“That's the way to the exercise room and the sauna,” I call out. She either can't hear me over the wheels or ignores me entirely, and flings open the door.
“Hey. Down here.” Remy waves his arms over his head. “There's a problem with Damien's tux. Mom needs to fix it. You should come give moral support. You’re the only one in the family who’s ever worn a tux.”
I sigh. “Maybe you two should handle this yourselves. He's your twin. I've got calls to make before tonight's party. Some of us work for a living.”
I love razzing Remy about work. He spends his days on the water as a fishing charter captain. A dang good one, too.
“Max, come on. Damien needs you. He's freaking out. This is his wedding weekend. Try not to be a jerk, okay?” Remy puts his hands on his hips.
“Fine. I'll be there in thirty. Gotta shower.” Of course my little twin brothers wouldn't know how to wear a tux. One's spent his life fighting fires and the other on a boat.
Sighing, I turn and slide open the glass door to my room. I'm staying here at the resort rather than at home — our actual family home is a couple of miles away, in the town of Cypress Grove — because six weeks ago I figured I should be on-site to keep an eye on the renovations. Smart in theory. Lesssmart when the renovations move at a pace that would frustrate molasses.
I pull off my shirt and drop it on the sofa. Take off my undershirt. Undo my belt. Kick off my shoes. This suite is my home for another month, maybe two, and it's comfortingly familiar — I spent my entire childhood on this property, going back and forth from our home in downtown Cypress Grove. I mowed the lawn here as a kid, back when Magnolia Grand were nothing more than an outpost for offbeat hippie travelers. Now the whole area is a luxury destination, and it's my job to take this place to an even higher standard in preparation of the sale.
I pick up my phone and scroll through emails in my boxer-briefs, pecking out a few terse responses before I hop in the shower.
I’m working on a Facebook post using a photo I’d stopped to take on the drive back — the afternoon light on the Starlight River through the cypress trees, that specific gold-green glow you only get in central Florida. I’d meant to pull over for thirty seconds. I stood there for nearly ten minutes before I noticed. Good light. That’s all it was, a photo to go with a post to let all my buddies from high school know I was in town.
I hear a click and the door to my suite opens a few inches.
What the what? I look up, alarmed. Hasn't anyone trained the new housekeeping staff to knock? One more thing to deal with. And didn't I put the do not disturb sign on the doorknob?
“I don't need room service, thanks.” It's a big, airy suite and the door is far enough away that I have to raise my voice.
A hand shoves a beat-up black suitcase through the doorway. The suitcase tips over, and the door bangs into the handle. A gold-sandaled foot shoves it open.
I freeze, phone in hand.
