Page 119 of Better When Shared
“I’m a drone pilot.”
He blinked at me.
“It’s a real job!”
“Whatever. We should be helping her cancel everything, dealing with vendors, figuring out how to minimize the damage Jake caused."
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and we stepped inside. The mirrored walls reflected Brian's agitation and my growing excitement back at us in an endless loop. As soon as the doors closed, I cracked open the folder and started reading.
"Holy shit. Brian, look at this place. The Amalthea by Elyssion, a boutique luxury cruise line. It has a maximum of 600 passengers and a three-to-one guest-to-staff ratio." I flipped through the glossy brochure, featuring photos of infinity pools and marble bathrooms. "She reserved something called the owner's suite. It's massive, with wrap-around balconies and glass-enclosed showers overlooking the ocean."
"Put that away." Brian's voice was sharp with irritation. "This is what I'm talking about. You're already planning some hedonistic vacation while Gemma's life is falling apart upstairs."
I kept reading, my excitement building as I took in the itinerary. "Twenty-one days, Enzo. Southampton to the Mediterranean and back. Spain, France, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Morocco. When are we ever going to see places like this? Neither of us has the money for this kind of trip."
"If that's the case, we're not ever going to see them." Brian snatched the folder from my hands, his blue eyes flashing behind his glasses. "Because we're not going. This is the kind of irresponsible, selfish bullshit I'd expect from Jake. You’re better than him."
The words hit me like a physical blow, stopping my enthusiasm cold. The elevator suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. I didn’t want to be like Jake. The comparison burned through my chest, leaving behind a familiar ache that I'd been carrying since childhood. The knowledge that people saw me as nothing more than a pretty face attached to poor impulse control.
"That's not fair," I said quietly, but Brian was on a roll now.
"Isn't it? Your best friend destroyed a woman's life two days before her wedding, and your first thought is how you can profit from it. How you can turn someone else's heartbreak into your next adventure."
The accusation stung. There was enough truth in it to hurt. I had gotten excited about the cruise, had started planning the fun we could have. But Brian didn't understand that sometimes you had to grab happiness where you found it. Life had a way of taking it away when you weren't looking.
"She didn’t really seem all that destroyed.”
“Maybe she was hiding it. We don’t know.”
“You know what your problem is?" I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the gold flecks in his blue eyes, close enough to smell his cologne — something expensive and understated that probably came in a bottle Jake couldn't afford. "You're so busy being the responsible one, the one who fixes everything, that you wouldn't know fun if it bit you on your perfectly ironed khakis."
Brian's jaw tightened. "At least I don't leave a trail of chaos wherever I go."
"And at least I actually live my life instead of hiding behind spreadsheets and safety nets." The words came out harder than I intended, but I was tired of being dismissed, tired of being seen as nothing more than Jake's shallow sidekick. "Someone shouldenjoy that cruise, Brian. Gemma sure as hell isn't going to use it now. And when are either of us going to get another chance to travel like that? You think your accounting firm is going to send you on a luxury Mediterranean cruise?"
The elevator dinged softly as we reached the ground floor, but neither of us moved to get out. Brian stared at me, something shifting in his expression.
"I don't want to travel with you," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "I want to figure out how to make this right with Gemma. How to fix what Jake broke."
There it was; Brian's constant need to fix things, to make everything perfect and orderly and safe. It was probably why he'd never gotten married himself, why he lived alone in his perfectly organized condo, why he approached every problem like it was a puzzle that needed the right solution.
But as I watched him standing there, shoulders tense with the weight of responsibility he'd never asked for, an idea started forming in my head. A slow grin spread across my face as the pieces clicked into place.
"What?" Brian asked.
"Nothing." I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my contacts. "Just thinking."
"That's never good."
But I found what I was looking for. Imogen's number, which she'd shared with the whole wedding party at the engagement party, so we could "stay in touch properly." Perfect.
Chapter 2
Gemma
Somewhere off the coast of Portugal
My bed was moving.
