It’sCharlotte, but I’m not about to correct my poor sister. She has enough on her plate already.
The crowd erupts in cheers and raised glasses, creating a light show that would make a nightclub jealous.
I can’t believe I’m actually having fun at a naughty book reading, of all things,I catch from someone in the crowd.My mother would disown me if she knew.
And yet,mymother is here. The irony.
My husband would die if he knew I was here,comes another thought.Good thing what happens at book club stays at book club. Or at least I hope it does.
She does realize this will be all over social media in the next few minutes.
I hope they don’t read the scene with the handcuffs,the thought floats from someone else.I’m not drunk enough for that level of secondhand embarrassment.
Handcuffs? What exactly did Camila select for tonight’s entertainment? And why do I get the feeling that the rating of this event just went from R to triple X?
“Now,” Camila continues, clearly relishing her role as tonight’s literary mastermind, “I should probably warn everyone that this particular scene involves a thunderstorm, a very wet shirt, and some creative use of nautical equipment.”
The collective intake of breath from the women assembled sounds like a tide rushing in.
I think I need another drink,someone thinks desperately.
This is better than cable television,comes from another corner of the room.
Charlotte, meanwhile, has positioned herself for optimal Insta Pictures documentation, her phone held high to capture both the reader’s and the audience’s reactions.
This is going to get so many views,she thinks with satisfaction.Authentic female friendship content always performs well. Hey? Maybe I should start a naughty book club of my own?
“Chapter seven,” Buffy begins in her best dramatic reading voice, “The Storm. Captain Blackwood’s shirt clung to his muscled chest like?—”
“Oh geez,” I hear Mom mutter from somewhere behind me.
“—like wet silk as the rain lashed the deck of his ship?—”
A nervous giggle ripples through the crowd.
“Isabella knew she should look away, but her eyes were drawn to the way the fabric revealed every contour of his?—”
“I think I need to sit down,” someone whispers loudly.
This is simultaneously the best and worst idea anyone has ever had,Mom thinks with obvious delight.
I should have brought popcorn,Georgie says, rubbing her hands together with glee.
And as Buffy continues reading about Captain Blackwood’s anatomical advantages and Isabella’s growing appreciation for maritime adventure, I realize that tonight is going to be very educational indeed—both for the literary content and for people-watching, because nothing strips away social pretenses quite like awkward romance novels read aloud.
Now let’s see which one of these innocent book lovers has murder on her mind.
CHAPTER 15
The afternoon sun beats down on our beach canopy with the intensity of a celestial body who clearly didn’t get the memo about taking it easy on exhausted party planners and their equally exhausted friends.
It’s the very next day after the infamous Storytime After Dark incident which went down exactly as one might think—half the women mortified beyond belief, the other half giggling like teenagers, and Buffy refusing to read anything involving ropes or treasure chests, which prompted Camila and Macy to take over with theatrical performances that turned the library into an R-rated dinner theater none of us asked for, but quite frankly, all of us expected.
Thankfully, though, that’s over now, and I’m sitting on the cove with Mom, Georgie, Emmie, Elliot, and Ella on a wonky quilt on the sand, amusing ourselves with every beach toy imaginable.
The ocean sparkles like liquid diamonds just twenty feet away, with waves lapping against the shore in that hypnotic summer rhythm that makes you forget you have actual responsibilities. The salty breeze carries hints of coconut sunscreen, seaweed, and thedistant yummy scent of someone grilling burgers for an early beach lunch.
“I’m never volunteering for wedding coordination duty again,” Mom groans from her beach chair, wearing oversized sunglasses and nursing what appears to be her third iced coffee of the day. A seagull perches nearby, eyeing her breakfast sandwich with the calculating stare of a tiny feathered criminal—and his thoughts attest to as much. Mom sniffs. “Georgie had us running around town like headless chickens this morning.”
