“Is the medium good-looking?” Jo said in a stage whisper.
Ocean snorted.
“Thanks for the advice,” I managed to say.
“I can schedule him for next week.”
“Oh, no!” Jo put in, theatrically wounded. “That doesn’t give me much time to vent my anger...or my frustration.”
Good thing the agent couldn’t hear her voice. “That won’t be necessary,” I said.
“I’m serious about this, Skye. The market is hot. You don’t want to miss the window.”
Jo was all mischievous threat now. “She needs to come by, so I can really scare the living daylights out of her.”
Ocean dissolved into stitches. Once Jo had an audience, she didn’t stop. I should have scolded them both for turning my life into a vaudeville act while a realtor tried to run a sale, but their laughter was contagious and, God help me, I was enjoying it.
“How about next Monday?” Karen pressed, practical and unaware of the spectral circus unfolding in my living room.
“No, Karen. I’m good for now. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
“Do it soon or?—”
“I’ll call you when I’m ready,” I repeated, sharper this time, and ended the call before she could squeeze in another warning note about the real estate market.
By then, Ocean and Jo were in their own world, giggling, tossing out increasingly absurd scenarios about how Jo might terrify prospective buyers. Chains rattling, light bulbs exploding, dramatic moaning through the air vents. The two of them were positively gleeful, and I let myself sit back and watch them.
And in that moment, I realized how unfair I’d been, trying to keep them apart. They were both having the time of their lives, and who was I to stand in the way of that…no matter what the future held for us?
“Okay,” I finally said, cutting in. “What are we doing today?”
“How about shopping? You promised me,” Ocean announced, in her head already halfway out the door.
Jo flopped back dramatically. “Fine, go have fun. I’ll just be here, trying to accessorize with the requisite ghostly cobwebs.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ocean
* * *
“This is the last time I’m picking up after you in our room, young woman,” Jo scolded, half in jest. “Although, I have to say, you are doing reasonably better.”
She vanished a moment later.
Skye had to pop over to Arthur’s to drop something off before they could head out. While Ocean waited, she pulled out her phone and started scrolling. Ivy was posting the usual—coffee cups, random selfies, and good-looking shirtless guys by the pool. Same old, same old. Ocean barely paid attention. What she really wanted to check on was what her dad was up to.
Rhys Stark. His own feed was still nothing but headshots, like he thought the world needed twenty different versions of the same smug face. But the hashtag search? A whole different story.
Ocean’s stomach twisted as the posts loaded. Her dad, poolside, with some blond practically glued onto his lap. A grinning selfie with two women kissing his cheeks. And then—ugh—one shot he clearly didn’t even know about, his hand parked on some girl’s ass as they walked away.
She groaned, loud and frustrated. Her dad had the brainpower of a bag of rocks, but maybe part of the problem was her mom. How could Skye not see it? Clearly, Rhys had already moved on. Checked out. Gone. Their marriage was toast, and for some ridiculous reason, Skye still acted like she had something to hang on to. Like pretending would make it all better.
Her thumb kept scrolling. “Gross.”
There it was. The worst. Him full-on tongue-kissing the lead actress in the movie they were filming. She didn’t look much older than Ocean.
Skye wasn’t on social media. For half a second, Ocean thought maybe she should just show her the pictures. Let her see for herself. She had to know. All their fights, at least the ones she’d overheard, were about money and time. But this? This was so much worse.
