“Perfect! Visibility is key for Charlotte’s social media coverage.”
I scan the gathering crowd of guests, all of whom have clearly taken the black-tie designation seriously. Mom and Ben look absolutely stunning. Mom is in navy silk, and Ben is wearing a perfectly tailored tux that makes him look distinguished and vaguely dangerous. Other guests mill around in elegant summer formal wear, chatting and admiring the setup while trying not to get their designer shoes full of sand—that is, those who are brave enough to wear shoes.
The hoomans are all dressed like they’re going to a fancy dinner,Cinnamon points out from her position near the guest seating.But yet most of them are barefoot. Hooman logic is confusing—and so are their fashion choices.
At least the food smells good,Gatsby adds, eyeing the catering setup with professional interest.
I have to agree. But it doesn’t just smell good, it smellsdivine. Emmie and her staff have outdone themselves.
Dad and Gwyneth appear near the café, Dad looking handsome in his tux, as does Gwyneth in a crimson gown. And she just so happens to be expertly juggling baby Ella, who’s wearing what appears to be a miniature version of a wedding dress complete with tiny pearl accessories. That is not the outfit I put her in this morning. Oh geez. Leave it to Gwyneth to pull a fast one and land both the baby and me in one serious fashion emergency.
“She’s going to lose her mind when she sees Jasper in his tux,” Gwyneth calls out to me. “We’ll bring her down right before the ceremony starts.”
“Perfect!” I call back, then nearly collide with Jasper as he emerges from the cottage looking like he stepped off the cover of a romance novel. The man cleans up ridiculously well.
“You look incredible,” he says, pulling me close for a kiss that makes me temporarily forget I’m hosting a wedding that could potentially feature multiple murders. I look down at my glitzy emerald green number and wiggle my shoulders so the dress shimmers in the sunshine.
“Thank you,” I say. “You look like you should be on the cover ofGQ,” I reply, straightening his bow tie. “Try not to meet the Grim Reaper before or after the ceremony, okay?” I’m only half-teasing. I’ve had a nagging feeling all morning that something disastrous was destined to happen today—outside of all of the disastrous things that are already slated to happen today.
“I’ll do my best,” he says with a dark laugh. “Though given your track record with weddings...”
“My track record with weddings is excellent. It’s my track record with murders that’s problematic.”
“Fair point. Be careful. I’ll try to keep an eye on you.” He lands a far steamier kiss on my lips, then heads off toward where the groomsmen are gathering, leaving me with the lingering scent of his cologne and the reminder that I need to keep everyone alive for the next few hours.
I’m making one final check of the seating arrangements when I realize I need to grab extra programs from the utility shed behind the inn. I hurry across the sand, emerald dress swishing around my legs, and push open the shed door.
“Oh my word,” I breathe, then immediately back out of the doorway and press myself against the wall.
Inside the utility shed, Charlotte Van Buren—bride of the hour, social media princess, and supposed innocent victim of everyone else’s scheming—is locked in what can only be described as a very passionate embrace with Conrad Carrington.
Okay, fine. Her white dress was hiked up, and her legs were wrapped around his waist. It was a very,veryenthusiastic embrace.
And they’re not just kissing. They’re kissing like people who’ve done this before. A lot.
I stand there for approximately three seconds, processing this information while my brain tries to recalibrate everything I thought I knew about this wedding. Then I quietly back away from the shed and speed-walk toward the ceremony area with my mind racing at a million dangerous miles an hour.
What the heck is happening? And on her wedding day?Willshe have a wedding day? Is she insane? Clearly, Conrad has a death wish. I have half a mind to send Piers to the shed to get those extra programs for me. Of course, once he gets an eyeful, we won’t be needing those programs, or the flowers, or the guests, or the wedding cake in general. Unless his need for her trust fund supersedes his need for a loyal bride.
Charlotte and Conrad.
Charlotte, who’s supposed to be marrying Piers in approximately thirty minutes, and Conrad, who’s supposed to be Piers’s best man. Charlotte, who everyone thinks is naive and innocent, and Conrad, who everyone knows is a predatory cad.
This is a recipe for disaster—and technically, the disaster is currently taking place.
“Bizzy!” Buffy, looking stunning in a soft blue dress, appears at my elbow as I’m halfway down the beach. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I guess you could say it’s just wedding jitters,” I manage, though my voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
Buffy studies my face with a concerned expression as if she knows exactly what wedding jitters looks like, and this isn’t it. “Are you sure? Because you look more like you’ve discovered something earth-shattering.”
“You’re right,” I say with a heavy sigh. I’m about to spill all the red-hot tea when Bea approaches us, resplendent in a champagne-colored silk gown and looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her all week.
“Good day, ladies,” she trills. “Isn’t this lovely?” she says, gesturing to the faux tropical surroundings on the beach. “Charlotte is going to be one happy bride.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” I say as calmly as I can, but even I can hear the tremor in my voice. “She and Piers are such a... committed couple. I hope they’ll be very happy with everything today.”
“Oh, they’re committed, allright,” Bea says with a knowing smile. “Although I have to say, I was surprised when Piers finally proposed. The man can barely commit to a dinner reservation, let alone a marriage. I guess love makes us do strange things.” Her expression sours when she says it as if she knows exactly what those strange things are.
