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“But don’t you think he’s right, maybe? Don’t you think I should find someone who—I don’t know—ignites some serious, smoldering passion in me?” Quinn asked, brow furrowed. “I love Paul, I do, but I don’t know that it’s enough for a lifetime.”
“Stability,” Zoe said, tucking another of Quinn’s blond curls into place. “Stability gets you through hardship, and that’s what marriage is about. Passion is fleeting. Besides, what does Ian know about love? He’s barely kept a girlfriend for longer than two weeks at a time.” Zoe rolled her eyes.
The last time she’d seen Ian Prescott, his latest flavor-of-the-week’s sole ambition in life was to become a professional partygoer. It had even been on her business cards, for chrissakes.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge him,” Quinn said. “People in glass houses and all…”
Zoe narrowed her eyes. “I choose men selectively who happen not to work out. Ian throws blondes at the wall and sees what sticks.”
Quinn sighed. “You have this image of him in your head that just isn’t right. If you would just listen to me—”
“But I don’t have to listen to you. His actions speak louder than words. And speaking of actions, where is he today?” Zoe argued.
Quinn looked as if Zoe had slapped her. Her face fell, and she stared at the floor, beaten. “All I’m saying is that you misunderstand him on purpose because of your stupid vendetta. You ought to give him a shot.”
“No,” Zoe said. “Especially not now that he refused to come to your wedding. No way.”
A gentle knock sounded on the rectory door, and Quinn yelled for them to come in. The florist edged into the room and nodded from Quinn to Zoe in turn. “We’ve just arrived, but we can’t sort out how you want to arrange the altar flowers.”
“I’ve got it,” Zoe said. “Now, you relax. Everything is going to be great.”
She smiled at her sister, giving her one last look before skirting from the door. It seemed impossible that only two years ago, Quinn had had rainbow-colored hair and a boyfriend who was known only as “Lobster.”
Today, it was like she was a completely different woman altogether, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she used the same blond hair dye that Zoe herself used. No, it was that she’d gotten a steady job, even one using the teaching degree Zoe had slaved for years to pay for. She had a proper boyfriend with an actual name. And soon, they’d be in their own house, and Zoe would be free to start her own life knowing that Quinn would be well taken care of.
With a satisfied sigh, she half-listened to the florist’s complaints then directed everything and everyone where they needed to go. Already, people were starting to wander into the chapel, all taking seats on their appointed sides of the church. All Quinn and Zoe’s work friends and distant relatives were here—all except one, that was.
She searched the crowd again, looking for the telltale shaggy black hair of her least favorite person. He’d be at least half a head taller than everyone here, so there was no doubt he would have been easy t
o spot. Except he was nowhere to be found.
Even when Quinn had told her that Ian wasn’t coming, Zoe hadn’t really believed it. Ever since she and Quinn had moved here, Ian had tagged along at Quinn’s side, encouraging all her misconduct. He’d even been the one to tell her to leave college and go on tour with Lobster and his band.
In short, Zoe wasn’t going to be crying herself to sleep if Ian Prescott didn’t show.
Or, at least she wouldn’t if not for the fact that Quinn would be heartbroken. And that, as far as Zoe was concerned, was just another nail in a long-hammered-shut coffin.
After checking on Paul, though, Zoe held her head high and decided to try turning Quinn’s mind away from the fact that her best friend had bailed. She was going to ply her with mimosas, and when the music finally started, everything was going to be fine.
Better than fine.
Everything was going to be amazing.
Not bothering to knock, she opened the bridal suite and found…
Nothing. Nobody.
Quinn was gone.
Swiftly, she checked the bathroom, but it was empty—save, of course, for the open window, a tear of satin fabric hanging from the sill.
“No, no, no, no, no.” She rushed back into the suite and dialed Quinn’s phone, but then the familiar Red Hot Chili Peppers ringtone sounded on a nearby table, and Zoe rushed toward it to find a note waiting for her.
Zoe—
I’m sorry. You can’t know how sorry I am, truly, but I can’t go through with this. I think there’s a reason I can’t forget what Ian said to me, and I think there’s also a reason why my heart doesn’t feel right today.
I know I’ve put you in a terrible position, and I know it isn’t the first time, but I just need a few days to figure things out. Please tell Paul I love him and I’m sorry. Tell our family and friends the same.
