Nicholas Sparks - The Last Song

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

Ronnie flashed back on the time she had visited Blaze’s house and seen the money tucked into the envelope. It didn’t sound like the same mother, but Ronnie didn’t want to say that. In the silence, Blaze pushed herself up and stood. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled, as though she’d been wearing them for a week straight. Which was probably true.

“I know what you want me to do,” Blaze said. “But I can’t. And it’s not because I don’t like you. I do. I think you’re nice, and I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I’m as trapped as you are. And I don’t think Marcus is done with you, either.”

Ronnie stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Blaze stood. “He’s been talking about you again. And not in a good way. I’d stay away from me if I were you.”

Before Ronnie could respond, Blaze started walking off.

“Hey, Blaze,” she called out.

Blaze slowly turned around.

“If you ever need something to eat or a place to stay, you know where I live.”

For an instant, Ronnie thought she saw not only a flash of gratitude, but something that reminded her of the smart, lively girl she’d first met in June.

“And one more thing,” Ronnie added. “That fire stuff you’re doing with Marcus is crazy.”

Blaze gave her a sad smile. “Do you really think it’s crazier than anything else in my life right now?”

The following afternoon, Ronnie stood in front of her closet, knowing she had absolutely nothing to wear. Even if she was going to the wedding-which she still wasn’t certain about-she didn’t have anything remotely appropriate, unless it was a wedding with Ozzy Osbourne and his clan.

But this was a formal, black-tie wedding: Tuxedos and gowns were required for guests, not just the wedding party. She’d never imagined attending something like this when she was packing for the summer back in New York. She hadn’t even brought along the pair of black pumps her mom had purchased for her last Christmas, the ones that were still in the box.

She really didn’t understand why Will wanted her to come. Even if she found a way to look presentable, it wasn’t as though she’d have anyone to talk to. Will was in the wedding party, which meant tons of pictures while she went to the reception, and he had to sit at the head table, so they wouldn’t even be together for the meal. She’d probably end up sitting at a table with the governor or a senator or some family that had flown in on a private jet… talk about awkward. Add in the fact that Susan hated her, and the whole thing was a bad idea. A really bad idea. Horrible in every conceivable way.

On the other hand…

When would she ever be invited to a wedding like this again? Supposedly, the house had undergone a major transformation in the last couple of weeks: A new, temporary deck had been erected over the pool, tents had been raised, tens of thousands of flowers had been planted, and not only had lights been rented from one of the film studios in Wilmington, but the crew had come in and set up everything using stand-ins. The catering-everything from caviar to Cristal champagne-was being supplied by three different restaurants in Wilmington, and overseeing the whole operation was a chef Susan knew from Boston, who was supposedly once considered for the position of head chef at the White House. It was completely over the top, certainly nothing she would ever want for her own wedding-something beachside in Mexico with a dozen people in attendance was more her style-but she supposed that was part of the appeal of attending. She’d never go to another wedding like it for as long as she lived.

Assuming, of course, she could find something to wear. Honestly, she didn’t even know why she was searching her closet. She couldn’t wave a magic wand and turn a pair of her jeans into a dress or pretend that a new part in her hair would make someone overlook one of her concert T-shirts. The only halfway decent outfit she owned, the only one that Susan might not find repugnant if she’d simply stopped by on her way to a movie, was the outfit she wore to the aquarium, the one that made her look like an Easter egg.

“What are you doing?”

Jonah stood in the doorway, staring at her.

“I need to find something to wear,” she said.

“Are you going out?”

“No. I meant to wear to the wedding.”

He tilted his head. “You’re getting married?”

“Of course not. Will’s sister is getting married.”

“What’s her name?”

“Megan.”

“Is she nice?”

Ronnie shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never met her.”

“Then why are you going to her wedding?”

“Because Will asked me to go. That’s the way it works,” she explained. “He can bring a guest to the wedding. I’m supposed to be the guest.”

“Oh,” he said. “What are you going to wear?”

“Nothing. I don’t have anything.”

He motioned toward her. “What you’re wearing is nice.”

The Easter egg outfit. Figures.

She tugged at her shirt. “I can’t wear this. It’s a formal wedding. I’m supposed to wear a gown.”

“Do you have a gown in the closet?”

“No.”

“Then why are you standing there?”

Right, she thought, closing the door. She flopped down on her bed.

“You’re right,” she said. “I can’t go. It’s as simple as that.”

“Do you want to go?” Jonah asked curiously.

In an instant, her thoughts flashed from Absolutely not to Kind of and, finally, to Yeah, I do. She tucked her legs up under her. “Will wants me to go. It’s important to him. And it would be something to see.”

“Then why don’t you buy a gown?”

“Because I don’t have any money,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s easy to fix.” He went to his collection of toys in the corner. Wedged in at one end was a model of an airliner; he picked it up and brought it over, unscrewing the nose of the plane. As he began dumping the contents on her bed, Ronnie’s jaw dropped at the sight of all the cash he’d accumulated. There had to be at least a few hundred dollars.

“It’s my bank,” he said. He wiped his nose. “I’ve been saving for a while.”

“Where did you get all this?”

Jonah pointed to a ten-dollar bill. “This one was for not telling Dad I saw you that night at the carnival.” He pointed to a single. “This one was for not telling Dad that you were making out with Will.” He continued to point at various bills. “This one was for the guy with blue hair, and this was from liar’s poker. This one was for that time you snuck out after your curfew-”

“I get it,” she said. But still… She blinked. “You saved it all?”

“What else was I supposed to do with it?” he answered. “Mom and Dad buy me everything I need. All I have to do is beg long enough. It’s pretty easy to get what I want. You just have to know how to work it. Mom needs me to cry, but Dad needs me to explain why I deserve it.”

She smiled. Her brother, the blackmailer slash psychologist. Amazing.

“So I don’t really need it. And I like Will. He makes you happy.”

Yeah, she thought, he does.

“You’re a pretty good little brother, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. And you can have it all, on one condition.”

Here it comes, she thought. “Yes?”

“I’m not going to go dress shopping with you. It’s boring.”

It didn’t take long for her to make a decision. “Deal.”

Ronnie stared at herself, hardly able to recognize the image in the mirror. It was the morning of the wedding, and she had spent the past four days trying on pretty much every appropriate gown in the city, walking back and forth in various pairs of new shoes, and sitting for hours in the hair salon.