When I was a little girl, before my mother decided to become what she is, I used to dream of growing up to have a wedding with a prince in a grand ballroom. In all of its golden opulence, that ballroom pales in comparison to this one. Bianca's new in-laws have spared no expense.

"And I thought this was fancy in the daylight when we were decorating," Carla whistles as we walk under the ornate floral arch. "But in this twinkly lighting with the wall open to the ocean, I gotta say..." A low whistle is all that comes out.

My own jaw has clearly fallen to the floor as I inspect the tables and chairs which looked regal in the daylight and now appear almost ethereal. If it weren't for the fact that Óscar Calderón was literally out to ruin my life, I'd say this had the makings of a perfect day.

Okay, except the part where I almost drowned in the ocean. A shiver races through me and a small bubble of anxiety forms in my throat at the reminder that my phone is no more. The whole time I'm at this event I'm going to be completely cut off from my work and comments and photographs I could really use for my supplementary blog income.

I'm pulled back to the beautiful room when the live band strikes up in the corner and a beautiful woman I've never met before floats onto the floor in a skin-tight orange dress and twirls around her partner, ready to perform.

Bianca has still not made her entrance, and I'm determined not to make an outrageous scene at her rehearsal dinner because I cannot give anyone that satisfaction after the last time. We make polite conversation and wind through the tables as the couple spins on the floor and finally find the table labeled with our picture just as the man lifts his partner into the air as the music gives a grand crescendo.

I swirl around the table with them until I find my own name in a beautiful calligraphy. I can practically taste the delicious dinner already and the tension falls out of my shoulders for just a moment until I see the place card beside me.

"How could Bianca put him next to me?"

Oops. How could my huge mouth let that thought escape after the day I've had. Just one win, mouth! That's all I'm asking for.

"Who?" Carla peers over my shoulder and bursts out laughing. "Oh I didn't even think about their last names being the same. Bianca's hilarious putting Óscar's name on a card." She's laughing so hard at the situation she's gasping for breath.

"I don't think it's a joke." The words come out all choppy and hoarse, so perhaps Carla doesn't hear me over the music and her snorts of laughter. I can't do anything but stare at the card until the music pulls me back to the band just as the woman kicks her leg up and lands in a final pose that includes her leg over her partner's shoulder.

People should not bend that way. It's unnatural.

Polite applause rings out through the room and a few yelps indicate the arrival of Enrique's family.

"I see the Calderón's have arrived." I poke Carla's shoulder, drawing a much shakier breath than I expected as I crane my neck to see if Óscar is here.

"And look, not an archnemesis soccer star in sight," Carla says, drawing her hair back into a clip and grabbing my hand. "Now let's go say hello. I have my eye on the yummy black haired one."

"They all have black hair, Carla."

She doesn't hear a thing I'm saying as she drags me over to the older woman wearing a flowy red dress adorned with sparkly gems. The elegant way it drapes across one shoulder and under the other arm reveals a beautiful necklace and a very small floral pattern tattoo drawn in a deep brown ink only slightly deeper than her skin tone.

I'm halfway to opening my mouth to ask her about it when she turns fully to face us. "Oh you must be Carla and Lorena," she says with an accent that reminds me of my own mother. "It's so lovely to actually meet you. Bianca and Enrique have told us so much about you both from their little adventure in Las Vegas. But we flew in for the Canadian wedding so suddenly we didn't have time to properly greet you. I hope you'll accept our apologies."

"Of course," I say, craning my neck to double check for the presence of a certain fútbol star I'm absolutely not looking for except to make sure he's not here.

Óscar's—I mean Enrique's mom gushes about our outfits as her family members talk animatedly in Spanish and take photographs of the room.

One man picks up a centerpiece and slides it into his suit jacket pocket before returning to the group. When he catches me watching, he holds a finger to his lip and actually winks at me like we're in some kind of spy film.

But regardless of how hard I worked to set up the decorations, it's just a centerpiece. No one wants them, so his secret's safe with me.

Carla's elbow stabs deep into my side and I yelp in pain before I have a chance to realize what's going on. Enrique's mother is staring right at my eyes, waiting semi-politely for an answer. But like every mother, she has that look in her eyes that says I've already failed whatever test it is I didn't know I was writing. This is off to a great start.

"Señora Calderón was wondering what you do for work, Lorena," Carla prompts.

"Oh, yes. I'm trained as a technical equipment specialist but the company I was working for unfortunately downsized my position so I'm currently interviewing for a new one."

I can practically see the lemon she's eaten with that response, and before I can cry— or explode with happiness at the secret blog doing super well— I politely excuse myself and make a beeline for the bar, wishing I had my phone to check up on the success of my newest juicy blog post.

I cannot be blamed for releasing my research on Óscar Calderón's location. After Bianca decided to hide the information from me, what else was I supposed to do but use it for personal gain?

Okay, when I put it like that it sounds really, really bad.

Mrs. Calderón and I are placed several tables apart so besides the judgy looks I feel through the back of my head, it's like she's not even there. Which makes dinner almost pleasant. Conversing with the girls and the one groomsman who bothered to show up has me almost forgetting about the man who's supposed to be sitting to my left.

Each bite he isn't here for is a blessing, really. I definitely don't glance over often, but he doesn't show up and he still isn't here when the servers are picking up our empty desert plates. It's time to give my speech and I have absolutely no interference from the awful man who I thought would be sitting beside me. I was worried about nothing all evening.

Bianca blushes as I hug her on the way to the microphone, Enrique draping his hand so effortlessly on the back of her chair as if her comfort is second-nature to him already. They are perfect together.

And it is that sentiment that I convey in my three-minute and fifteen-second speech. I timed it earlier when I made Carla sit through six attempts until I had it just right. And it all paid off when I got through it effortlessly.

"So please raise your glasses to celebrate the marriage of Bianca and Enrique. I love you both and I can't wait to beat you at more games nights. But seriously, I hope your union is blessed with every happiness and continues for many years to come."

Echoes of 'to the bride and groom,' bounce through the room and I sip my own champagne, walking the microphone back to its stand only to be met with the slack-jawed dirty face of the man who saved me earlier. The man I now know for certain to be Óscar Calderón.

And I know there is only one way to salvage Bianca's rehearsal dinner: I have to leave before this man opens his mouth. So I shove the microphone at his chest and my hand grazes his pec while I turn and leave a bewildered man in my wake.

It is only once I'm out of the ballroom that I realize Enrique was missing for the last portion of dinner.

* * *

You know what you can't do when your phone is lost at sea? Send a text message explaining your strange disappearance after your speech.

So what are your overprotective girls to do but chase you out in the middle of the best man's speech?

So much for not ruining Bianca's rehearsal dinner. On further reflection, that ship had probably sailed when I slammed the microphone into the best man's arms and raced from the room.

At least Óscar got to experience the disruption his very presence offers all of us.

Divya is the first to reach me, her husband Raj hot on her heels. "You aren't allowed to be alone, remember?" She pokes my shoulder and pulls me to face her. "What is going on?"

"I— Well. . . " Why are my eyes betraying me with tears? I'm not crying right now.

"That man she just gave the microphone to saved her life earlier today and also happens to be her most hated foe, Óscar Calderón." Carla says it so simply I wonder why Bianca couldn't have done that before today.

"Óscar Calderón the fútbol player you threw a tomato at in the pub the other night?" Raj pipes in, placing a gentle hand around my waist and stopping me from swaying.

"You swore you'd never tell anyone about that! And I'll pay you back for the TV I ruined." I glare at Divya.

"I didn't tell anyone who didn't already know," Carla defends. "We all saw."

"You know we don't keep secrets from each other," Divya chimes in and gently rubs my back. "We're married."

My friends really need to stop throwing the 'married' thing in my face. "Well, yes. That Óscar Calderón. Turns out he looks very different in real life."

"Much hotter, you mean." Carla cranes her neck to peer into the ballroom where Óscar is still singing the praises of his brother.

"Who's hotter?" Bianca emerges from a door I didn't know existed.

"No!" I cry. "Go back in there and enjoy your dinner. I don't want to do this right now."

She doesn't say anything. She just stares into my soul and waves her hands for the others to leave. Divya and Carla must sense her severity because they disappear into the ballroom like putty falling through a grate. Raj doesn't move until Divya reappears and pulls him by the arm, jerking him away from us and through the glittering curtain under the archway.

Bianca steps closer and nudges me away from the doorway. "I know you're upset with me right now and I'm sorry."

I don't let her get the whole phrase out, seething again at how she embarrassed me. "You're sorry? For what?"

"Look, I know you said you hated Óscar but I always thought it was just a little joke. And in my defense I did plan to tell you before dinner tonight. Before you ever met him. But then you did meet him and there was like something electric between you two and I didn't want to ruin it so—"

"There was nothing electric between us."

"Of course. I must have misinterpreted. Maybe because I was a little distracted when you almost died."

"I did not 'almost die'."

"Drowning can occasionally cause death. And we were all so slow to help you. I can't even think what would have happened if Óscar hadn't jumped in after you. And I thought maybe he was doing it for me but it turns out he didn't recognize me since I dyed my hair. Which means he did it for you. And I just... we're indebted to him no matter how much you want to hate him. So sue me for trying to get you both to see reason. I'll not budge."

"Not budge on what? Having us both in the wedding party?"

Her eyes go wide and her fingers pull absently at her bottom lip.

"Budge on what, Bianca?" Her avoidance is making me worry.

"We weren't going to let him, but..."

"Bianca." I really hope I sound threatening because I'm sweating bullets. There's almost certainly visible shapes on my back where my worry is coming out in liquid form. Unfortunately it's not making me feel any better. File that away with all the unfair things about my life right now.

"He did save your life, Bianca. And Enrique so wants to repair their relationship. Óscar is trying and—"

"What does this have to do with me?"

"I agreed to let him take over some of the planning for the week. He really wants to make amends and I could hardly reject him after he saved your life, could I?"

I'm pretty sure the hotel is crumbling around me. It must be, right? That loud roaring noise and the ground shifting underneath me is an earthquake, right?

"I just think it would be nice to have you around more, Lor. And he knows the area so it would just be easier. I know you feel like you owe us for not being able to financially contribute but we really just want you to be here with us, you know?"

She's being so sweet. And her love squishes into my soul, leaving little room for anything else. But I can't give her what she wants. There is nothing I want more in this world than a chance at that Mercurio job.

I desperately need to prove I can do these things on my own and if I tell her why I need to plan the activities, she'll let me do it just because she wants me to get this job. And then I won't have done it on my own. So I keep my mouth shut and pivot. "I want to spend time with you, too, but I've spent so much time planning everything already and I'd really like to give you this gift. You're getting married! Let me do this for you."

"I'm already married," she sighs. "And this third wedding thing is getting really outrageous. But Enrique's family looks so happy. We're doing this for them."

She stares out across the ballroom and I can tell from her glittery eyes that she's caught Enrique's attention. Somehow she conveys everything to him with only a few looks and she smiles. "Lorena, I love you, but I won't take back my word that Óscar can plan some excursions for us."

I try to interrupt her but she holds her hand up and glares at me with a look that says 'if you say anything I will turn into a full-on Bridezilla' so I let her finish.

"But I will let you two work it out together. Divide it however you want. If you want to do your plans maybe just talk to him about it. He seems reasonable and just wants to help."

"What?" I have to chase her because she's already turned back to the ballroom. "I can't work with him. He's—"

"He's what, Bianca? You don't even know him. You decided you hated him when you were like fifteen and won't let it go. He's my husband's brother. Give him a chance." A pause long enough to have me staring back into the ballroom stretches out until she reaches her hand out for mine. "For me?"

She's far too good at the sad puppy look.

"I can't work with him."

"Then you can let him do everything and spend your time poolside with me. It's perfect."

Is that why she asked him to help me? To get me to give up my planning and just hang out with her? Well, I can't tell her why I need to do this, and not doing it would be worse than telling her the truth.

And there's nothing saying I can't convince him not to work with me. If he gives up I'll have it all to myself.

"Okay," I tell her. "Of course I'll work with him. He's Enrique's brother."

She doesn't buy it. I can tell because her eyes narrow and she pulls the corner of her lip into her mouth. "Fine. But I'm going to warn him about you."

"No fair!" I'm fully chasing her through the ballroom archway now. "You can't poison him against me before I even get a chance!"

"Ha!" she says, spinning to face me. "I knew you liked him."

I'm so stunned I just stop where I am, illuminated by the twinkling lights of the archway as the party rolls on in the ballroom, upbeat music now filling the hall.

I do not like him.

But the only thing I can see as the party blurs around me is the crisp, calm face of Óscar Calderón floating closer to me with every purposeful step.

So I guess I have to do what any girl would do in my position.