“Yeah, mine, too,” I tell her. “But it’ll be worth it.”
A couple decked out in diamonds and shirttails walk past us, shakingout their umbrella before pulling open the double doors to go inside. A wave of warm air escapes toward us.
I turn to Shawn. She grins.
“You ready to talk your ex-boyfriend into helping us expose the criminal enterprise taking over our town while also solving a forty-year-old murder mystery?” she asks.
“You make is sound so easy.”
“Then let’s go,” she replies with a laugh. She closes our umbrella and leans it against a corner outside the door before we go in.
“Oh,” I say immediately, looking around. “So this isnicenice. Got it.”
The ballroom is incredible. I’ve been in the Augustus Resort before, but not in this room. There had never been a reason to before. The ceiling feels one hundred feet high, a giant chandelier casting a twinkling yellow glow around the room. There are sconces on the wall, delicate and expensive wallpaper, tables with elaborate floral displays. A man in the corner at the black piano plays a melody, classic and haunting. Women and men in tuxedos walk around with trays of tiny foods and flutes of champagne. They’re part of a professional service agency. They definitely didn’t trust this event to the locals.
“There’s Nina,” Shawn says, motioning toward the entrance. “I’ll let her know we’re here.”
As Shawn leaves, I turn to survey the room again, truly impressed. There are so many beautiful people. I notice Hailey in the corner, looking miserable in a gorgeous white gown. She’s standing with Creed, who appears to be her date. I think I’d be pouting too.
It’s then that I see Jamie across the room. My stomach flutters a bit. He’s wearing a dark suit, black tie, shiny shoes. His hair is combed smooth, his black eye adorable in contrast to his formal attire. Although I love his usual beach-prep look, right now—he’s a fucking babe.
I take a step toward him, almost forgetting why I’m here, whenJordan appears and takes his arm. I halt, swallowing down my disappointment. I forgot that we’re all here playing a part.
Jordan is a vision in an expensive emerald-green dress, her short dark hair flawless at her chin. She laughs, holding Jamie’s arm. He glances down at Jordan, saying something that makes her laugh harder. Even though there’s nothing between them, I am jealous at how they make sense together. Like they’re from the same world. Surrounded by all this extravagance, this money, the line between the Collective and the Chasers has never seemed clearer.
“Who let you in?”
I jump, and quickly turn to find Matteo standing there. He smiles to let me know he was joking. He’s in a suit, but he doesn’t wear it nearly as well as Jamie. Other than a small scratch on the bridge of his nose, there’s no sign he was in a fight yesterday.
“I’m a plus-one,” I say, holding up my invite.
He glances at it and laughs. “You and I both know that’s fake,” he says. “You could have asked me.” He takes a step closer. “I forgot how well you clean up.”
“I doubt you forgot,” I say, leaning into my meanness because I know he likes it.
Matteo nods an approval and grabs two glasses off a passing tray, handing one to me. He comes to my side, and we both survey the crowd. He points out Jamie and Jordan.
“Ah,” he says. “Isn’t Dickhead with you?” he asks.
“I’m with me,” I say easily, and sip from my drink. “So why’d he kick your ass?”
Matteo laughs. “No one kicked my ass.”
He’s about to play off the entire thing, but when he meets my eyes, I don’t hide. I stare directly at him, and then his bravado falters slightly.
“What are you really doing here, Noa?” he asks.
“You said we needed to talk the other night,” I start. “And I think you’re right. We need to talk about what really happened to Felix.”
He darts his eyes around the room. Without a word, Matteo takes me by the arm and leads me toward the double doors of the terrace.
The rain hasn’t eased up, but Matteo grabs someone else’s umbrella on the way out. When we’re outside, he opens it to hold over both of us. The rain taps loudly on the screen, the air thick with the smell of damp earth.
“What do you know?” he asks, his voice urgent and hushed. “Was it Ellis? Is he back?”
I gasp, offended at the accusation. “No,” I snap. “Of course it wasn’t my brother.” There is tightness in my chest before I say the next words, afraid of how he’ll react. “I… I’m not sure how to say this, but I think your father is responsible.”
Matteo’s jaw clenches like he’s about to argue, but the fight in him dies quickly. His face starts to crack before he looks away sharply. When he turns back to me, his eyes are glassy with tears.
