“I can’t wait to spend more time with you, Camila,” Tessa says politely. “And Charlotte’s lifestyle influencer platform should make for great content, too. I guess the two of you are a couple of peas in a pod! Are you familiar with her work?”
“The Hot Mess Heiress.” Camila nods. She launches into a cheerful monologue about Charlotte’s influencer empire—how she’s a relatable rich girl who documents spilled champagne and designer mishaps for a living with millions of followers hanging on her every perfectly curated disaster. “The Hot Mess Heiress has quite the following. Of course, I do a lot of the same. Some might even say she’s borrowed some of my material.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. To hear Camila say it, you’d think the Almighty borrowed her material when creating the universe.
“I’d better go kick off the evening festivities,” Tessa says, checking her clipboard. “I’m determined that everyone here has the time of their lives.”
A small coffee-colored Chihuahua comes racing up, vibratingas if it just lapped up a gallon of espresso and yipping in a voice that could wake the dead.
“Oh hon, come here,” she coos. “This is my sweet baby, Truffle,” Tessa says with a laugh as she scoops up the little furry missile. “She’s my official business partner.” She lands a kiss on the tiny thing’s nose as she says it.
Truffle yips a mile a minute as if she’s auditioning for a dog food commercial.The cats are weird, the kids smell like cheese, and if one more seagull looks at me funny, I swear I’m biting something—preferably a donut.
I can’t help but laugh. Animals really do have their priorities straight.
“I’m glad you’re here taking care of things,” I say to Tessa. “You and your partner.” I give Truffle a quick scratch behind the ears before Tessa sets her down.
“Well, we’re still trying to grow our business. If you’ll excuse us,” Tessa says, “duty calls.”
She heads off toward the supply table with Truffle trotting beside her like a tiny bodyguard who isn’t afraid of anyone, no matter what the size.
“And if you’ll excuse me,” Georgie announces, “I have a best man to hunt down. Conrad Carrington won’t know what hit him.” She winks. “Hey, Mr. Best Man! Want to see what’s hiding under the coconuts? I’ll show you for free!”
“Please, someone stop her before she gets arrested for public indecency,” I groan as Georgie sashays off in pursuit of her prey.
“I need to find Leo’s mother,” Emmie says, adjusting Elliot on her hip. “I need to hand off this little guy so I can tend to the buffet and dessert situation. Someone has to check the dessert table—before Georgie confuses it for speed dating.”
Emmie isn’t just my bestie—she’s also in charge of the Country Cottage Café, the one and only eatery that caters to the inn. If there’s food involved, she’s the mastermind behind it. And like shesaid, she and her staff provided all the culinary needs of this massive and rather impromptu luau.
We break apart. I wander toward the edge of the cove, soaking in the rich colors of the sunset—fuchsia clouds, golden streaks melting into seafoam green. The tiki torches flicker against the rising night, and someone’s replaced the steel drum band with a playlist that’s mostly pop hits and a few wedding classics tossed in for good measure.
As the evening deepens, the sky transforms into something out of a travel brochure. The sun melts into the horizon like butter on warm toast, painting everything in shades of coral and gold.
I spot Tessa again—alone by a picnic table, surrounded by leftover party gear which consists of baskets of rainbow leis, flamingo-shaped cups, and inflatable pineapples with suspicious faces. She’s locked in what looks like a heated conversation with a silver-haired woman whose coiffed bob hugs her head like expensive silk.
The woman’s posture screams money and attitude, and from the way she’s gesturing, she’s not happy about something. I consider intervening, but before I can take a step, the silver-haired woman charges off like she’s late for a very important tantrum. No sooner does she take off than a much younger brunette—pretty with trendy clothes—all but slaps Tessa across the face before shouting something at her and running off in the opposite direction.
“Oh my word!” Before I can cross the sand to check on poor Tessa, Jasper appears at my elbow, sliding his arms around my waist.
“Dance with me?” he asks, slipping a kiss to my cheek from behind.
“Only if you promise not to ask what Camila is doing here.”
“I already regret everything.”
The steel drums shift to something slow and dreamy, and we sway together on the sand while watching our family scattered across the beach. Ella is now in the arms of my father and his wife,Gwyneth—Jasper’s mother—who also happens to be my stepmother, because my life is nothing if not complicated.
Yes, my stepmother is my mother-in-law, too. We’re one family tree twist away from needing a map and a therapist. Heck, with all of the homicides that we’ve had around here as of late, we could utilize every therapist from here to Canada—full-time.
The evening has settled into that perfect beach party rhythm when persistent yipping cuts through the music. Tiny, frantic barks are coming from somewhere near the shoreline.
“Sounds like someone is in distress,” Jasper says.
We head toward the sound, following the desperate yips to a picnic table set back from the main party area. The barking gets louder as we approach, but in the darkness, it’s hard to see what’s causing the commotion.
Jasper stumbles. “What the?—”
He goes flying, tripping over something solid in the sand, and as I reach for him, I trip as well, and go down hard—landing with a mouthful of sand, a shock of pain in my knees, and a whole lot of wounded pride.
