For a second, neither of us moves. The yacht rocks gently beneath us, and I'm acutely aware of how close he's standing, the way his eyes haven't left mine. My mouth opens—to say what, I have no idea.
Then a shadow falls across us, breaking the spell.
“Well, well,” Scarlett purrs, stepping forward. Her voice is smooth as honey. She extends a perfectly manicured hand towards me, nails like tiny daggers painted blood red.
“Scarlett Thorne. Wedding planner extraordinaire. We haven’t been properly introduced, have we, Jane?” Her grip is firm, bordering on painful. “Barbie’s little plus-one. How… unexpected.”
“Jane Cooper,” I say, trying to match her cool tone and probably failing.
She doesn't release my hand immediately. Her grip lingers, assessing.
"Jane, are you enjoying the festivities?"
Scarlett's gaze locks onto my face—cold, blue eyes that rake over me like I'm a stain on the pristine deck. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows lift a fraction.
“The place is breathtaking,” I say, aiming for polite and landing somewhere near strangled. My mission brain kicks in:Get close. Observe. Look for an opening.“The water is incredible.”
“Isn’t it?” Blake snakes an arm around me. Scarlett clocks it. My stomach twists like a vise under her stare. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
"Scarlett." West's voice cuts through my spiral. He's suddenly there, solid and immovable at my shoulder.
“West.” Scarlett’s smile doesn’t waver, but something flickers behind her eyes. Surprise. Irritation. Maybe both.
Natalie, radiant and oblivious, joins us with her bridesmaids. “What did we miss?”
"We were just talking," Scarlett says lightly, her voice honey-sweet, "about how weddings like this attract so much attention. From all sorts of people."
Her gaze slides over me.
"Men like Blake and West—they're used to being pursued. By women who don't always understand the... context."
The other bridesmaids have gone quiet. Merritt looks uncomfortable. Katelyn is suddenly very interested in her phone.
"Context?" I echo.
"Just that there will always be women who don't realize they're just a fast-food craving—not a meal worth savoring." Scarlett's smile doesn't waver. "Greasy fast-food burgers versus filet mignon, if you will."
Natalie's eyes widen. "Scarlett—"
The insult lands like a well-aimed dart.Fast. Cheap. Unrefined.
Positioning herself as the sophisticated, high-value experience Blake and West deserve, while I’m the trashy, disposable distraction. The McDonald’s to her Michelin star.
This is the hierarchy she believes in. Disposable versus chosen.
And she’s saying ithere—
In front of Natalie.
With Blake standing right beside her, letting it happen.
The realization hits harder than the insult.
It’s not just cruelty—it’s ownership. A woman so comfortable in her position as the mistress, she can sneer at other women in public and expect the bride to swallow it with a smile.
Something sharp twists in my chest. Not jealousy. Not embarrassment.
Anger.
