Hand in hand with that is the notion that I’m heading into this weekend knowing I’m not going to walk away unscathed when it comes to Hayes. It’s impossible not to.
The question is what exactly the damage will be. Will it be to my heart, to the memory I had of us, or to my ego?
I have a feeling it might be all three.
It’ll be pretty hard to protect myself when it’s him doing the damage. Again.
So I focus on the scenery. On the little boys with dirt-smeared faces playing soccer in the alley. On the lady selling her handmade bracelets on the corner. On the cobblestone streets lined with wandering tourists eating shaved ice, or the couples walking hand in hand sharing a kiss.
The scenery changes. The trees still lush, the views amazingly spectacular, but the coast with its hypnotizing water comes back into view and stretches endlessly. We turn onto a drive with its lavishly landscaped grounds. Palm trees and vibrant flowers rustle in the ocean breeze.
The cab slows when it pulls up in front of the hotel’s entrance, and for one quiet second, I forget why I’m here. A small thrill of excitement tickles the base of my spine as I exit the car. My head swivels from side to side when I take in the grandeur of the hotel and smile at the sound of accented voices while the bellhop takes my luggage from the trunk.
So this is how the other half lives, huh? Well, this girl from the valley is going to soak up every ounce of it while I’m here.
I can almost picture myself relaxing—a drink in my hand, my feet in the sand, the sun on my skin—as I walk into the lobby. It’s even prettier than the brochures and online pictures portrayed. But when the cool rush of air-conditioned air hits my face, it also brings me back to reality. Either the air or the huge sign on an easel with elaborate calligraphy that says, Welcome Layton and Taylor wedding guests. Because the sight of that sign hits me full force as to what I’m about to do.
My stomach churns instantly. I’m here to attend Mitch’s new wedding. Not mine. In the place I’d dreamed of getting married.
My bravado wanes on my walk toward the registration counter. To calm my sudden bout of nerves, I take in the marble floors beneath me and lush plants around me. I keep my eyes straight ahead, focused on the nice lady with the gentle smile welcoming me to the hotel, because I just realized that it’s quite possible I could run into Mitch, his parents, or any of my supposed friends with each corner I turn in this hotel.
The funny thing is, I was prepared for that. Told myself it was going to be easy to do. But words are often easy to speak until reality slaps you in the face.
And oh how they are hitting me, now.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay at the Seven Stars Resort, Miss Taylor. I look forward to making your wedding a memorable one. What can—?”
“I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.” One Rebound Sarah Taylor to be exact. “I’m not getting married. Just a wedding guest here to check in.”
Her eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I thought . . . You look like—oh, my apologies. The wedding coordinator showed me a picture of Miss Taylor earlier, so I could greet her if she came to the front desk. And you look so similar. You could be sisters. I’m so sorry, I—”
“It’s okay.” I force a smile at the irony of the entire situation. More importantly, I was right in my assumption that just like everything else, Sarah looks like me too. I shouldn’t be surprised. But still . . . “Saylor Rodgers checking in, please.”
“Yes, ma’am. I do apologize for my error. I’d like to welcome you to the Seven Stars Resort and thank you for choosing to stay with us, Ms. Rodgers. Let’s see . . . we have you . . . Oh, we have you in the Copa Villa. Such a beautiful place.” Her fingers click over the keyboard as my brow furrows at why the name of the villa sounds so familiar. “And it seems your travel companion, a Mr.—oh—Hayes Whitley,” she says, eyes widening when she recognizes the name, “has already checked in so I’ll have Rico show you the way to your villa.”
The news that Hayes is here surprises me, considering his last text to me had said he’d arrive tomorrow, due to a scheduled meeting. I had welcomed the idea of having a day to myself to build up the courage to actually go through with this.
Little too late to back out now.
With a bit more resolve, I hold my head high and follow Rico through the lobby to outside. I’m in awe of the grounds as we walk. The brochures I’d poured over when planning come to life before me in a bittersweet yet surreal way. The sun is high in the sky as we meander down a path bordering the white sand of the beach toward the far end of the resort’s property. When the path ends, we are at a rather large bungalow, trellised with greenery and positioned for privacy.