But then my phone buzzes, reminding me that I’m supposed to be meeting with Moira right now. And I'm late.
Even if I had time to ask Beckett about this right now, I’m pretty sure he wouldn't give me any answers. And… It’s probably nothing, right?
I shove my phone into my pocket and shift gears to the wedding rehearsal details I need to iron out today. And yet, I can’t leave the unease behind.
Heaviness, but also disorientation.
Like I’m missing something. And maybe I’m going about this all wrong.
Because I know I hurt him.
But he hurt me first. And I can’t erase months of distance just because he’s here now, finally, acting like he wants to work things out.
Can I?
RUMORS
ASHLEY
“That was a virgin, right?”
Luna’s voice drifts lazily from the chaise beside mine. We’ve found a spot one level up from the pool, quieter, by the long glass rail that looks over the ocean as we sail south.
The question comes out of nowhere and, I have to admit, I have no idea what she could possibly be talking about.
I slide my sunglasses down to squint at her. “Who’s a virgin?”
“Not ‘who’. The margarita. The one Beckett brought you yesterday.” She takes another sip, pineapples and cherries tilting toward her face. “It was virgin, wasn’t it?”
“Why would I drink a virgin margarita?”
She shrugs, a little too innocently, and I’m instantly suspicious.
Her lips pull into a little smile. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“What secret?” My scowl deepens.
She opens her mouth, closes it again, and then, deliberately, places her hand over her belly. “You don’t have to hide it from me—that you’re pregnant,” she stage-whispers. “Josie told me last night.”
“Josie?”
“You know, Josie with the nose for news? She and Babs overheard you and Beckett talking about it at the welcome party yesterday.”
She is so wrong.
“That isnotwhat we were talking about.”
Luna leans back, smug as a cat in the sun. “Sure. And I’ll play along. I’m not mad, Ash. I think it’s sweet. The fact that you’d keep it on the downlow for my wedding.” She kicks her feet a little, like she can’t keep it in. “But I’m also so excited!”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Okay,” she singsongs, wiggling her toes now, the red polish a perfect contrast to her bright yellow swimsuit. “Not pregnant. Got it.”
I flop back in my chair. “I’m serious, Luna. I’m not pregnant.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Stop that!”
