“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips. “She might be pretending to be okay because someone is watching her.”
Elena’s eyes widen, at the same moment I notice the slight movement beneath me. With the smoothness of butter, the vessel eases forward, slipping away from the dock and into the deep, vast ocean. A flare of panic shoots through me.
We’re trapped.
CHAPTER 28
Stealthily, Elena and I make our way to the upper deck. To my shock, Phoebe isn’t climbing the rail, preparing to leap overboard. Instead, she’s leaning against the console, chatting with a man behind the captain’s wheel. Rather than having a rope tied around her ankles like I imagined she might, she has a white flower pinned in her hair.
“Stop the boat!” I demand, using my most imposing voice.
“It’s okay.” Phoebe laughs and holds out her champagne, as if I might like to toast to our kidnapping instead of stop it. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I just wanted to get you here quickly.”
“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.