Page 77 of Last Night Was Fun
“Thank you. I have something for you.” She set her flute on the nightstand and swept off to the walk-in closet.
A walk-in felt like overkill for vacation to Emmy, but the likes of people renting the villa probably traveled with a closet’s worth of luggage anyway. At least it had plenty of space for Piper’s ballooning ball gown to hang.
Piper returned with a gift bag and presented it.
“What’s this?”
“It’s your MOH gift.” She sat on the bed next to her and excitedly watched her open it.
Emmy pulled out a short, silky robe the same champagne color as her bridesmaid’s dress.
“To wear while we get ready,” Piper said.
“Thanks.” Emmy slipped it on and felt the luxurious sleeves brush her arms like silk gloves. She reached deeper in the bag and found a small jewelry box. Her eyes popped wide when she opened it to two dazzling diamond stud earrings.
“To wear with your dress,” Piper said with a smile.
Emmy gaped at them. “Are thesereal?”
“Yes. Don’t go swimming in the ocean with them, please.”
Emmy turned to her sister and realized today was significant in more ways than one. Piper was getting married, yes, but she was also transitioning from a single girl to a woman who gifted multicarat jewels. Her life was becoming one with Ben’s, fully, and some things would never be the same.
“Thank you,” Emmy managed to squeak out.
“Of course. They’re bigger than all the other girls’, don’t worry,” Piper said, and pushed up off the bed.
Emmy snorted. “I wasn’t worried.” She shoved her hand back into the bag and felt a small card tucked into an envelope. Piper had scrawledMy Sisteron the front of it, and with a sudden thick lump in her throat, Emmy decided she was going to read it later.
The villa was soon overtaken by an elaborate room service spread—eggs, fresh papaya, passion fruit, waffles, endless mimosas—a gaggle of squealing bridesmaids, and photographers. Hair and makeup began promptly at 11a.m. to fit everyone in before pictures and then the ceremony. Before she was committed to being glamorized for the rest of the day, Emmy still needed to escape to her room to get her dress and shoes.
She narrowly slipped through the throngs of matching silky robes, excited giggles, and the bachelorette playlist pumping from the house’s speakers and snuck outside. The sun splashed brilliantly from above, saturating all the colors into a dazzling, vibrant tapestry. Sand, sky, sea. Thick, puffy clouds hung offshore, rimmed soft gray at their bottoms, and Emmy hoped any rain would hold off.
She dashed back to her building and rode the elevator, feeling light and bouncy thanks to two mimosas and the thought of seeing Gabe on this happy day. At their door, she knocked, and when he didn’t answer, she swiped her wristband and poked her head in the door.
“Gabe?” she called.
Only silence responded.
She slipped inside to find the room empty and a note on the dresser.
Gone fishing.
Emmy quietly laughed at the little drawing of a fish with bubbles coming from its mouth and smiled at the thought of him spending time with her dad. She had no idea what they were going todowith any fish they caught, but that wasn’t really the point.
She opened the dresser to retrieve her bra and dreaded shapewear then turned for the closet to gather her dress. On her way, she noticed the pillow wall had been deconstructed and one side of the bed slept in.
Her side.
The pillow she’d slept on the night before was indented and the one next to it crushed like it had been hugged all night. She picked up the crushed one and pressed it to her nose. It smelled like him—and her, because the night they’d shared the bed, she’d spent the whole time holding that pillow between her arms.
Her heart stuttered and she smiled. She wished she had more time to dwell on it, maybe lie down and hug the pillow herself, but she needed to get back to hair and makeup.
She gathered her dress and threw all her necessities in a tote. Before she left, she scribbled a note below theGone fishingone.
Gone to get made up. See you at the ceremony. Xo.
And then, the wedding was upon them.
