And as we shuffle back toward the Palace Tower.

But then Nick stops walking, so suddenly that I bump into him.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you hear that?” He tilts his head slightly to one side. “What is that?”

I hold my breath, listening. “Music?”

“Yeah.” He looks around.

“Probably from the awards,” I assume.

“No, it’s that song . . .” We’re quiet as he listens again. Then he starts to sing along. “Somewhere . . . over the rainbow . . . way up high . . .”

“Uh-oh, are we about to end up in Oz?”

“It’s coming from over there,” he says, and takes my hand. “Come on.”

I don’t argue as he tugs me toward the music, away from the Palace Tower and the awards and my family, in the direction of the beach. It’s fully dark now, but there’s a space lit by lanterns and strings of white lights on the other side of the chapel. The music gets louder and louder, and suddenly we come upon the source: a large man with a ponytail playing a ukulele and softly singing “Over the Rainbow” mixed with “What a Wonderful World” to a crowd of people dressed in formal wear. They’re chatting and laughing and drinking tall glasses of champagne.

“It’s a wedding.” Nick frowns. “No, it’s the party after the wedding. What’s that called?”

“The reception.” And he’s right. At the end of the crowd is a woman in white—the bride—holding the arm of a man that I can only hope was the groom. Behind them is a table bearing a classic white wedding cake with a topper that reads, Happily Ever After.

My chest feels tight. The anger bubbles up again. Everywhere I look, people are getting married, while the one marriage I most want to be doing well is falling apart.

“We should get back,” I whisper.

“Yeah. But what if we don’t?” Nick says then.

I tear my gaze away from the cake to look at him. “What?”

His eyes dance with the reflection of a thousand tiny lights. “Let’s not go back,” he says. “Let’s stay here. We’re wearing the fancy clothes. We’ll fit right in.”

“You want to crash these strangers’ wedding reception?”

“Hey, could you say that a little louder?” He glances around. Nobody gives us a second look, because, like he said, we fit right in. “I don’t want to crash anything. I just want cake. And the hors d’oeuvres look tasty.”

We shouldn’t, I think. I check my phone, where there’s a single text from Mom (Where are you?) followed by a text from Afton (You’d better get back soon. Mom is freaked). And I find I’m not ready to go back just yet.

“Shall we, my lady?” Nick offers me his arm.

I take it. Why the hell not? “We shall, good sir.”

Chapter 41

41