Into You Series: The Complete Collection

33. Nia

CHAPTER 33

NIA

Present day

T he remainder of the day is a whirlwind of wedding stuff. That’s as elegantly as I can put it: stuff .

It’s not that I’m opposed to weddings or that I don’t intend to get married one day, but I was also just dismissed by a man I’ve tried to convince myself not to like as he made advances toward me over the past few years.

Talk about irony.

I wish I could take it all back—the night of passion between Ian and me, feeling comfortable with him, promising a round two. He told me this is what he wanted yet somehow I’m the one left upset and, quite frankly, angry.

It seems almost unreal to be as sad as I was, but hours later when I’m lying on Grace’s bed, I’m less sad and instead angry. I’m still mulling over the thought that maybe, just maybe, Ian Chambers has broken my heart. Again.

I clench my fists tighter.

That fucker.

“Have you spoken to your future baby daddy yet?” Ramona asks Grace, bouncing on the end of the bed with her legs crossed and fingers typing away on her phone.

“No,” Grace replies. She’s at the desk, compact mirror open in front of her while she tilts her head side to side as if considering what type of makeup she’s going to wear.

“You probably should,” Corinne singsongs from the sliding glass door, peering out at the ocean with a small flute of champagne relaxed in her hand.

“I’m gonna try this thing where I pretend to make him my husband first,” Grace says, inhaling sharply and shutting the mirror with zero makeup achieved. The rehearsal is in a couple hours; I didn’t think it was possible to be nervous about a fake wedding, but I’m also not marrying someone tomorrow.

Grace twists in her chair, gripping the back with both hands. “Who wants to go eat tons of donuts? I’m pregnant and eating my feelings.”

We all stare, and Ramona is the first to respond with, “Yes, where can we get donuts right now?”

“Practical question,” Grace says, pointing a finger at me. “Exactly what I expected from the maid of honor, and I love it.”

“Oh god, yes, I could totally go for donuts,” Corinne responds, plunking her flute down on the TV stand.

I’m sprawled out starfish-style, and while it’s difficult to justify moving from this bed that feels like a sea of clouds, I also don’t feel it’s appropriate to say, Sorry bride, I’m too irritated to speak, but thank you for the offer of donuts.

Instead, I say, “Absolutely!” and force a smile that’s almost as stiff as dry concrete. Thankfully, my lips move as directed, and there I am standing with my purse slung over my shoulder and what I can only imagine is a twitchy smile a la the Joker from Batman .

“Wait,” Ramona says, running to a tote bag slung over the desk chair and rummaging through it. She pulls out a pair of sunglasses. When she places them on, they overtake her face, giving her the look of a giant fly.

“Protection,” she says. “Everyone will be looking for the bride, so we need to be sneaky.”

She turns around and pulls out three more pairs of sunglasses, and I’m starting to think this bag is some type of magical wizarding purse belonging to Hermione or Mary Poppins.

“Protection, protection, protection,” she repeats each time she places a pair in our hands.

“That advice would have helped Gracie here a while ago,” Corinne says.

Grace shoves the glasses up the bridge of her nose and lifts a fiery eyebrow. “Watch yourself, girls. Mama’s coming through.”

I put my sunglasses on and wonder why we’re going the Clark Kent route. These glasses aren’t some invisibility cloak. Grace’s hair color alone can be noticed from a mile away.

But I also wonder if this would conceal my identity from Ian if he were to pass by. Since when am I spineless?

I answer my own question when, to my absolute misfortune, the second I walk through the door, Wes and Ian are at the opposite end of the hallway, leaving his room.

Since now. I am spineless right now.

I look at the parking lot over the balcony railing, trying to seem aloof. The men’s hands are full of decorations, and before I can wonder why, Ramona is already pumping her arms and powerwalking over to them.

“Okay, you remember where this goes, right?” she starts. I hear Wes groan, then nothing. My brain processes zero sounds moving past their lips. It’s like a ringing goes through my ears when I shift my gaze to the one man I promised myself I would not look at. The world freezes, and I am instantly, unabashedly staring at Ian like some creep behind binoculars.

Normally, his eyes would be locked on me as well, icy blues tearing through me with an accompanying sly grin, equally unashamed—but not this time. Not right now.

Ian laughs at something Ramona says, shrugs as if to dismiss her, then starts walking toward me. I need to say something. He can’t just walk past me without saying anything, right?

“Hey.” Wow, that’s the absolute best I can do? I am an adult and I only know how to say things like Hey.

“Hey,” he responds. Good—at least I’m not the only awkward one here.

“Can we talk?” I ask. He looks to Wes then back at me as if requesting permission. What does he think? I’m some seductress evil witch dragging him to my cave to make boyfriend soup?

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugs. “Hang on a sec, Wes.”

“Oooh, someone is in trouble,” Wes says, poking his bottom lip out. This earns him a small shove from Ramona.

“Do you want to be in trouble later?”

“No ma’am.”

Ian follows me to the end of the hall. The lightbulb above us is flickering, which seems a bit out of place for such a nice resort—though I’m starting to question this fact at all—but then again maybe it’s reflecting how faint my relationship with Ian seems to be. I am a Shakespearian tragedy waiting to happen.

We reach the end—far enough that the others probably cannot hear us—and I turn on my heel to face him. His expression is stoic as he stares back at me. I catch a whiff of him, and his scent runs through me like a devil’s pitchfork poking every inch of my senses, stabbing my anxiety.

“About last night?—”

“Nia, I don’t really want to talk about it.” He averts his eyes, finding some part of the railing to focus on.

I cross my arms. “Well, I’d quite like to.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

“Something has changed. Yesterday—or more like the past decade—you’ve been the biggest bother of my life. Now look at you.” I throw my hand out, palm up, waving it up and down from his head to his knees. “You’re a shell of the ridiculous Ian I know. What happened last night?”

“You were drunk, and you tried to drive,” he says. “That’s what happened last night.”

“What?” I ask, baffled. What is he talking about? I didn’t drive.

“Nia, come on.”

“Come on, what?” I say incredulous. “I didn’t drive.”

“I’d just told you something the night before, the one memory I don’t tell anyone,” he says, leaning in to whisper, though it comes out as more of a hiss. I lean back instinctually. “I told you I lost my best friend, and then, not even a day later, I find you behind the wheel, drunk off your ass, laughing with your foot on the pedal of a car.” It’s like with every word, I can feel the tension getting thicker and thicker between us. His eyebrows furrow in the middle. I feel sick. “Now, I’m not self-important enough to think you would have my feelings about drunk driving in the back of your mind at all times, or that you would do it maliciously, but…don’t play stupid. You’re not stupid, or at least I really thought you weren’t.”

“Ian, it’s not what it looked like, I swear.” I’m trying not to sound like I’m pleading, but the hurt in my voice isn’t nearly as bad as the pain I see in his eyes.

He did tell me something meaningful, and he thinks I immediately disregarded it. Of course he doesn’t want to talk to me.

“I just don’t think this is going to work out,” he says, and it’s like someone punched me in the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice catches, but I try to clear it discreetly. “I wasn’t going to drive. We were joking. I know what that means to you. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t think I can.” He turns to leave, decorations shoved under his arm, but I reach out to grasp his elbow.

“Well, wait, hang on. Can we just talk about this?”

He rounds on me, figure towering over my small frame. If I weren’t so infuriated, I might be scared. “What is there to say? I don’t have time for irresponsible drunks.”

I freeze and my breath hitches. Is this how he feels? Does he truly think I would endanger the lives of everyone around me—especially after hearing his story one day earlier? Not only does this assume I’m ignorant, it also implies that his story didn’t resonate with me. How heartless must he think I am to believe that didn’t affect me?

“That’s extreme,” I say quietly.

“Sorry. I just… It’s a lot to think about.”

“Clearly.”

“Sorry I annoyed you for nine years,” he mumbles. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore.”

He turns to leave again, and this time I don’t reach for him or ask for more clarification. I have all the clarification I need.

The world around me seems dulled. I only distantly see the outline of Ian walking away, meeting Wes, and approaching the elevator doors.

The other women down the hall start moving, and I take that as my cue to join them. I’m still lost in my hazy dream state, but the hum of speech finally hits me when I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Corinne say, “You okay, Nia?”

“I won’t bother you anymore.”

I’m nothing to him.

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted from last night.” My vision is glazed over and I know I’m speaking in a monotone voice, but I can’t muster any inflection. “Just nursing a headache.” Admittedly, my hangover headache disappeared a few hours ago when I popped ibuprofen, but it is starting to come back rapidly.

Corinne glances from Ian waiting at the elevator and then back to me.

“Guys, I’m so silly. I forgot my purse!” she suddenly says, slapping herself in the forehead with a goofy smile. “Geez! Hey, Nia, come with me? We’ll circle back with you guys in a few minutes!” She couldn’t be more obvious, and I’m sure Ian and Wes hear the awkward exchange from the elevator, but they don’t turn around. Before Grace or Ramona can protest or ask any questions, Corinne’s hand is entwined with mine and she’s tugging me back to her room, scanning the keycard, and shutting the door behind me.

“What?” I ask. It comes out harsher than I meant it to, but I can’t bottle my frustration any more.

“You look dead,” she says, tilting her head to the side, and I let out an offended exhalation. “Hey, just being honest.”

“I’m just tired,” I say.

“Lies. You went on and on about Ian last night, and now he’s acting like he doesn’t even know you.”

“I did not.” I do faintly remember gabbing about him. It’s hazy, but at one point I might have said, “He’s a god.” Judging by Corinne’s expression, that’s probably an accurate memory.

“That’s not what it?—”

There’s a knock at the door. Corinne opens it, and both Grace and Ramona slide in through the crack.

“Secrets, secrets…” Ramona whispers, shutting the door behind her.

“You didn’t forget your purse,” Grace says, her arms crossed. Then somehow, as if through telepathy, all of their gazes shoot to me.

“Is my brother being an idiot?” Ramona says, bored, as if this is the last thing that could be news for her.

My heart skips a beat. I already miss Ian’s snarky comments. They’re infuriating, but they’re also clever and flirty. He has the type of grin that lights up a room—until he opens his mouth, of course…a mouth that was on mine just one day ago.

Grace’s eyes grow wide and she runs to the bed, hops on, and slides a pillow underneath her chest, feet waving in the air behind her. She looks like a little girl at a sleepover, ready for a good time.

“Spill!” she says, fingers spread in a Go! gesture.

I consider saying nothing, but for once I also wonder if maybe I should. I’ve never had this many female friends, never had a group all looking at me like I’m the next hot gossip tea to fill their cups. Is sharing everything standard procedure with female friends?

“He thinks I was drunk driving.”

Ramona’s face drops. “Oh no.”