Candy lifted her glass and didn’t drink. Her smile trembled, then steadied. Torie noticed.
“Let the lady with the notebook ask one,” Lorenzo said, nodding at Harmony. “Restrained ones make the best sinners.”
Harmony felt the table’s attention settle on her—an audience she didn’t want but wasn’t willing to refuse. Something else pressed in from farther away, sharper. In the corner of her eye, she caught Ciscel’s profile, head tipped just enough to show he was listening without wanting anyone to know he was. He didn’t look at her directly. People like him were used to catching the important pieces from the edge of the frame.
“Never have I ever used someone else’s pain as entertainment,” she said in a low voice.
Cass gasped.
Candy’s smile faltered.
Tosh’s grin thinned.
Zach watched Harmony with an unreadable expression, some strange mix of curiosity, concern, and warning.
Lorenzo’s eyes warmed in approval.
For a breath, it felt like the island itself paused. None of them were ready to end the game, though. They all seemed built for this line, where danger and performance blurred together.
“Your turn, maestro,” Tosh told Lorenzo.
Lorenzo leaned in on his forearms, the bar becoming a prayer rail. “Never have I ever kissed someone to make another bleed.”
A small, rough laugh escaped Candy. It wasn’t joy. “That’s not fair. It’s Catalina. Everyone needs to let go and have a little fun.”
Several glasses rose.
Torie didn’t drink. She looked at Candy like she could peel her.
“Round two,” Lorenzo said.
“Never have I ever,” Candy purred, eyes on Tosh, “wanted something I couldn’t keep.”
“Things aren’t meant to be kept,” Tosh said. “They’re meant to be enjoyed.”
“Objects are,” Torie hissed. “People aren’tthings.”
“You keep trying to be both,” Candy replied, sweet as poison.
The laughter that followed had an edge. Lorenzo cut it off with a small bell tap that only the regulars recognized—a sound that said the captain had stepped onto the deck, and the sea just got interesting.
“Door,” he said.
Every head turned.
Perfume and sharpened intent entered the room.
Janie swept in like trouble dressed in lipstick and silk, scanning the room with predatory precision.
“Zach,” she purred, walking straight toward him.
Before anyone could blink, she slid onto his lap and kissed him—slow, public, deliberate.
Zach didn’t touch her. He didn’t pull her closer or push her away. His hands stayed flat on the table, knuckles pale.
Harmony watched, her stomach dropping, sharp and unexpected. It wasn’t quite jealousy. That didn’t even make sense enough to name. But something in her was screamingnotice this, pinning the moment to a bulletin board in her mind. Was he a man very practiced at not revealing what he felt—or someone who lived his life in restraint?
Janie pulled back, eyes bright. “Miss me?”
