Mrs. Tisdale nods. "It really is. However, we wanted to speak to you about something."
Adrenaline floods my veins at her inscrutable tone. Then Mr. Tisdale settles a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“If there are, uh, any issues with your accommodations, I’d be happy to address them,” I say, shifting into customer service mode while praying this has nothing to do with Blair.
“It’s about Blair,” Papa Tisdale says quietly.
Fuck. Did she say something to them? Is their parental intuition kicking in? Do they know?
Papa Tisdale looks over his shoulder, then glances around the pool area, presumably looking for Blair. Seemingly satisfied that she isn’t within earshot, he goes on, “She mentioned to us that she’d met someone here.”
My stomach drops. “Really?” I choke out. “Who?”
“She wouldn’t say,” Mrs. Tisdale sighs. “But my odds are on Ted Polansky. I saw them on the beach the other morning, walking arm in arm. And she’s been positively glowing lately.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, ignoring the tug in my chest.
Mr. Tisdale smiles broadly. “Your agency did a great job picking him out. Blair’s such a huge baseball fan, it’s a perfect match. Not that her options aren’t still open.”
Ted Polansky. Of course. It makes sense. The guy isnice. Not to mention financially comfortable, easygoing, family oriented. He can offer Blair all the happiness she deserves.
“And you know what’s so funny?” Mrs. Tisdale goes on. “All those diamonds he could afford to buy her, and it’s a letter bracelet she’s all starry-eyed over! Some cheap souvenir. She barely takes it off.”
The two of them exchange smiles, and I make myself join in. But inside, I’m in full-blown panic mode. This is exactly what I was worried about. Blair is clearly way too attached. She cannot,cannotbe allowed to have feelings for me. A casual fling with no strings attached is one thing, but it can’t mean more than that. Blair Tisdale is here at the resort for one reason: to be matched to a suitable bachelor.
I have to salvage this. Fast. Get her to walk away from me so she can get back on track to meet the love of her life and live happily ever after.
But there’s only one way I can think of to do it.
In order to save this match, I’ll have to break her heart.
20
BLAIR
The air isalive with excitement.
My skin lights with goosebumps as I immerse myself in the Junkanoo. There is color everywhere: magenta, neon green, sunflower yellow, turquoise and cobalt and fiery orange. The performers in the parade are dressed in vibrant costumes of feathers, glitter, wings, and elaborate headdresses and sparkling chest pieces. Wrists and ankles are adorned with bells that jingle loudly as the dancers show off their routines in time with the music. I’m thrilled to be able to celebrate the island’s culture this way, right alongside the locals.
To my absolute surprise and delight, my mother seems to be enjoying herself as well. When I had suggested she join me, she initially hesitated. "Didn't Ted Polansky ask you to accompany him?"
He must've mentioned it when he joined them for breakfast the other morning. "We never made concrete plans,” I had told her. “I’d rather go with you. Unless you want to spend all day golfing with Dad again? But you and I haven’t really had a girls’ day, just the two of us, in so long.”
Her face had brightened immediately. "Of course I’ll go with you. I'm sure we’ll catch up with Ted somewhere at the festival anyway."
I honestly don’t care if we see Ted or not, but I didn’t let her know that. Truthfully, I was more excited at the prospect of running into Sebastian during the parade.
Now that I’m here, I can’t stop scanning the crowd, hoping to see his face. He’s bound to be attending. He can't own a resort that overlooks the main street where the parade route is and not participate.
And when I do spot him, I know he won’t be able to miss me. In preparation for the festival, I went to a small local boutique and chose a flirty two-piece outfit. The bright pink halter top matches the polish on my fingers and toes, and the body-hugging canary yellow skirt has three layers of ruffles that sway with every step. I took extra time curling my hair and then spritzed it with smoothing serum, so the long curls flow down my back and bounce when I walk.
The ensemble is a little over the top, but it fits the theme, and it feels good to be another bright spot in the crowd. My mother—in her linen dress and sensible flats—hasn’t said a word about my sartorial choices, another pleasant surprise.
She walks easily beside me as we nibble on the conch fritters and sip the switcha we bought from one of the street vendors.
“Gosh, these are good,” Mom says, handing the paper carton of fritters back to me.
“See? I told you it was worth trying them,” I gloat.
