Wrong Bag, Right Man

Rooftop Rehearsal Dinner

The terrace glowed above the city, strung with lights, the river a ribbon of copper below. Josie wore a green dress and a headset. Sam wore a borrowed tuxedo and the expression of a man about to be shot. “Relax,” she whispered. “You’re my new assistant, Sam. Look busy and carry a tray.” “A tray of what?” “Looks like tiny crabs.” Daniel Marchetti was exactly as advertised: tall, polished, a smile built for magazine covers. He kissed Josie on both cheeks. “My miracle worker. I heard you had a rough morning at the airport.” “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Josie said, with a smile so wide it ached. Across the terrace, Camila Duarte caught Josie’s eye. She was lovely, twenty-eight, and had the look of a bride who had noticed her fiancé’s friends never laughed at his jokes. At nine, Sam disappeared toward the kitchens to find Daniel’s guest list. At nine-oh-four, a tracksuit tapped Josie’s shoulder. At nine-oh-six, Josie was walking, very calmly, toward the edge of the roof. Page 5 of 10 Wrong Bag, Right Man: Full Novel “I need a word,” the tracksuit said, in the voice of someone who had rehearsed it. “About the bag.” “Which bag?” Sam’s umbrella came out of nowhere, swept the man’s legs, and deposited him face-first in a tiered cake. “Dessert,” said Sam. “Dance?” Over the din of the band, with the tracksuit groaning in buttercream behind them, he took her hand. He danced terribly. She didn’t care. For three minutes, under the lights, he held her like something he was afraid to drop, and neither of them mentioned the egg.