Free The Guy Not Taken by Jennifer Weiner Page B

gown—shuffled in. I grabbed my sister’s left elbow, Jon took her right, and I smiled at the little old lady as we pulled her into the hall. “We’ll take the stairs,” I said.
    •   •   •
    Up in the suite, the maids had piled blankets and pillows on the pullout bed. “Secure the perimeter!” Jon barked, and made a tour of the two rooms, peering out the windows at the buildings across the park as if there might be snipers targeting the room. I stood on my tiptoes to rub my palm against his buzz cut. “Ladies love the hair,” he announced, and snapped a blanket over his bed. “Is there an open bar at this thing?”
    “But of course,” I said. David’s family had spared no expense.
    Jon gave a triumphant grin. “I shall have my choice of bridesmaids.”
    “I’m the only bridesmaid,” Nicki called from the wedding bed.
    Jon looked at her and stopped smiling. “Unfortunate,” he said, and closed the curtained French doors between the living room and the bedroom.
    In the bedroom, Nicki wriggled out of her skirt, shucked her sweater, pulled on a tank top and pink flannel pajama bottoms, and flopped happily onto the bed with her champagne and the telephone. “Hello, room service?” she said. I picked her clothes up off the floor and hung them neatly in the closet.“Two cheeseburgers, an order of french fries, a hot fudge sundae, only please don’t put the hot fudge on the sundae, um, one Heineken . . .” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Josie, what do you want?”
    “Ice water.”
    “One chocolate malted and two Heinekens,” said Nicki, hanging up. She grabbed the television remote off the bedside table. I pulled off my own clothes and slipped on a hotel robe, feeling anxious and antsy and strangely sad. There was nothing left for me to do. My dress had been steamed and hung on the back of the closet door, my hose and shoes and various constricting undergarments laid out carefully on a bench beside it. My pores had been squeezed, my bikini line waxed. My apartment was cleaned and locked up, and my cat boarded for the next ten days. I wouldn’t have much to do but show up on time, strap myself into the big white dress, say “I do” at the appropriate moment, and remember the steps to the dance David and I had rehearsed.
    “We need to talk,” said Nicki. She grabbed my hands and tugged me to the bed. “Now, Josie,” she said. “I don’t want to frighten you, but there’s something you should know before tomorrow.”
    I wriggled away to pull my suitcase out of the closet, heaving it onto the bed and starting an inventory. Swimsuit, SPF 45 for my body, SPF 30 for my face, sun hat, sandals . . . “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
    “David has a snake.”
    “Huh?”
    “A snake,” she repeated. “And the snake wants to hide in your cave.”
    “Oh, Lord,” I muttered, carrying my cosmetic case into the bathroom. Toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash, dental floss . . .
    “Don’t be afraid!” Nicki yelled. “The snake means you no harm!” She lifted the champagne bottle and took a healthy swallow. “You must welcome the snake in order to be a good wife.”
    “I’ll do that,” I told her. I grabbed my razor out of the shower. When I turned around again Nicki was standing right behind me, smiling at me in the mirror.
    “The snake will go in and out of the cave, and in and out and in and out and in and out . . .” She waved the bottle back and forth to suit the words.
    “Okay,” I said, and held out my hands for the champagne. Nicki ignored me.
    “And then!” she said, starting to giggle. “It’s going to spit up!”
    I picked up the telephone. Room service greeted me with “Hello, Mrs. Epstein!” It took me a minute to realize that Mrs. Epstein was meant to be me. “Hi, can we add a pot of coffee to our order?”
    Room service said no problem. Nicki giggled some more and hoisted herself onto the bed.
    “I’m only telling you things you need to know,” she