Page 6 of My Stepbrother's Wedding
I groaned and eyed the door to Will’s bedroom. For years I’d looked forward to the day he’d move out. Now that he had, he still managed to kneecap my summer plans.
“Wini,” Dad said. “Most people your age would jump at the chance to go on a trip like this.”
“You never understand,” I said crossly, giving in to frustration. I knew I’d slipped as soon as the words exited my mouth.
Dad put his hands on his hips and spoke firmly. “Listen, you’re going to Malegonia. Will is my wife’s son. Stop driving a wedge through the family.”
My shoulders slumped. I wanted to cry but doubted it would help. How could he sayfamily? Will wasn’t my brother—he was the moron who once put dish soap in thewashing machine and flooded the entire house with bubbles. He was the idiot who drove his car into the side of a gas station because he “didn’t see it.” He was the loser who popped zits onto the bathroom mirror and forgot to clean it afterward. I hated him.
Dad ran his hand through my long hair. “Give this a chance. You might enjoy yourself.”
I dropped my head and marched back upstairs.
***
I spent the next hour sprawled out on my bed, staring at my Salvador Dalí imitation. Clocks melted over a bleak landscape, and mountains met with the seashore in the background. I felt certain Dalí had foreseen my rapidly waning summer when he’d painted the original. I wished Mom had never died. Losing her was hard enough, but playing house with the stepfamily only made the pain fester. I closed my eyes and wallowed in self-pity.
Karen called. Her perky voice pulled me out of my sleepy gloom. She asked why I sounded so miserable, and I told her about the conversation with Dad.
“Ouch, Wini. He didn’t leave any wiggle room, did he?”
“It’s a travesty.” I moaned. “Who could endure such a crucible.”
“I hear the writer in your voice. Have you been working on your book?”
She was trying to cheer me up by asking. The book was a still-untitled novel about a girl trapped in a love triangle with a vampire and a zombie, likeTwilight, but better and less Mormony. I was almost a hundred pages into the first draft.
“No,” I said. “I’ve been too busy dealing with this tragedy.”
“Well, maybe I can make you feel better. My parents said I can still meet you in Europe.”
“But I’m not going to Paris anymore.”
“Forget Paris—let’s go to Dubrovnik. It’s only a seventeen-hour bus ride from Malegonia. You totally need to ditch the fam and meet me there.”
“Dubrovnik? Where they filmed theDragon’s Firemovies? You’re going to be there?”
“Yeah. That’ll be way cooler than Fort Lauderdale. Just imagine the Euro hunks on the beach.”
I sat up in bed, a wave of optimism splashing over me. I could almost smell the sea air of the gorgeous Croatian coastline. Dad said if I wanted to bum aroundEurope, I could do it with my own money. I’d take him up on that the instant the wedding ended.
“Karen, you’re an angel!”
Chapter 3
The summer weeks dragged until the morning of the trip arrived. Dad and Elizabeth piled a mountain of suitcases in the front hallway and harped endlessly about logistics. We’d have four planes on our five-thousand-mile journey, not to mention layovers, delays, and taxi rides. Once there, we’d spend three weeks in Europe, most of it stuck with Will and a host of step-in-laws I dreaded meeting. I’d hoped some unforeseen crisis would cancel the trip, but nothing came about. Where’s a good tsunami or earthquake when you need it?
I told Dad about my plan to meet Karen in Croatia. He frowned but agreed on the condition that I stay in Malegonia until the end of the wedding. He also insisted I act pleasant and outgoing with our hosts. I could still hear his crotchety voice.These people will be our family. You need to lose the attitude and be kind for once.His comments were deeplyoffensive. Me? Attitude? Unkind? I was nothing but sunshine and butterflies, thank you.
Elizabeth weighed and then reweighed every suitcase to ensure nothing was over the airline’s fifty-pound limit. One bag barely came in heavy—mine, of course. I was forced to wear two layers of blue jeans and my light jacket to avoid leaving them at home, a harrowing development in late July. The solution felt absurd, as if pants didn’t weigh anything if they were glued to your butt.
My overdressed status was further aggravated by an envelope holding fifty one-hundred dollars bills shoved into my bra—everything I’d saved from a summer at the pool. Apparently banks were unreliable in Malegonia, and my deepest fear was getting stranded there without the money to escape. Besides, it never hurt to have five grand in your unmentionables.
By noon we were on the road. Our flight didn’t leave until eight that evening, and the airport was less than an hour away, but Elizabeth was certain we would miss the plane if we didn’t leave ridiculously early. Fortunately, I’d anticipated lots of boring downtime and preloaded my Kindle with the entireLove Bitesvampire series.
When we arrived at O’Hare airport, we had a forty-five-minute walk to the security line. A wheel on my suitcase busted off, and TSA did its best to feel me up before spitting us onto passport control. A wonderful start. If by wonderful you mean terrible.
We finally arrived in the terminal with five hours to kill. I hid my annoyance with Elizabeth for leaving so early and bought an eleven-dollar Starbucks coffee to remind myself of the exploitative nature of Western society. I was ready to bury myself in a world of heartbroken bloodsuckers when Dad decided it would be a good time to talk.
