1
PARKER
The hotel lobby smells like money and sawdust.
Fresh paint tries to mask the scent of old wood and salt air. I catch it anyway. That particular blend of Carolina coast and childhood summers I haven’t let myself think about in six years. The marble beneath my heels is new, veined in gold that probably cost more than my car. Crystal chandeliers throw prismed light across walls that remember when this place was all dark paneling and stuffed marlins.
I shift my weight, the slit in my dress catching cool air against my thigh, and try to focus on the woman behind the check-in desk instead of the knot tightening between my shoulder blades.
“So you’re saying the luggage will arrive tonight?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. Professional. The same tone I used three days ago when I stood in front of the board and pretended my hands weren’t shaking.
The name on the attendant’s name tag reads,Melissaas she offers me a smile that’s meant to be reassuring. It isn’t. “As soonas the airport locates your bag, we’ll have it brought directly to your room. I promise, Ms. Carter, we’ll take excellent care of it.”
Excellent care.
Right. Because that’s exactly what you want someone promising when your luggage contains a leather flogger, two types of restraints, and a very expensive—very anatomically designed—prototype that your boss specifically said you needed to “field test for authenticity.”
The presentation was a success. Probably. I won’t know until Tuesday when I’m back in the office, and Sandra either promotes me or thanks me for my time. But either way, I’d shoved everything into my suitcase in a caffeine-fueled panic to catch my flight, and now those items are somewhere in the American Airlines void, waiting to be discovered by a baggage handler who definitely doesn’t get paid enough for this.
Heat crawls up my neck. I feel it in my cheeks, in the hollow of my throat where my pulse taps an anxious rhythm against skin.
“That’s perfect. Thank you.” I’m already turning away, already trying to calculate how quickly I can escape to my room and have a minor breakdown in private, when arms wrap around me from behind.
“Parker!”
The squeal precedes the impact. I stumble forward in my heels—six inches of white stiletto that suddenly feel like stilts—and barely catch myself on the desk edge before I’m spun around into a cloud of perfume and tulle.
Sienna Rhodes is exactly as beautiful as her Instagram promised. Honey-colored skin, dark curls that cascade over bareshoulders, and a smile so genuine it almost hurts to look at. She’s wearing a sundress that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, cream linen that makes her look like she belongs in a Mediterranean villa instead of a North Carolina island hotel.
“You’re here, you’re actually here! I can’t believe you’re finally here!” She’s bouncing, actually bouncing, her hands clasped around mine like we’re old friends instead of two people who’ve only FaceTimed three times. “Charlie, look, it’s Parker!”
And there’s my brother.
Charles Carter, my fraternal twin, walks toward us with that easy confidence he’s always had—the kind that made him captain of every team, president of every club, favorite of every parent who wasn’t ours. He’s in linen pants and a white button-down rolled to his elbows, looking like an ad for expensive watches or coastal real estate. His skin holds a warm tan from days spent sailing and summers in the sun, and his light brown hair gleams gold beneath the chandeliers.
“About time, little sister.” His arms come around me, solid and familiar, and for a moment I let myself sink into them. For just a moment, I let myself be six years old again when Charlie was my whole world and not the overprotective pain in my ass who still thinks I need a curfew at twenty-eight.
“Missed you too.” I pull back, blinking against the sudden sting behind my eyes. I will not cry. I’ve already cried twice this week—once during the presentation, once on the plane when they announced my bag was missing—and I’m done. “Congratulations. Both of you.”
Sienna makes a sound that might be a sob or a laugh. She loops her arm through mine like we’ve known each other forever.“I’m so glad you could come. I know your schedule is crazy, and I know you couldn’t be maid of honor, but just having you here means everything. You’re going to be mysister.” Her voice breaks on the word. “I never had a sister.”
Something warm and sharp twists beneath my ribs. Guilt, maybe. Or the echo of all the times I should’ve been here and wasn’t.
“Your bag will be delivered as soon as we locate it,” Melissa repeats behind me, and I turn too quickly, nearly losing my balance.
“Yes. Thank you. That’s—thank you.” I’m smiling too widely, my words tripping over themselves in my rush to end this conversation before Charlie or Sienna asks what’s so important about my luggage.
Because I cannot—cannot—explain to my overprotective brother that my suitcase is currently a traveling sex shop.
Charlie’s already frowning, that big brother radar pinging. “Everything okay? What’s wrong with your bag?”
“Nothing. Just delayed. Happens all the time.” I loop my other arm through his, sandwiching myself between them before he can ask more questions. “Come on. I haven’t seen anyone in forever, and I’m going to need at least three glasses of champagne before I deal with Mom and Dad in the same room.”
Sienna laughs, the sound like wind chimes, and starts pulling me toward the back of the lobby, where I can already hear voices and music. “Oh God, your dad brought Aria. She’s so sweet, but your mom?—”
“Is pretending she doesn’t exist while making passive-aggressive comments about the hors d’oeuvres. I know.” I’ve been preparing for this all week. “That’s why I’m here. Professional buffer. Crisis management. I have a whole degree in it, technically.”
“Marketing,” Charlie corrects.
