But something feels amiss.

“Hey,” I call toward the cabana. Minami, Rue, and the others are all there. “Have you seen Avery?”

Minami looks lazily to her left, then her right. “I think she may have gone back?”

“Did you see her leave?”

“No, but I was napping. Why?”

“I just…” I turn back toward the ocean. Nothing disturbs the horizon—not a seagull, not a boat, not a floating piece of wood. Not a person. “It’s weird.”

“Could she have gone back?” Tisha asks, coming to stand at my side.

“I don’t think so. She was a bit ahead of us, maybe two minutes ago? She’d still be climbing the staircase.” I frown. Spin toward the football field, and do what I always do when I’m feeling uncertain: call my brother. “Eli?”

He stops the ball under his foot. Yells back: “Still not welcome, Mayageddon.”

“No, it’s—Kaede, hang on, hold my hand and stay close by for a minute, okay? Thank you, princess. Have you guys seen Avery in the last minute or so?”

“No. Should we have?”

“I’m not sure. I saw her floating just a minute ago, but not since, and she mentioned not being a very strong swimmer…”

I watch Eli and Conor exchange a brief, heavy look, and then it all happens very fast—the way they run into the water, followed by the others; my sinking heart as Conor screams from the water, asking me to be precise about Avery’s last location; the self-hatred I feel for not realizing sooner that she was missing. It can’t last more than a minute, before they find her. By the time I see Conor and Eli emerge from the waves, I’m about to drop to my knees. Eli gets out first. Then there’s Conor, holding a smaller body folded against his chest.

Next to me there are gasps. Oh my gods. Holy shits.

Avery is conscious as Conor carries her out of the ocean. Her coughing is chest-deep, but she’s breathing, her lungs forcefully expelling water. When I see her standing on her feet I feel a massive wave of relief. Everyone crowds around her, asking her if she’s okay, if they should call someone, What do you need? but she clings to Conor, who pulls the wet hair back from her face. When he bends forward to wrap a towel around her shoulder, I watch her laugh and hug him, arms tight around his waist.

My relief turns into something else—something sour that disgusts me.

Nyota’s voice makes me jump. “You think she faked it?” she asks, suddenly next to me.

“What? Absolutely no.”

“Yeah. Me neither, sadly. Maybe the wedding is cursed, after all.”

We exchange a long look. Then we both laugh, a mix of nervousness, adrenaline crash, and incredulity at the absurd situation. A few feet away, everyone’s talking at once.

“Ny, I…This could have gone so bad.”

“I know.” Nyota pats my shoulder. “The thing is, it was prime romance material.”

“Was it?”

“Yup. Pretty sure I’ve read a book in which this exact scene occurs. The guy saves the girl, who happens to be his estranged former lover.”