“He said he thought we might have fun.”
“Who the heck invites their PR company to their wedding?”
“Celebrities. I don’t think they have real friends. They have other rich people they hang out with, staff, and family. We’re staff.” I take another sip of the complimentary champagne we were served the moment we climbed into the limo. It’s a Dom Perignon rosé, because that’s a complimentary champagne?
“At least the drinks are guaranteed to be top-shelf all weekend and we have each other. I can’t imagine coming here alone. No clue what to expect and not a friend in the crowd.” She adds with a smile, “And the single dudes are certain to be hot and rich. Even if you’re dating someone.”
That is the very last topic I want to discuss, considering the past forty-eight hours I’ve had.
The idea of hot dudes makes my stomach ache, but I haven’t told her about my situation. Something I must do before we arrive so she doesn’t think I’m being shitty on purpose. I take a deep breath and begin, “I need to tell you something.” I pause, hating the effect this conversation is already having on me and I haven’t even started yet. “I’m not dating anyone anymore. I mean—I—I’m single.”
“What?” She gasps. “You and Ben broke up.”
His name makes me flinch. “I don’t want to get into details about it, but yeah. Yesterday.”
She reaches forward and takes my cold hand in her warm one. “I am so sorry, Jenny. I wish you’d said something. I would have nattered less on the ride. You must be so upset.”
“It’s fine. I’m okay. And this whole trip is probably the weirdest-best thing I could be doing. Distracting myself with something completely off the wall.” I force my stare to meet hers. Her warm gaze is like a hug and it forces out a piece of the truth I didn’t want to share. “He was with someone when I went to his place in the morning yesterday, a girl from his work. So I left and changed my number. And now I’m here.”
“Oh my God, he doesn’t know that you know he’s having an affair?” The sentence makes it sound complicated but it isn’t.
“No.”
“Girl, you ghosted him?” She smiles wide, her eyes and lips glistening.
“It sounds super petty, but it—”
“It’s epic. Not petty. You found him with another woman, you owe him nothing. Fuck him! We’re almost thirty years old for God’s sake. We don’t have time for bullshit guys who have commitment phobias.” She says it enthusiastically.
“You’re right. And it’s done so I am closing that chapter.”
“Good. I’m glad you want to move on and forget him. What a piece of shit. And you’re right, at least you’re at this wedding and maybe if we’re lucky there will be some serious shenanigans this weekend to keep your mind off it.” She waggles her eyebrows, sinking the icky feeling deeper into my guts.
“I was hoping for more of a relaxing distraction, not guys.”
“Nonsense. With Brady Coldwell, Matt Brimley, and Lawrence Eckelston, it’s almost a guarantee there will indeed be some shenanigans. That’s one hot, dirty roster. And I imagine most of the team is coming.” She swoons. “Hot hockey players needing help to forget they just got booted from the playoffs. What more could two single city girls want for?”
“Except, Stan most likely sent us here to ensure nothing nasty happens, and if it does, we can clean it up right away. I doubt he wants us to be part of the story.” I sound like a mom. I am the fun killer. The death of joy. This is who I am now. This is what Ben made me.
“Yeah, that’s true, I guess,” she agrees but clearly isn’t seriously considering behaving. “Sami has been nothing but a nightmare for our firm from the minute she and Matt started dating, even when their relationship was a secret. But I think we can have fun and still be professional. Keep your misadventures to the dark corners and shadowy parts of the castle.” She laughs. “Like you said, Stan doesn’t expect us to be on duty the whole time we’re here. More like disaster cleanup crew. And it’s a wedding, not their last trip to Rome.”
“I guess.” I shrug. “I mean it does help that Brady Coldwell is engaged. Not much of a chance of issues from him. One less thing to worry about.” I wrinkle my nose at that one. The guy is a pig, engagement or not.
“Indeed. I’m glad that’s over.” She winks. “We’ve cleaned up a lot of his messes, if you get my drift. Not that I’d be averse to meeting Mr. Clinton.”
“Out!” I point at the door of the moving car, only half joking. “Take your filthy humor and walk the rest of the way.”
“Shut up,” she says with a giggle. “We both know you think he’s hot too.”
But she’s wrong.
I played hockey my whole life, like most Canadian kids, and have met dozens of Brady Coldwells. Because of it, I would never date a puck. The idea of it brings back the responsible side of me, and her joking has me worried.
“Okay, real talk. We need a pact. I’m not saying don’t have fun. But I am saying, we need to behave and remember we’re representing the firm. We don’t need Stan murdering us when we return to the city. That’s not how I want to die.” Not to mention, I’m now indebted to the company for life.
“Hey, I think we’re here.” Ignoring me and my advice, her gaze flickers to the right as the car slows to an almost stop. She lowers the tinted window to get a better view of a small brick wall with a white farm fence running along the road.
We’re in the middle of nowhere.
“The Blackberry Farm?” The sign makes my already tender insides tug. “There’s no world in which I imagined a farm being Sami’s wedding venue
