The Wedding Season

She should have seen this coming, as soon as Reese had suggested that the three of them organise a surprise wedding party for Cassie and Tuck, the hot jock she was scheduled to marry at the Manhattan Marriage Bureau on the Friday before Labor Day.

But the truth was, Gina hadn’t given it a second thought. Reese was classy, committed to her friends and a champion organiser—the original Park Avenue Princess—it had made total sense that she would come up with an idea like this.

In typical Cassie fashion, their super-geek friend had agreed to marry Tuck and then left the arrangements up to him. No fanfare, no fuss, no debauched fun or inappropriate frolics had been either planned or discussed. So after speaking to Tuck, Reese had decreed the three of them should handle that part of the programme without telling Cassie. Because Cassie would go into a geek-induced coma if they made too much fuss, they had opted to celebrate in understated style—inviting the minimalist guest list that would be witnessing the wedding at City Hall to a great meal at a great restaurant right after the event.

Hence the decision to meet at this ungodly hour of the morning in Gina’s favourite diner near Grand Central Station and debate possible venues, before booking one.

But Reese being Reese had seen a way to turn what should have been a polite and straightforward affair, with her as the official gooseberry, into a peace-keeping mission of UN proportions.

Gina and Marnie had remained civil to each other, meeting again for the first time a little over a month ago, during the fiasco that was Reese’s Wedding-That-Wasn’t to Dylan Brookes—the original Mr Too Perfect. That should have been enough, Gina thought resentfully. They had spoken to each other, they had even joked with each other in a strained way. No insults had been hurled, no punches thrown, no eyes gouged out, which in Gina’s mind was a result. But clearly, that hadn’t been good enough for Reese, who was now a fully loved-up member of the sweetness-and-light club. Reese wanted all the dirty laundry properly aired and then washed clean—so the four of them could go back to being the carefree college roomies who’d hit it off instantly at Hillbrook College.

But to Gina’s way of thinking, that simply wasn’t ever going to happen. You couldn’t go back and undo the mistakes you made. You simply had to learn to live with them. And she didn’t think that Marnie would ever forgive her. Because she hadn’t yet forgiven herself.

Not only that, but kissing and making up with Marnie would involve talking about a man Gina had promised herself she wouldn’t even think about again, because she’d thought about him far too often in the intervening years. Namely, Marnie’s big brother, Carter Price. The man she’d had one wild night with just weeks before his wedding day. A wild night the consequences of which had not only nearly destroyed her but, from what Reese had told her, had managed to screw up his life rather comprehensively too.

Gina’s newly manicured nails tapped out a tattoo on the side of her smartphone as she glanced at the ornate clock on the diner’s far wall—and the urge to quickly text Marnie and make her excuses increased. She still had ten minutes to do a runner before Marnie arrived—because for the first time in recordable history she was actually early.

Sighing, she locked her phone and slung it back in her bag. Ten years ago she would have gone with the urge—and run out on Marnie and the unpleasant conversation that loomed large in her foreseeable future. Because when she was nineteen, doing whatever took her fancy and then running away from the fallout had been her speciality. She smoothed damp palms over the vintage dress she’d picked up in a thrift store in Brooklyn a week ago. How inconvenient that she wasn’t that reckless, irresponsible tart any more.

‘Can I get you something, miss?’

Gina pasted a smile on her face at the helpful enquiry from the college kid who was waiting tables.

‘Something hot and strong would be good,’ she said, checking him out from force of habit.

His fresh face flushed a dull red. ‘Umm... What did you have in mind, miss?’

‘Coffee,’ she said, taking pity on him as the flush went from pink to vermillion. ‘And this morning I’m going to need it neat.’

He nodded. ‘Coming right up.’

She watched him stroll off and smiled.

While she might not be in the market for indiscriminate flings any more, it was satisfying to know she hadn’t lost her touch.

In fact, as she took a long gulp of the watery diner coffee ten minutes later, she felt almost mellow. Until the revolving door at the front of the restaurant spun round and out popped Marnie Price looking cute and efficient in her power suit and kitten heels. Gina lifted a hand to wave, and watched Marnie’s expression go from keen to wary when she spotted the empty seat next to her.

The hollow roll of regret flopped over in Gina’s stomach. While it was certainly true that she and the Savannah Belle hadn’t had a thing in common when they’d first met at Reese’s house on campus—and Gina had spent most of that first month teasing Marnie mercilessly about everything from her views on love and marriage to her perfect Southern manners—their friendship had eventually developed into something strong and supportive and surprisingly genuine.

The truth was, Gina had felt superior to Marnie then. Gina had considered herself a sophisticated, cosmopolitan woman of the world who knew all she needed to know about men and sex and relationships—unlike the sheltered, self-confessed Southern virgin.

But Marnie had grown on Gina, despite their differences. Because beneath those pristine Southern manners had been an admirable devotion to doing the right thing, being accountable for your actions and always believing the best of people. And then Gina had gone and mucked everything up by jumping into bed with the brother Marnie idolised—and discovered in the process she was hardly the poster girl for mature relationships either.

But if there was something Gina regretted even more than giving in to temptation that night, it was taking that bright, trusting light out of Marnie’s eyes. Something that now appeared to be gone for good.

‘Hi, Gina.’ Marnie sent her a polite smile as she slid into the booth. ‘Are we early?’ she asked, probably hoping Reese—who was never late—would magically materialise and get them out of this predicament.

If only. ‘Reese can’t make it. Something came up, apparently.’ Gina took a judicious sip of her coffee, resisting the urge to say the something was probably a key part of the hot ex-husband’s anatomy.

‘And I’ll bet I know what it is,’ Marnie murmured, making Gina choke on her coffee. ‘I swear, you’d think Mason had invented sex the way Reese gushes about the guy.’

Gina put down her cup, a grin forming despite the underlying tension. ‘Gushes being the operative word.’

Marnie gave a small laugh. ‘All I hope is that it’s more than just sex this time around—because there is no way I am repackaging a billion truffles again in this lifetime.’

‘Amen to that,’ Gina said, toasting Marnie with her coffee mug and smiling at the memory of how the four of them had spent two solid hours taking table-top truffles out of engagement-ring-style boxes when Reese had decided to reinvent her aborted wedding to Dylan into a celebration of... Well, no one had ever really figured that out.

‘To be frank,’ Gina added, ‘if I ever see another truffle before I die, it’ll be too soon.’

Marnie’s lips curved, but Gina could see the concern in her pure blue eyes—and had the sudden realisation that she hadn’t given Marnie her due in the last month.

Seemed they’d both done quite a lot of growing up in the last decade.

After ordering herself an iced tea and some wheat toast from the blushing waiter, Marnie got right down to business, tugging a smartphone out of her briefcase. ‘Okay, I’ve narrowed a couple of possible venues down that can accommodate a party of seven on the required date, can provide a wedding cake and meet our “classy but not too intimidating” requirements.’ She pressed a few buttons, her gaze flicking to Gina. ‘My personal favourite is the Tribeca Terrace. Do you know it?’

Gina nodded. ‘Sure, chic and funky with sensational food and a dance floor—so Cassie and Tuck can get up close and pornographic for our benefit.’

Marnie’s lips quirked again. ‘It’s pricey, but totally worth it.’

‘Done.’

Marnie blinked. ‘What do you mean, done? We haven’t gone through the other options.... And don’t you have any venues you want to put forward?’

‘I had a couple.’ Gina shrugged. ‘But none of them are as perfect as the TriBee,’ she said, giving it the nickname it had acquired in the foodie press. ‘You nailed it in one. Why shop around?’

The waiter arrived with Marnie’s toast and tea and made a bit of a production about asking Gina if she had everything she needed. As he left Gina noticed Marnie’s gaze follow him, before she concentrated on buttering her toast. There was no censure in the look, just a simple acknowledgement. But Gina could still hear the words running through Marnie’s head even if the well-mannered woman would rather bite off her own tongue than voice them.

There goes another of Gina’s conquests.

Ten years ago, Gina would have played up to that assessment and enjoyed it—and quite probably taken full advantage of whatever the young waiter had to offer. But not any more.

Placing her coffee mug back on the table, she waited for Marnie to stop buttering. When the bright blue eyes finally met hers, she could see the tension around the edges of Marnie’s mouth and realised that—while she still had a low-grade urge to throttle Reese—their mutual friend had been right. They needed to get this out in the open, if they were going to have any chance of getting past it and repairing the friendship between the four of them the rest of the way.

Marnie and her would never be best friends, Gina had already screwed that up for good, but surely they could be more than just civil to each other. A bit more warmth between the two of them would also take the pressure off the other two—and as both Reese and Cassie had weddings coming up, she couldn’t think of a better gift to give them both.

‘I’m sure we both know why Reese didn’t show this morning,’ she said evenly. ‘And for once I’m not convinced it has anything to do with her inability to leave Mason’s bed first thing in the morning while he’s still in it.’

Marnie’s eyes widened a fraction. She raised her napkin to her mouth to remove an invisible crumb. ‘Reese has always been a peace-maker.’

She put the napkin down, folded it carefully.

‘But I’m confident she’ll stop trying to be Mother Teresa when we turn up at Amber’s Bridal tomorrow having booked an awesome venue for Cassie’s party without having gotten into a catfight in the Grand Central Diner.’

Gina’s lips curved at the droll statement. ‘True, but funnily enough...’ She took a deep breath, fortified by the odd feeling of connection between them—because right about now it seemed they both had a low-grade urge to throttle Reese. ‘I think I can probably go one better than that.’

Wariness crossed Marnie’s face. ‘How?’

‘By apologising for all the crappy things I said to you on our last night together—which were cruel and juvenile and totally unnecessary.’ She huffed out a steady breath when Marnie remained silent.

Now for the biggie.

‘And more importantly by apologising for seducing your brother the week beforehand—which was equally cruel and juvenile and totally unnecessary.’ Even if it had felt very necessary at the time.

‘My only excuse is that I was in a bad place at the time.’ A bad place that had got a whole lot worse in the months after that night. ‘And I did bad things as a result—including being a heartless, reckless, selfish, philandering tart. And although I can’t promise that I won’t do bad things again—because if there’s one thing I despise more than a heartless tart, it’s a hypocrite—I’m trying a lot harder not to.’

Marnie’s face remained unnervingly impassive, before she gave her head a little nod. ‘Thanks for the apology. But if you were being cruel and juvenile, I was too. And...’ She paused. ‘While I could have done without such a graphic description of my brother’s...’ she coughed, clearly struggling to get the word out ‘...assets, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.’ She looked down at her hands, which were mangling the carefully folded napkin. ‘Carter was the one that cheated, Gina. Not you.’ Her eyes met Gina’s, disillusionment clouding the blue depths. ‘And after seeing his marriage die a slow, painful death and seeing what a player he’s become since his divorce—I don’t think you should take all the blame.’

A player? Carter?

Gina’s throat constricted as the memories she’d filed carefully away in the ‘biggest disaster of my life’ box had a coming-out party.

Yes, he’d been devastatingly handsome, and moody and magnetic and sexy enough to make any woman salivate uncontrollably, even an accomplished flirt like her. But beneath that potent machismo had been a man who, like Marnie, had been determined to do the right thing—who had been honourable and sensitive and touchingly reserved, despite the hunger burning in those cool blue eyes. How could that man be a player?

Nobody could change that much. Even in ten years....

‘Reese told me Carter had got a divorce,’ she said. The guilt she’d worked hard to mask ever since Reese had told her the news throbbed in her belly like a lump of radioactive waste—alongside an inappropriate rush of heat, which she studiously ignored.

‘I’m sorry about that too,’ she said. It would be conceited of her to think she was wholly responsible for the failure of Carter’s marriage, but she still had to shoulder her share of the blame. She’d slept with an engaged man and then tried to push the blame onto the only innocent party in the whole thing, Carter’s fiancée, Missy.

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ Marnie remarked with sober certainty. ‘The divorce wasn’t your fault—they had a lot of other...’ her voice trailed off ‘...issues.’

‘It’s nice of you to say that.’ And nicer still to see that she actually meant it. ‘But I was there when it happened, and I know how hard he tried to resist me.’

Marnie shot her hands out in the shape of a T. ‘All right, time out, because you are straying back into “things I will never need to know about my brother” territory, here.’

Gina huffed out a laugh at the look of horror on Marnie’s face. Maybe the Southern Belle had grown up, but it seemed she still had the same demure sensibilities when it came to discussing her big brother’s sex life.

‘The point is...’ Marnie put her hands down ‘...I’m ashamed of the things I said that night too.’ She drew a circle on the table. ‘I wanted to put all the blame on you, because blaming Carter would mean admitting he didn’t belong on the pedestal I’d put him on.’ She sighed. ‘We’re not close these days.’

Gina felt the renewed stab of regret. ‘Oh, Marnie, I’m so sorry. Did I do that too?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Marnie said, sounding adamant. ‘It would have happened anyway once I got older and wiser and realised what he was really like.’ The wry smile on Marnie’s lips did nothing to dispel the thoughtful expression. ‘You know, I don’t remember you having such an overdeveloped guilt complex.’

Gina chuckled at the observation. ‘Unfortunately, it’s the end result of believing everything is about you.’

Marnie sent her a quick grin, the unguarded moment a reminder of the easy friendship they’d once shared.

‘Look, I hope we’re good now,’ Marnie said. ‘Because my relationship with my brother isn’t as important to me as my friendship with y’all.’

‘Yeah, we’re good,’ Gina said, but felt oddly deflated as Marnie excused herself to go to the restroom.

Maybe they hadn’t had a catfight, and maybe she’d finally got out the apology that she should have given Marnie ten years ago... But somehow it didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe her thoughtless seduction that night hadn’t been the only reason Carter’s marriage had ended, but it had definitely helped to screw up his relationship with his sister. And Gina couldn’t quite shake the thought that Marnie had fallen back on her perfect Southern manners to smooth everything over, but didn’t really mean it.

The buzzing of Marnie’s phone jolted Gina out of her guilt trip, and made coffee slosh over the rim of her mug. She mopped up the spill and made a grab for the phone as it vibrated towards the edge of the table. Then nearly dropped it at the photo that flashed up in the viewfinder under the text message.

Arrive @ The Standard 7pm 2nite. In NYC til next Fri. Txt me. We need 2 discuss yr allowance. C

Her heart leapt up to bump against her larynx and the swell of heat that she’d been busy ignoring flared. She pressed her thumb to the screen and ran it over the darkly handsome face that had hardly changed in ten years. His hair was longer, the brutal buzz cut now a mass of thick waves that curled around his ears and touched his collar. Those hollow cheeks had filled out a bit, the electric blue of his eyes looked colder and even more intense, and there were a few distinguished laughter lines, but otherwise Carter Price looked even hotter than she remembered him. She touched the tempting little dent in his chin—biting the tip of her tongue as a blast of memory assailed her. The rasp of stubble and the nutty taste of pistachio as she licked a rivulet of ice cream off his full bottom lip.

Stop fondling Marnie’s phone, you muppet.

The sharp rap of metal on wood rang out as she dropped the phone on the table. Carter Price’s unsettling gaze continued to stare at her, so she flipped it over—moments before Marnie appeared at her shoulder.

‘Your phone was buzzing,’ she offered, as nonchalantly as she could manage, while blood coursed up her neck and pulsed at her temples.

‘Right, thanks.’ Marnie picked up the phone and slid back into the booth.

A frown formed on Marnie’s forehead as she read the text. And Gina wondered for one agonising moment if Marnie would mention the texter—and then wondered how she was going to conduct a conversation while having a hot flush. But Marnie didn’t say anything, she simply frowned, keyed in a few characters, pressed send and then tucked the phone into the pocket of the briefcase.

‘Shall I go ahead and book the Tribeca Terrace?’ she asked, her voice clear and steady and businesslike, the frown gone.

Gina’s shoulders knotted with tension and the sinking feeling in her stomach dropped to her toes.

So Marnie had lied—maybe she wanted to pretend that they were both past what had happened ten years ago, that it didn’t matter any more. But how could it be true when she couldn’t even bring herself to mention Carter’s name?

Marnie didn’t trust her. And frankly who could blame her?

They made arrangements to meet up the next day for the bridesmaids’ fittings at Reese’s friend Amber’s bridal boutique in the Manhattan Bridge Overpass District before Marnie—who seemed more than a little preoccupied—rushed off to get to her office in Brooklyn.

Gina watched her leave, and realised that there was only one way to win Marnie’s trust—and prove to herself that she deserved it. And that was to finally make amends for everything that had happened ten years ago, on the night she’d thrown herself at a virtually married man.

She gulped down her lukewarm coffee as goosebumps prickled up her spine. Unfortunately that meant apologising to more than just Marnie.

TWO

Gina climbed out of the cab under the High Line in New York’s Meatpacking District and mounted the metal steps to the linear park constructed along an old L-train track. The concrete pathway, edged with planters of wild ferns and flowers, bustled with joggers, canoodling couples and families enjoying the pleasantly warm but not overly muggy New York evening.

Sweat trickled down her back as she stepped out of the heat into the cool lobby area of The Standard Hotel. The retro chic decor—all white plastic sculptures, distressed stone walls and dark leather scooped seats—made her feel as if she’d stepped onto the set of a sixties sci-fi movie.

She lifted her arms, to deter the sweat from dampening the armpits of the vintage Dior mini-dress she’d spent half an hour selecting from her extensive wardrobe of couture originals and thrift-store finds. The plan was to look cool and sophisticated and in control while finally confronting the ghosts of her past, not like a bedraggled rag doll.

She lingered for a moment—feeling a bit like an alien from the planet Zod—before taking a deep, calming breath, and stepping up to the reception desk.

The expertly coiffured receptionist took down the message she’d spent most of the afternoon composing. The perfect combination of polite, impersonal and not too pushy—the single sentence gave Carter the option of contacting her, so she could give him her apology in person.

Whether he would or not was entirely up to him. The sense of relief as she left the desk was immense. She’d done what she had to do. It really didn’t matter now if Carter called her or not. But somehow she doubted he would.

Because as well as spending far too much time that afternoon composing the perfect message—she’d also spent rather a lot of it Googling information about the CEO of the Price Paper Consortium of Savannah, Georgia. After wasting a good twenty minutes poring over the numerous pictures, gossip items and local news reports featuring Carter Price and the ever-changing kaleidoscope of model-perfect ‘possible future brides’ who’d accompanied him to an array of high-society functions and charity events in the last few years, she’d had to concede that Marnie hadn’t lied.

The sensitive, conflicted Southern gentleman who had once been so susceptible to her charms wasn’t just a major player now, he appeared to be attempting a world record for dating and dumping the entire debutante population south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

This Carter was not the man who had rushed back to his childhood sweetheart crippled by guilt and self-loathing at what they had done. So she very much doubted he’d want to revisit that time in his life. But exactly how much of the change in him was her fault?

The thought struck and stopped her in her tracks—right beside the entrance to the hotel’s lobby bar.

Damn, her throat felt as if she’d been swallowing sand. She glanced at her watch. Ten to six. Still an hour before Carter was due to check in. She had time for a soft drink without risking bumping into him.

She shrugged off the thought of how much Carter appeared to have changed in the last ten years as she entered the brightly lit bar. Apportioning blame for that now was a little late.

Crowded with New York’s young and lively in-crowd celebrating the start of the weekend and a few tired-looking tourists ready to call it a day, the pristine blonde wooded space was already throbbing with life. One small table right on the outskirts of the action was still vacant. She nabbed it and waylaid a member of the wait staff.

‘A club soda, please.... No, scratch that,’ she said as indecision struck. ‘Make that a small dry martini, light on the vermouth.’ One drink couldn’t hurt and she’d earned it.

When the martini arrived, Gina took a single sip, then placed it on the table in front of her, savouring the flowery taste of the gin and resisting the urge to down it in three quick gulps. She never drank to excess any more. Mostly because she now knew that inebriation had a direct correlation to stupid behaviour.

She speared the olive at the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stick and swirled it around, savouring the light buzz from the alcohol as the guttural chatter of the Japanese tourists at the next table cocooned her in the blessedly anonymous corner. The muggy scent of body odour and expensive perfumes and colognes overwhelmed the blast of cold air from the bar’s air-conditioning system, drawing her back in time to a sultry summer afternoon a lifetime ago.