Page 4 of Love, Take Two
As I'm putting the finishing touches on my makeup, I hear voices from the adjacent terrace. A man's voice carries clearly through the evening air, warm and enthusiastic, talking to what sounds like a phone camera about the incredible sunset views.
Something about that voice tugs at my memory in a way I can't immediately place. It's familiar in the way that makes you pause and try to remember where you've heard it before, but I can't access the connection.
I'm checking my appearance one final time when I hear him again, closer to our shared terrace area, saying something about golden hour lighting that makes me smile. Whoever my suite neighbor is, he's clearly another content creator preparing for the week ahead.
The welcome cocktail party is being held on the Sunset Terrace, according to my itinerary, followed by dinner and dancing. I grab my purse, double-check that I have my phone and key cards, and give myself a quick pep talk in the mirror.
"You've got this," I tell my reflection. "You're going to support your friend's happiness, create great content, and maybe make some valuable professional connections. Plus, tropical paradise and free cocktails. What could go wrong?"
The elevator takes me down to the main level, where I can already hear the party—laughter, music, and the kind of conversation that happens when people are excited to celebrate. I follow signs toward the Sunset Terrace, paststunning architectural details that make me want to photograph everything.
The terrace itself is breathtaking—an open-air space overlooking the ocean, with elegant furniture arranged in conversation areas and a magazine-worthy bar setup. Tropical flowers and soft lighting create the perfect ambiance, and the guest list is clearly people who are used to luxury experiences.
I pause at the entrance, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. There's Erika, radiant in a flowing white dress, surrounded by a group of women who are all effortlessly gorgeous in that influencer way. Jared is holding court near the bar with what must be his groomsmen, looking happier and more relaxed than I've ever seen him.
My heart does this little flip seeing him so content. This is what I wanted for him—someone who makes him light up from the inside out.
Taking a deep breath, I step forward into the party. I'm weaving through the crowd, accepting a cocktail from a passing server, when someone moving in the opposite direction collides directly into me.
The impact sends my drink flying, and strong hands immediately reach out to steady me, preventing what would have been a truly spectacular fall in front of all these people.
"I'm so sorry, are you okay? I wasn't watching where I was—"
I look up into warm brown eyes that I haven't seen in eight years, and the rest of the world disappears.
"Emory?"
His face goes through the same series of expressions I'm sure mine does—surprise, recognition, and something that looks a lot like panic.
"Vada. Oh my God. What are you—how are you—"
We're standing there staring at each other like we've seen ghosts, which in a way, I suppose we have. Emory Chen, my college boyfriend, my first real love, the guy I thought I'd never see again after we graduated and chose different paths.
He looks incredible. Older, obviously, with broader shoulders and more defined features, but those eyes are exactly the same. Dark curly hair that's still perpetually tousled, olive skin that suggests he spends time outdoors, and that smile that used to make my heart skip beats.
The same smile that's making it skip beats right now, apparently.
"I can't believeit's you," I finally manage, my voice coming out slightly breathless like I've been running instead of just standing here having what might generously be called a mental breakdown.
"I can't believe you're here," he says, and I watch his expression shift from shock to confusion to something that looks suspiciously like dread. "Wait. Why are you here?"
"My ex-boyfriend is getting married at this resort." The words tumble out before I can stop them, because apparently my mouth has decided now is the perfect time to malfunction.
His eyebrows shoot up. "Jared?"
My stomach drops somewhere around my ankles. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Because that's why I'm here too." His voice has gone flat, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. "Erika and I dated. After—" He gestures vaguely between us. "After college. After you."
We stare at each other for a beat that stretches into eternity, and then—because apparently my life has become a sitcom written by someone with a truly twisted sense of humor—we both start talking at exactly the same time.
"This is completely insane—"
"This is going to be very, very complicated—"
I burst out laughing, the kind of slightly hysterical laughter that happens when your brain simply cannot process any more ridiculous information. Of course. Of course my college boyfriend would show up at my other ex-boyfriend's wedding to marry his ex-girlfriend."
Emory runs a hand through that infuriating gorgeous hair, and I hate that I still find the gesture ridiculously attractive. "We should probably talk about this."
