***
Most things seem better in the morning. Despite their hangovers and my lethargy from lack of sleep, everything still seems brighter. Isabella starts stirring just after eight, and disappears for about half an hour before returning with food. I try to stay sleeping but the smell of bacon and eggs soon wafts throughout the house. She doesn’t have to call twice to get the three of us to Penny’s breakfast bar. We’re already salivating for the greasy food to settle the grumbling in our stomachs.
“You spoken with Byron, yet, chick?” Penny asks as she rifles through her cupboards for plates and mugs for us.
“No. Better to let him think about what he did for a couple more hours. We’re getting married. If he can’t tell me something like this, what else would he keep from me later?”
She seems to have forgotten that she hasn’t told Byron about Keats kissing her at swimming two days ago.
“Has he even called any of your phones yet?”
Isabella brought nothing but her wallet with her last night when she walked out on her fiancé. We all check our mobiles. Nothing.
“Maybe he’s still passed out,” Penny suggests.
“Maybe he doesn’t have our numbers?” Mia adds.
Isabella serves out the bacon, eggs, fried mushrooms and tomato halves onto four plates.
“Can I check my Facebook, Penny? Maybe he’s sent me a message.” She puts a rack of toasted bread in front of us.
“Yeah, sure.”
We eat breakfast talking about how we’re going to fit into our outfits next Saturday. Penny has gained weight since Isabella bought our dresses in July and is planning on doing some detox diet unless any of us could talk her out of it. Isabella is still worried about the size of her own gown.
After breakfast, Mia and I clear the table and wash the dishes while Penny turns her laptop on for Isabella.
“Ooh, a friend request,” Isabella says, then clicks on the notification. “Eamon? Ugh. Decline. Arsehole.” She shakes herself off, and scrolls down her wall. “Oh, great! Check these out,” Isabella says, turning the laptop around so we can see my posted photo of Will the masseuse giving Penny a massage. “Thanks for that, Jess.”
“Oh, fuck,” Penny says. “My arms look huge! He was hot though.”
“How did you find him?” Mia, who likes her men chunky, asks.
“A friend recommended him. He did her sister’s hens’ night, too.”
“Too muscly for me. I like the—,” Isabella suddenly stops talking. “Bloody hell. Is this for real?”
We all look down at the screen. There’s a photo of Byron with an arm around Jada from last night. He has a huge grin on his face but his eyes are a little unfocused. Isabella has been tagged by Jada. Isabella clicks to the next shot. This one shows Byron and Jada with their heads on the same pillow—he looks asleep. He’s wearing different clothes, so this selfie was probably taken on a different day.
“What the fuck?” Penny says.
“That must be at his dorm,” Isabella says quietly.
“She probably crept into his room and took that shot while he was totally out of it,” Mia offers, surprising me with her optimistic spin on a man’s behaviour. She places a consoling hand on Isabella’s shoulder and rubs her back gently.
Isabella’s eyes are glistening, expression a mixture of anger and devastation, as she clicks to the next image. The next shot is dark like it was taken at a club. Jada and Byron are kissing. She has her arms around his neck. He has his hands cupping her face.
“Maybe that’s an old photo,” I say, surprising myself with how much I don’t want her world to fall apart.
“He’s wearing his engagement ring,” Isabella says, voice shaking with emotion, “and that’s exactly what they were wearing last night. Shit! That’s from last night.”
Penny reaches down and closes the lid of the laptop.
“I’m going to kill him,” Isabella says.
“I’m sure he has a good explanation for those photos.” I earn a glare from Isabella for this comment. I silently curse Keats. I bet he has something to do with this.
“Do I have ‘cheat on me’ tattooed on my forehead?” Isabella’s voice quivers. “What the fuck?”
“Talk to him before you make hasty decisions,” I tell her. I look at Penny and Mia to back me up but that last photo seems to have turned them against Byron.
Isabella takes a long, deep breath like she’s silently counting to calm herself down. “You’re right, Jess. I should talk to him. But he’d better have the most amazing explanation because, right now, I can’t think of how we’d get through this. Can I borrow a phone, please?”
I hesitate to hand over my mobile because of all the messages and calls from Keats on it. Penny lends the bride her phone. With shaking hands, Isabella keys in her fiancé’s number. We all sit with her as she waits for him to pick up. Eventually, the call goes to voicemail. Isabella doesn’t leave a message. Instead, she dials another number, and waits for a response. Again, nothing.
“I need to go home. Mia?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll just grab my keys. You ready to go, Jess?”
We’re still in our sleep clothes but no one feels like changing, so we grab our gear.
Penny gives Isabella an extended hug before she opens the front door.
A faded red pick-up truck pulls up across the road from Penny’s driveway before we reach Mia’s white hatchback.
Seeing Isabella, Byron hops out before the car is barely stationary. Judging by the panic on his face, he knows about the photos his ex has posted on Facebook.
“Bella,” he says, running across the road to his fiancée. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
She fixes him with a glare that stops him a metre away from her.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Good start.
“About what?” Isabella asks, ever the calculating lawyer. She crosses her arms in front of her, looking a lot more imposing than her five-feet-two.
Byron glances at the
