From the Jump(91)

“You . . .” I trail off, unable to comprehend the idea that I’ve been so terrified for nothing. “I . . .”

“Are you mad?” Phoebe looks ruffled for the briefest moment but quickly shakes it off. “Well, you can’t be. Because it’s my day. I’m the bride.”

I gape at her, and she lifts her other hand so they’re both in the air.

“We’re getting married!” She beams.

“You’re . . .” I trail off again. It’s possible my brain has not made it to sea with us and is sunbathing somewhere back on dry land. Uncomprehendingly, I look back and forth between her and the broad-shouldered man glancing back over his shoulder with a rakish smile. “Do you even know this guy?”

There’s nothing discernibly wrong with him. He’s nice to look at, and he does seem capable of handling a boat, which I imagine is a nice quality to have in a husband. But I’ve never met him before. More importantly, he’s not Mac.

“Connor Collins,” he says. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Are you holding this woman against her will, Connor Collins?” Elena asks.

“I’m not,” he says, as if this is an entirely normal question.

His confirmation doesn’t bring the relief it should. Phoebe can’t marry this man, even if it is entirely of her own volition. Maybe there was a time when I could’ve focused on the implied wealth of boat ownership and been impressed that this man was willing to legally tie his life to Phoebe’s. But now I know how it feels to wake up in the arms of someone you truly adore. I’ve been lucky enough to experience being in love with your best friend, even if I wasn’t quite lucky enough to hold onto it.

“Please don’t do this,” I blurt, clasping my hands together. “It’s too fast. Marriage is too big to be decided on flippantly. It lasts forever.”

“But don’t you see?” Phoebe says, despite the fact that I clearly don’t. “That’s exactly the point. We’ve found a loophole. The pact was created because of potential breakups. But Mac and I aren’t just getting back together. We’re committing the rest of our lives to each other.”

“You and Mac?” Relief soars through me, and my head tilts back, filling my vision with the colorful sky. “You’re getting married to Mac.”

“In front of this stranger, apparently,” Phoebe says. When I lower my chin, I discover her studying Elena curiously, like an alien life form or a particularly vibrant butterfly. “Why have you brought someone I’ve never met to my wedding?”

“Did I not indicate that on my RSVP?” I ask dryly. There’s no point reminding her that a whispered “I need you” doesn’t traditionally translate into a wedding announcement. “I could’ve sworn I ticked the plus-one box.”

“Your date is down there,” Phoebe says, motioning toward the front of the boat. “Work it out, and quickly. My maid of honor can’t be fighting with the best man.”

I freeze for a moment. In all the plans Elena and I devised this afternoon, not one of them involved seeing Deiss for the first time since everything fell apart while wearing a loose-fitting sundress over a bikini, my skin oily with sunscreen and pink with the early stages of a burn. Tentatively, I step toward the rail. My stomach gives an enthusiastic leap at the sight of his short dark hair. Naturally, he’s leaned back against one seat, his legs kicked up to rest on another.

“He’s with Simone,” I say, turning back around.

“I’ll take care of that.” Elena grabs my hand, leading me firmly forward.

“I like her,” Phoebe says to me before redirecting her attention to Elena. “You’re now an usher.”

“I won’t let you down,” Elena says with a salute before dragging me downstairs.

The boat is picking up speed, and the wind whips my hair around my shoulders as we move out onto the bow. Deiss looks up, his eyes bluer than the darkening water behind him. He meets my gaze and holds it, showing no surprise at my sudden appearance.

Simone, on the other hand, leaps to her feet. “Hey,” she says nervously before rushing forward and wrapping her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Liv. For everything.”

“I know,” I say into her shoulder. And I do. One bad week could never make me forget eleven good years. “We’ll get past this.”

“I didn’t set out to do it,” she says, pulling back and looking at me plaintively. “I know that doesn’t make it better, because I am the reason Deiss’s past got exposed. But I was just upset, and I vented about it to a friend who just happens to be a journalist, and it turned out her job meant more to her than our friendship.”

For a moment, I’m tempted to scoff. It’s rich, the clear disappointment she has at a friend’s betrayal when she was so eager to let me take the fall for her own. I don’t, though. She was right when she said that we choose our friends. For better or for worse, I’ve chosen her.

“You must be Simone,” Elena says. “I’m the usher, and I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“Where are we going?” she asks, her eyes widening as Elena tugs her toward the back of the boat.

“To see if this boat has a plank.” Elena flashes an ominous smile at her.