Page 2 of Problematic Summer Romance

I nod, and resume skating. A moment later, she catches up with me. “Well, don’t forget that fulminating diarrhea is your friend.” Her arm twists around mine. “It might come in handy, if you ever find yourself sitting across from Conor Harkness.”

7 days before thewedding

Chapter 1

In a much-appreciated stroke of luck, my brother’s favorite creature in the whole universe is a dog.

Or…that’s notwhollytrue. The orbit of Eli’s life spins around a single center of mass: Rue, his fiancée. And after two years of observing her, studying her, teasing her, squinting at her, and making stilted conversation with her, I must admit that I cannot blame him. Rue is unique, and complicated, and loyal, and silent, and most people don’t like her very much.

I once suspected her to be cold. I worried that her relationship with my brother was doomed to be lopsided, and that it would end with her breaking his heart. And yet, over time it has become obvious that she’d do anything for him, including patiently pretending to be interested as his little sister ventilates the idea of getting bangs for the fourth time in a month.

I see her, and I have judged her worthy of his love.

The dog, however, predates Rue. Tiny is a sweet-tempered,two-hundred-pound mutt rescue whose hobbies include snoring, slobbering all over himself, and being indiscriminately, aggressively affectionate. And when Eli started musing that it might be nice, having a destination wedding with close friends and family, it was Rue who said, “We should stay nearby, though.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you want Tiny to be there?”

Indeed: worthy of his love.

Fortunately, Tiny is an enthusiastic traveler, which allowed them to keep Europe on the table. Unfortunately, not every airline allows in-cabin transport of bear-sized dogs who bark through their night terrors after being awakened by the smell of their own farts. Tiny’s substandard sleep hygiene breaks my heart, but it’s a sliver of an opportunity—one I latch on to like a barnacle in a hurricane.

“I found this airline,”I told Rue and Eli a couple of weeks before the wedding.“The flight wouldn’t land until the day after yours, but it comes with all these special accommodations for large dogs. Tiny would be comfortable. And I could accompany him.”I smiled at Tiny, whose head was already leaning against my knee.“Hey, you perfect boy. Do you wanna go on a road trip with Aunt Maya?”

His tail helicoptered so hard, I expected him to levitate.

That’s how I manage to shave one day off Hell Weekandto hang out with the only dude who never once broke my heart. “Tiny Archibald Killgore,” I tell him when he rolls over in the aisle, soaking up belly rubs from the seventeen new best friends he made since boarding. “You couldneverdisappoint me.”

My dream guy jumps onto my lap during a spot of turbulence, and forgets to leave.

Traveling from Austin to the Catania airport, one layover, takesabout fifteen hours. I make the deliberate decision not to buy Wi-Fi, and instead of spending the trip stress-texting Jade, I focus on what needs to be done: buckling up.

Whatever defenses I’ve constructed against Conor Harkness, they are in dire need of bolstering.

I never doubted that he’d be at the wedding. He is, after all, my brother’s closest friend, if one doesn’t count Tiny. (I do.) They’re both general partners, or czars, or whatever their title is, of Harkness, a biotech-focused firm that does abstract moneymaking shit that I do not comprehend, but have been repeatedly reassured is legal. He is, in ways that have yet to be fully explained to me, the reason the wedding is happening in Sicily as opposed to Lake Canyon or Galveston, Texas.

Bar a falling-out over the dip of the Nasdaq composite, Conor was always going to be Eli’s best man.

Like I explained to Jade:“The problem is not Conor, per se.”

Although, even that feels like a lie. In the air, accepting a never-ending parade of increasingly caffeinated soft beverages from the flight attendants, I realize that for someone whoisn’ta problem, Conor has a funny way of taking up my mental space, and I’m no fan of the brainpower I am expending on someone who hasn’t thought of me in years.

Untrue,says a pedantic, timekeeping voice.At the very least, he thought of you last August.

It’ssooverplayed stock character—the twenty-something-year-old with a crush on her brother’s friend, who happens to have a decade and a half on her. But maybe this is the week I sanitize myself. Redact my life. Purge it all out—Conor, and all the bullshit between us. Like drinking bleach: it’s going to be unpleasant, might even kill me, but if it doesn’t, I’ll be so much stronger.

Or in critical organ failure. I’m not a doctor.

Still, I can dream—even as my nightmare scenario materializes just a few hours later, at the Catania airport. While Tiny charms the attendants in the pet-relief area, my phone scrabbles for a network to connect to. I glance around, taking in the warm greetings, loud gestures, and unhurried pace of Italy, and when texts begin buzzing in my hand, I tap on the most recent one from my brother.

Eli:A driver will pick you guys up and take you to the villa.

Sounds good, I type back.

It sounds, in fact, potentiallyreallybad. It’s thatyou guysthat has me worried: Eli could be referring to Tiny and me, or to me and another guest. In which case, I want a name. Ideally, without having to ask.

But there’s no time for that. Tiny’s brick-sized stack of health papers is being inspected by customs agents, and we’re pushed out of the security area, where a handful of tween girls chug espressos from tiny cups like they’re mezcal shots. I clutch the handle of my luggage, ready for anything, and thank god for that. When I spot a bored-looking man holding aKillgore Partysign, and the brunette next to him, my heart drops down only to my stomach. As opposed to, say, the center of the planet.

---