I went silently to the rest of the girls to help.
“We don’t need you,” Caroline hissed. “You’re only here at all because it was too late to get anyone who could fit into your dress.”
I recoiled as if she had slapped me.
No one said anything.
Eventually, I looked to Caryn. “Do you want me to not be in the pictures for this? I can make myself scarce.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. I remembered how happy Madison had looked on her wedding day, and I felt a wave of crushing guilt. It was my fault Caryn looked miserable today. What have I done?
Then she surprised me.
She turned her head to Caroline. “Can you, for once in your life, just stop? I told Lily I want her here. It’s not your call. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
Caroline opened her mouth in shock and started to protest, but Caryn cut her off, leaving her standing there looking like a fish. “Look, I read Lily’s blog. And while I didn’t like that she did that, I’m glad I found out what you did to her about the shower. Do you know she didn’t even tell me? Because she knew you would spin it. So please just stop, help get me in my dress, and smile like you’re happy for me.”
In a huff, Caroline turned on her heel and went to the bathroom, and Dana shot me a quick, tight smile. I looked at Caryn, my eyes wide. “Thank you,” I mouthed. She squeezed my shoulder in response, then plastered a radiant smile on her face. “Come on. Dress time.”
Caroline pulled herself together and pretended nothing had happened once we had Caryn’s dress on her and it was time for the ceremony. Caryn looked picture-perfect, like she had stepped out of the pages of a magazine, and every detail of the wedding felt like a fairy tale. I couldn’t begin to imagine what the event cost, but between her stepfather and Greg, I didn’t think anyone was counting pennies.
I hung out by the bar for much of the evening, but I nursed the same two glasses of champagne all night. Martin asked me to dance because his wife made eye contact with me and then nudged him. But I returned to the bar after the song was over.
“Mind if I join you?” a male voice asked. I looked over. His name was Finn and he was one of Greg’s groomsmen. He had the kind of Boston accent that made him sound like a Kennedy.
I gave a half smile. “It’s a free wedding.”
He chuckled. “Free is a relative term at these things. But sure.” He tilted his head at me as he leaned against the bar. “You’re the scandalous one? Lily?”
“That’s me.”
“World’s worst bridesmaid?”
“According to Buzzfeed.”
He took a sip of his drink and smiled. “You don’t seem so bad.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Clearly. Because you look beautiful.”
I made a disbelieving face. “You mean DC Barbie isn’t your type?” I bit the inside of my cheek hard. I was supposed to be being good.
He laughed heartily. “No, it’s not. I like my women real.”
I turned to actually look at him. He was ridiculously handsome, as all the men in Caryn’s set were, with a full, thick head of hair and an impeccably cut tuxedo. Maybe he was a Kennedy. “It’s Finn, isn’t it?” He nodded. “What do you do, Finn?”
“Investment banking.” He cocked his head. “You?”
“PR. Same company as Caryn.”
“I have a feeling she won’t be working much longer.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“How about you?” I looked at him quizzically. I wasn’t exactly marrying rich and quitting my job anytime soon. “How are you going to spin this whole publicity thing?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve got some buzz going right now. You should use it. Find a way to make it profitable.”
“What does an investment banker know about that?”
He grinned. “My parents are in publishing. I cut my teeth on this stuff.”
The wheels were turning in my head. How much easier would my life be if I went for this guy? Money, parents in publishing, a straight nose and strong chin that would guarantee genetically superior offspring. I pictured a whirlwind courtship and a house in the Hamptons.
But I didn’t own my whole heart anymore, even if the person currently in possession of it didn’t want it. Rebounds were for the old Lily—this one wanted to do right by people. And herself. And feigning interest in someone else, no matter how great he looked on paper, was a recipe for disaster.