I can’t wait to get my apartment back. Deflate the air mattress, tidy up all the blankets and pillows, clear up all of yesterday’s takeaway containers, and maybe treat myself later tonight to the last of the open bottle of prosecco left in the fridge. And, God, have I had enough wedding talk to last me a week. Two, even.
Plus—no offense to Kim’s friend Addison, but she is loud. And she doesn’t half like the sound of her own voice, cracking jokes all the time, or telling stories. I’d call her obnoxious, but I’ve only known her for three days, so I guess I should give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s just because she’s American? Kim doesn’t seem so phased, but I figure she’s used to it even if she does notice it. And Lucy’s way too polite and soft-spoken to say a remotely mean word about anyone, so I doubt she’d agree if I asked her opinion.
I mean, she’s cute. Very cute. With those little sidelong glances when she makes a joke, and a warm laugh like honey . . .
But my God, is she loud.
The girls are all packed up, and I, for one, could not be happier.
Kim kneels in the corner of the lounge, rifling through the boxes to count the centerpieces for the eighth time.
“Seventeen,” she mutters to herself, and then, “Liv! Olivia, where are the place cards?”
“Aren’t they in that box?” Lucy asks.
“No! No!” She waves a packet of beige parchment-style cardboard rectangles. “I can only find the blank ones! Oh, please don’t say we threw them out. After all that time spent on the calligraphy . . . ”
If anything has taught me patience, it’s being Kim’s maid of honor.
I step forward, opening another box and picking up a clear Ziploc bag, filled with more place cards. “Looking for these?”
“Oh, thank God! Thanks, Liv. Oh, what would I do without you?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Hey, Livvy, you’ve got some junk mail.” Addison walks back into the lounge, shoving a piece of paper at my chest. I catch it as she walks away, throwing herself onto the sofa and tapping away at her phone. I’m not sure why she can’t leave, why she’s got to wait for the others. Addison came here in her own car. She’s not getting a ride from Lucy, like Kim is.
“It’s Liv,” I tell her. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to correct her this weekend. The stupid nickname grates on me so much.
I glance at the junk mail. It’s a simple, printed notice with the building management’s logo at the bottom. Probably someone snuck a pet in again, or, I think, with dread curdling in my stomach, maybe we were so loud with the karaoke and stuff, someone complained about the noise.
But no, I quickly discover.
It is much, much worse than all that.
“Guys?”
They all look at me expectantly, obliviously, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”
*
“This could be worse!” Kim says, with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. Her usually bright, warm smile is toothy, bordering on feral.
“At least we’re all together! And we’ll be able to finish all the wedding stuff! Think how much we’ll be able to get done!”
She does have a point there, I concede. At least I won’t have to go through the hassle of organizing yet another wedding DIY weekend, or have to do it all myself to get it finished. That’s something.
“What about work?” Lucy asks, perched on the edge of one of my dining chairs, biting her thumb nail. Her gray-blue eyes are wide with panic.
“We’ll call our bosses tomorrow,” Addison replies, waving a hand dismissively, not even glancing over. She’s still sprawled on the sofa, having not moved since she passed me the note a few minutes ago.
Her mouth smacks as she chews some gum, and I can’t help but turn my nose up at it. “No big deal. It’ll be fine.”
“What about clothes?” Lucy cries.
Addison doesn’t have such a quick solution for that, but I do.
“Call Jeremy,” I tell her. “He can pick some of your stuff up from your parents’, and bring some things for Kim. And he can get us groceries, too, while he’s at it. I’ve got plenty of bubbly left, but I think we might run out of cereal by Tuesday, otherwise.”
“Good idea. I’ll, um . . . ” Lucy stands up, phone in hand, gesturing toward the kitchen, looking desperate to do something proactive.
“Shall I start putting a bit of a grocery list together, then?”
“Knock yourself out,” I say. I stand stiffly in the center of the room, still surrounded by the carnage of our weekend-long sleepover, mourning my plans of cleaning up and relaxing for a couple of hours later this evening.
“I know you said we should make ourselves at home, Livvy,”
Addison jokes, twirling her long blond hair around one finger, her full, pink lips pulling up into a wide smirk, “but I’m not sure you meant for the whole week, huh?”
“Not exactly.”
Kim must catch the way I say it through my teeth, because she beams, standing up from the wedding favors she’s been unboxing onto the rug in my living room to grab my hands. “Oh, come on!
This is going to be so much fun, Liv! We’ll get so much done. Think of it as—as—wedding planning on steroids! It’ll make a great story for the bachelorette party, won’t it!”
Damn it, why can I never say no to her?
Then again, she’s been my best friend for almost twenty years. She bloody well should know exactly how to make me feel better.
I take a deep breath and grin back at her. “I’ll get the prosecco, then, shall I?”
Monday
apartment #15 – isla
Chapter Six
It’s nice to wake up beside Danny.
It’s eight minutes before my alarm, but instead of getting up straight away, I decide to spend that time lying in bed, hand tucked under my cheek, admiring my boyfriend.
In a noncreepy way, obviously.
He’s just so, so lovely. Those long, thick eyelashes resting against the olive tone of his skin—Spanish, on his mother’s side, he told me. The perfectly shaped cupid’s bow of his full upper lip that’s just so very, very kissable. There’s a small cluster of spots around his forehead, his curls are in complete disarray, and his nose does a weird twitching thing like he’s part bunny rabbit in whatever dream he’s having. Not entirely flawless, I think, but he’s all the more lovely for it.
I shiver a little and tuck myself into his side, stealing some of Danny’s body heat, resting my head gently against his shoulder.
I close my eyes, feeling totally and completely content.
Is this normal? I have to wonder. I know there’s always that glow at the start of any relationship, that bubble you get so wrapped up in where it’s all about sex and romance and making so much effort and gushing about them to your friends every chance you get, but—this feels different.
This feels like so much more than just a honeymoon period. I’ve never liked a guy this much, or felt so comfortable around someone this early on in a relationship. Not that I’ve got that many guys to compare Danny to, but the two or three that come to mind—they don’t even come close.
Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe it’s because we’re meant to be, because we’re so perfect for each other.