“Yes! I was so jealous. I shouldn’t complain, though—one family brought me down to Florida for a few days.” Natalie paused for dramatic effect. “Though I did need to fly with the horse.”
“I’m sorry, what? With thehorse?”
“Yup. The family was already down there, but they needed to transport the daughter’s horse for an equestrian competition. I guess they figured since they were already chartering a plane, I might as well tag along. But it wasn’t exactly the private plane experience I’d imagined. It was just the pilot, a groom, the horse, and me. I sat in a tiny jump seat next to a pile of hay.”
“You poor thing,” Susan said with a laugh. “That’s quite an image. It’d make a great scene in a novel. I’ve always wanted to read a book set in that world—sort of aNanny Diariesfor private tutors.”
Natalie’s heart lurched. That wasexactlyhow she’d been describing her novel, a fictionalized account of her tutoring misadventures.
Tell her!an urgent voice shouted inside her head.This is your big chance!
But wasn’t it bad form to pitch an editor on her personal time—when she was on vacation, no less? And what if Susan thought Natalie had manufactured this run-in like some kind of stalker? Worse still, what if she agreed to read the manuscript as a favor only to decide that Natalie was a delusional hack? The thought of someone like Susan Denver laughing at Natalie’s writing was enough to make her physically ill.
“I’d better get a move on,” Susan said. “They stop serving breakfast in five minutes. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too.” It was only when the older woman walked off that Natalie realized she’d never even told Susan her name.Typical, she thought. She was the queen of missed opportunities; it was the story of her life.
CHAPTER SIXOlivia
Olivia usually sprinted for the final quarter mile of her shorter runs, but today she slowed to a walk as she emerged from the woods and turned onto the path that led into town. She could normally power through a hangover, but her brain felt heavier than her limbs. Nothing threw Olivia off-kilter like plans falling apart. She’d spent so long imagining this perfect weekend: Lulu, blissful and beaming, surrounded by loved ones, secure in the knowledge that her younger daughter was happy and settled. Olivia, cradled in Andrew’s arms on the dance floor, feeling almost like a bride herself: Beautiful. Loved.Chosen.
How had everything gone pear-shaped so quickly, with Andrew producing a date seemingly out of thin air, and Marigoldflying back to New Yorkthe day of her rehearsal dinner. Olivia wasn’t sure which of these scenarios seemed stranger. At least the second conundrum was something she could investigate—she’d already asked her paralegal to look into the logistics. But shecouldn’t exactly text Andrew and ask,Did I really just imagine our chemistry the other night? What the hell did you mean when you said “maybe we can pick up where we left off in Maine”?
Instead of heading back to the inn, she made her way onto the small public beach down the hill, one of the only sandy stretches on the otherwise rocky island. Olivia’s family usually avoided it—they came to Maine to escape the crowds—but Olivia often stopped here to stretch after a run. She liked watching fearless little kids play in the frigid surf—tiny, hearty New Englanders who didn’t care that the water was rarely warmer than fifty-eight degrees.
Olivia placed her heel on a bench, pulled out her phone, then let out a small gasp that had nothing to do with her protesting hamstring.
Correct, her paralegal, Carly, had texted.You do not need a birth certificate to get married in the state of Maine.
Olivia knew something about the situation smelled fishy. Either wedding planning had broken Marigold’s brain, or she was hiding something.
Of course, erratic behavior was part of her sister’s brand—whether that meant wandering around the Met barefoot because her painful shoes “distracted her from the art,” trying to liberate a sad-looking snake from a pet store, or jumping into a hotel pool while wearing a borrowed designer gown. Actions that would signal mental instability in everyone but pretty, rich white women. But this was something else.
Did Marigold have cold feet? The idea of settling down with one person, forever, would be daunting to anyone, but especially to someone like Marigold. Committing to anail polish shadecould be overwhelming for her. Was she really ready to commit to one person for the rest of her life?
But running off like this—this wasn’t just nerves. Something was wrong.
Olivia pictured what came next: the worried whispers spreading through the guests. Jonathan retreating into his cool, detached doctor persona—the mode he always adopted in a crisis—but unable to disguise the panic in his eyes. And Lulu, who’d been looking forward to the magical weekend that might now end in heartbreak instead.
If Marigold wanted to call off the wedding, that was one thing. (Well, not ideal, but better than making a mistake.) But Olivia couldn’t just let her sister disappear like this. She had to find her. Help her. Fix this—somehow.
Olivia clicked on her favorites and called Marigold. Naturally, it went to voicemail. She couldn’t remember the last time her sister had actually picked up.Call me, Olivia texted, then followed that up with,Whatever’s going on, I can help you.
The next time she looked at her phone, Marigold’s status had been set to “do not disturb.”
“Oh, for the love of god,” Olivia grumbled. Why couldn’tshebe the one getting married? Why couldn’t she be the one whose wedding gave their mother the gift of one perfect weekend? One last chance to be surrounded by friends and family before…
You don’t need your birth certificate!!Olivia’s fingers pounded on the screen, leaving sweaty smudges behind. Then she pressed “notify anyway.” Fine. If Marigold was ignoring her, then Olivia would just need to outsmart her. Even if shewasrunning away, she’d likely still be headed for the airport. Marigold didn’t like to drive, and it was nearly impossible to book a same-day rental car during the high season. So all Olivia needed to do was interceptMarigold before she got into a taxi on the mainland. With a weary sigh, she shoved her phone into her pocket and broke into a run. If she went straight to her family’s boat, she should be able to catch up with the ferry.
She sped up, ignoring the protest from the muscles she’d already exhausted earlier that morning, and headed to the nearby marina, where she’d left the boat yesterday after dropping some of the guests at the inn. She ran down the pier, her sneakers slapping against the wooden boards in a rhythm she knew well from the countless miles she’d clocked jogging around the island. She skirted around a group of cotton-candy-eating tweens, squeaked to a stop at the end of the pier, and began to untie the knot securing the boat to the mooring.
“Where’s the fire?”
She whipped around to Jonathan’s best man, Zack, smiling at her from a weathered gray bench, a dog-eared paperback copy ofThe House of Mirthopen in his lap.
Olivia groaned. Shereallydidn’t have time for this right now. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, unwrapping the damp, prickly rope and then hopping into the boat before it could drift too far from the dock. “As you were.” She pulled her keys from the pocket of her jogging shorts, found the spare boat key, and started the motor.
“Everything okay?” Zack asked, rising from the bench.
