Kelli flipped around the tablet, showing off the folder of collected photos that would become our party. Our group took up space next to the pool, sipping lemonade and lounging in our bathing suits.
“Love it.”
“So pretty.”
“It’ll be great,” I chimed in.
“You don’t have to take on this much,” Ivy said. “Sourcing all the decorations is a big job. I assumed you’d hook up with a party planner.”
“I don’t mind,” Kelli replied. “I actually love this stuff. I help my mom plan our Christmas parties. We do a different theme every year.”
My first week was drawing to a close and the routine of this place was settling in.
Breakfast first. Then an hour working on our special projects. Event planning for the ladies and budget planning for the guys.
Turns out young, rich, brash pretty boys who don’t meet with consequences, tend to blow through their trust funds faster than I finish a carton of chocolate peanut butter swirl.
Who knew?
Hendrix had them researching rent prices, the costs of employing a household staff, and the price of replacing your wardrobe every season.
If I have a million dollars in my trust fund and I buy two private jets and an island, how many days until I’m begging Daddy for new credit cards?
Special projects wrapped up and we either moved on to discussing our hopes and fears for marriage with a counselor that came in from town, or we had what I called “lady lessons” with Rosalie.
Then we had lunch and prepped ourselves for the group activity that ended in one-on-one time.
The day before, we took the boats and went snorkeling. Rosalie paired us off and set us loose on the ocean. Asher and I didn’t get much talking in, but we did have a good time pointing out colorful fish and testing how far down we could go.
We finished our days on our own terms. Swimming. Hanging out. Catching alone time with the guy or girl that caught our attention. Or in my case, wrangling with the decision to marry Nathan.
It may not have been my responsibility to save them, but that reminder wasn’t moving me. I imagined Vanessa trapped in that mansion and it squeezed the breath out of me.
Plus, Carter hadn’t called joke. If Carter was going to propose to me whether I like it or not, this was my chance to turn the marriage I didn’t want into something good. Funding Vanessa’s new life was infinitely better than funding Carter’s apartment in Seoul or a French chateau.
“It’ll look amazing, Kelli,” Delilah said. “What about you, Belle? Who’d you get to do the music?”
The question roused me. “Huh? Oh, I haven’t looked for anyone yet. It’s been three days.”
She scoffed with more disgust than I thought necessary. It had also been three days since Preston and I had our not-a-date. We kissed, but after that, the two of us just hung out watching movies, talking, and eating popcorn. If I had thoughts of taking it farther, they popped when Nathan wandered in and joined us. Considering what I had already done with her soon-to-be fiancé, one night goofing off wasn’t so scandalous.
“Rosalie said we could schedule the party for whichever night we choose. We were thinking the Friday after next.”
“No one told me that’s what we’re thinking.”
She flashed a tight smile. “Now you know.”
“Whatever. I’ll start looking up local bands tonight.”
My phone buzzed in my lap. I flipped it over and my heart jumped in my throat.
Unknown number.
Three days. Mal tracked my new number down that fast? How?!
Cotton stuffed my ears, reducing the girls to muted, buzzing noise. I tapped open.
555-4275: The old man won’t pay the full amount until after the wedding. We’ll have to keep it small, but I’ll shell out for the honeymoon. What do you think of a June wedding? I envision you as a summer bride.
I read it once. Twice. A third time. Each read deepened my confusion.
Old man?
Mal’s father was dead. Plus, he left him with plenty of money to afford fifty weddings.
Me: Who the hell is this?
555-4275: Your fiancé. Who else would it be?
555-4275: While we’re on the subject, the whole bride-wears-white thing is played out. Let’s flip it. I’ll wear a white suit and you wear a black dress.
Me: How did you get my number?
Carter: Got it off Nathan.
Me: How did he get it?
Carter: Got it off Zion.
Me: Delete it from your phone.
Me: Now.
Carter: Be kinda hard to plan a wedding if I did. Belize or Paris for the honeymoon.
Me: I suggest you save that money and pour it into the therapy you so desperately need. You have some serious issues, my friend.
His reply came back almost instantly.
Carter: I do have issues. The funny thing is they can all be traced back to May 12th. Seven years ago. Think that’s a coincidence?
I slammed my phone down, pulse racing. I knew I was the worst kind of monster for what I did to Carter that day. If his mission was to make sure I never forget it, he could save himself the energy. In the last seven years, I thought of that trip into the woods every single day.
My phone buzzed some more. I ignored it for the time being. Carter could continue his tormenting of me later.
“Last, food,” Delilah said. “Hazel, did you find a caterer?”
“I found the best one on the island and then Ivy popped my dream of hiring her. Our budget is too small for a full-service operation,” she said. “Instead, I’ll contact the local bakeries on who can give a good deal on Queen of Hearts cupcakes. We’ll keep the meal simple. Three courses. A light salad. Chicken, beef, or vegetarian for the main. Cupcakes and a signature drink for dessert. Something red.”
“Perfect. Give me the list of who to book by Sunday and I’ll get it done. Can’t wait to tell my future mother-in-law that we’re the first to crush our project.” She winked at me.
On that note, it was time to go.
We packed up our stuff and went upstairs to change. It was time for our lady lessons.
“Now, how many of you attended etiquette class?”
Everyone’s hand went up—even mine. You don’t get out of that kind of stuff when your mother is the dame.
Lady lessons were held in the dining room that day. Eighteen girls in semiformal wear occupied one grand table. I didn’t know what the boys were off doing but I wanted to switch places with them all the same. One perk was it looked like we were having lunch early. The server placed a bowl of shrimp salad on my charger and filled my glass with apple cider.
“Excellent.” Rosalie circled the table. “None of this will seem strange or foreign to you.”
“It seemed plenty strange and foreign the first time,” Mila mumbled. She sat across from me. “Who takes etiquette lessons in this century—besides us?”
I snorted. “Tell me about it.”
Mila started like she didn’t know I was listening. She saw my grin and winked.
“Shh,” Delilah hissed. Why she took the seat next to me I had no clue.
“What they may not have told you is there are a whole other set of rules when you go from a me to a we,” said Rosalie.
“Yay,” I deadpanned.
Mila and I stifled a laugh.
“For example,” she continued, “when you introduce yourself as a family, you start with the oldest member first. Introduce your grandfather before you introduce your father and both of them before your son.