“Oh, my goodness,” I mutter. “If one more person brings up poultry, I’m throwing myself in the koi pond.”
As if on cue, the koi pond gurgles behind me, with lights from the lanterns strung up above shimmering across the water. I swear the fish look nervous. Maybe they know something we don’t.
The night unravels fast with guests double-fisting mai tais, Halea draped over every man here like a cheap lei, Candy live-streaming the whole thing to her two trillionfollowers, and Erwin sneaking glances at Halea that scream affair incoming.
Ruby fans herself with her hand. “Jinx, honey, this week is going to kill you.”
“Not if it kills one of them first,” I mutter.
She gives a wicked laugh, and her eyes sparkle in the tiki light. “Now that’s the spirit.”
I grab a mai tai from a passing tray and drain half of it in one gulp. The rum scorches my throat, the perfume from the nearby plumerias makes me dizzy, and the cats have now commandeered the poke table. I can’t blame them. The sushi is delicious.
One week of this circus. Seven nights of orchids, hashtags, and family dysfunction.
Heaven help me.
Because if this kickoff luau is any indication, the only thing guaranteed by the end of this week is that somebody’s going to end up lei’d to rest.
CHAPTER 3
TheLove in Paradise Luauis in full swing, and I’m wondering if it’s too late to fake my own death and assume a new identity in the witness protection program. The tiki torches are blazing, the trade winds are doing their best to turn my hair into a tropical storm warning, and somewhere in the distance, the hired cover band is murdering every classic Hawaiian song ever written with what they’re generously calling a contemporary twist.
I grab another mai tai from a passing server and steel myself for mingling with the enemy. Time to work the crowd and pretend I’m delighted to be hosting my ex-husband’s wedding to a woman who makes Barbie look intellectually complex.
“Jinx!” Candy practically launches herself at me, ring light in one hand, phone in the other, it defies human anatomy. “This is absolutely perfect! The ambiance, the Hawaiian vibes—my followers are going to die to see this!”
“Let’s hope nobody actually dies,” I say. “But I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Enjoying myself? I’m living my best life!” She spins in a circle, her glittery dress catching the tiki torch flames like it’s having an anxiety attack. “This is exactly the kind of magical island energy I want to share with my two million followers!”
At this point, I should turn the wordstwo million followersinto a drinking game. And on that note, I drain my mai tai.
I’m saved from responding by Erwin approaching with his trademark nervous shuffle, sweat beading on his forehead despite the evening breeze. I hope the humidity finishes him off.
“Jinx,” he says, raising his mai tai with a smug little smile. “I have to say, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. Although I suppose when you’re desperate for bookings, you’ll take any event that comes along.”
“How thoughtful of you to notice,” I reply through clenched teeth. “I’m so glad my business struggles amuse you.”
“Oh, come on,” he continues, clearly enjoying himself. “You have to admit, it’s ironic. Me getting married at your little... what do you call this place again? Paradise resort?” He chuckles as if he’s made the world’s funniest joke. “I mean, if you’d put this much effort into our marriage, maybe things would have turned out differently.”
I gasp and draw back my fist in an effort to deck him.
“Now don’t get frisky—” he starts, but Candy grabs his arm before he can finish.
“Baby, we need to get some golden hour shots before the lighting changes.” She pulls him toward the beach with that ridiculous light of hers held high like a beacon of influencer desperation.
“Someone should put that poor man out of his misery,” Ruby says, appearing at my side with a plate piled high with coconut shrimp deep-fried to perfection. “He looks like he’s attending his own execution.”
She’s lying to make me feel better. And I’m sure if Lani wasn’t running herself ragged with the rest of the kitchen staff, tending to the extravagant buffet, she would lie to my face, too. Ruby and Lani really are the best friends a girl could ask for.
“Maybe heisattending his own execution,” I say, watching them pose against the sunset while Alana directs the photo shoot with the aggression of a perfectionist having a breakdown.
And I have a feeling it’s the first of many breakdowns to come—the bulk of which will be mine.
Speaking of Alana, she turns and lectures one of the servers about the cultural relevance of the tiki torches.
“We need to ensure the aesthetic reads as luxurious tropical paradise, not anthropological museum,” she says with her clipboard in hand, her designer sunglasses perched on her head despite the dimming light. Her short dark hair isslicked back, and she’s clad in black yet again for the festivities.
