it were a poisonous snake. I can’t do it. I can’t. Not after everything that had happened. Everything he had put me through.

Then my phone buzzes. Another text from Jace.

“Still no luck. Think I have no choice but to try standby.”

I text him Rori’s contact info, even though I doubt he’ll reach out to her, and then I bite my lip. I hate — loathe — the thought of doing this, but the thought of Jace missing the wedding is a million times worse.

I scroll through my contacts until I find the one I’m looking for. I hadn’t been able to delete his number from my phone entirely because I still needed it for work, but I’d changed the name on it to Fuckface, which always gave me a sense of smug satisfaction.

I take a deep breath, then hit the call button and watch as my phone says “Dialing Fuckface.”

With every ring, I think about hanging up. But then I picture Jace, stuck at the airport in New York, while his brother says I do.

Finally, he picks up the phone. His nasally voice is like nails on a blackboard. How could I have ever thought I wanted to marry this man?

“Martin Covington.”

I take a deep breath.

“It’s me. I need a favor.”