But now?
Now it felt like staying even one more night was asking for fate to pour herself a drink and get comfortable.
Maybe I should cut the trip short.
Maybe I ought to head back early.
Palm Beach didn’t have mystery men in masks or street fights outside of boutiques. Palm Beach had Botox brunches, curated conversations, and the kind of luxury that let you forget other people even existed.
Maybe that was the problem.
Charleston was unpredictable—full of old money, new drama, and the kind of genteel chaos that wore seersucker and smiled through its teeth. Palm Beach was different. Polished. Controlled. Like living inside a jewelry box with gold hinges and a lock only the right people had the key to.
That’s the world I was raised in—or at least the Southern version of it. Daddy made the money, Momma made the rules, and I grew up knowing exactly which fork to use, what kind of apology bought silence, and how to walk into any room like I belonged there more than anyone else.
We didn’t do messy. We did curated. And if something cracked, we threw a party loud enough to distract from the noise.
But lately, I wasn’t sure if Palm Beach felt like home or like hiding.
Sure, I had my rituals. My barre class by the beach. My facialist who whispered secrets while she microneedled away the evidence of last night’s choices. My closet organized by occasion, not color—tennis whites, yacht whites, gala blacks, and one drawer of silk slips for men who didn’t deserve them. It was a life most girls would kill for. But lately it felt … hollow. Like the sound of your own heels echoing down an empty marble hall.
Still, I wasn’t ready to admit that out loud. Not yet.
I made it halfway to the stairs before I heard voices from the parlor.
My parents.
Momma’s high, champagne-smooth drawl. Daddy’s clipped cadence, honed by boardroom deals and old-money backgammon.
I paused, just out of sight, and took a breath.
I wasn’t in the mood.
But the moment I stepped into the doorway, both heads turned like I’d just descended from a cloud.
“There she is,” Momma said brightly, setting down her teacup with a porcelain clink. “We were starting to wonder if you’d been swept off by some dashing stranger.”
She was trying to joke. It didn’t land.
Daddy rose from the settee and kissed my cheek. “Everything all right, sweetheart? You’re a touch pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied smoothly, adjusting my sunglasses on top of my head even though we were inside. “Just a long morning.”
Momma’s eyes narrowed—not suspicious, just strategic. She could smell drama the way most people noticed smoke.
“Well,” she said, brushing an invisible speck of lint from her linen trousers, “you’ll be feeling even better after a nice lunch tomorrow.”
I blinked. “Lunch?”
“At the club,” Daddy added, too casually. “One o’clock. We’ve got a reservation on the veranda.”
I tilted my head. “Since when do we do lunch at the club on Mondays?”
Momma’s smile was just a little too wide. “Since we had a lovely invitation from the Hartsfields.”
And there it was.
I crossed my arms, leveling them both with a look I’d been perfecting since boarding school. “Is this a setup?”
