Chapter 1
ONE
Less than an hour before one of my former classmates dropped dead on the dance floor, I was counting down the minutes until I could leave my ten-year high school reunion.
Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” sounded through the speakers in the Primrose Ballroom at the Rose Palace as I took another sip of my carbonated water with lime.
The singer wasn’t Swift though; it was Jemma Jenkins, in between off-off-Broadway productions.
She’d been hired this evening as the lead for the live band at the Aubergine High School Reunion.
Former beauty pageant contestant Jemma Jenkins was impressive up there, belting out the decade-old song while my classmates danced and colorful lights flashed in time to the beat, transforming the stately ballroom into something that looked more like a school gym.
I had the sense of worlds colliding: twenty-eight-year-old me merging with my eighteen-year-old self.
For the décor, my best friend Lacy had leaned into the rose motif of the estate as well as the Halloween season.
A strange combo, but she’d delivered—and on a budget.
I’d been surprised that Savilla Finch, now the official owner of the sprawling Rose Palace, knew the word “budget,” but the end result was gourds and pumpkins at every table and giant paper-mache marigolds, roses, and tulips hanging from the vaulted ceiling until they hovered nine feet off the ground.
Branches and autumn leaves lined the stage, and swaths of dark green tulle were interspersed with white lights, creating the effect of a field of wildflowers filled with fireflies.
Seventy-two of us had graduated ten years ago, and I would estimate, based on the ratio of people on the dance floor to the number of spiked punch bowls, about fifty of us had returned for the reunion party at the Rose Palace.
“Wine?” A man’s voice spoke beside me, and I looked up from where I was seated to see Joe Larson.
Joe was the guy who’d dropped out of college after one semester—or been kicked out, it was unclear—and he made a living by doing odd jobs around town.
He’d been a security guard at the pageant this summer, though that hadn’t prevented a dead body from turning up, and he was catering the shindig tonight.
After the centennial pageant had been put on hiatus, Aunt DeeDee, former queen and long-time coordinator, had flailed, wondering what to do with her life for all of a week before deciding to give her time to helping young Aubergine entrepreneurs.
As one of her projects, she’d taken security guard Joe under her wing, and she was teaching him the ropes of small business ownership.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?” I asked, looking around for Aunt DeeDee. He’d better not be shirking his duties and making her do all the grunt work.
“Nice to see you too,” he said, with a tight grin.
“The bartender called in sick last minute, so after working in the kitchen all day with your aunt, I’m on duty.
” He extended the tray of drinks he was holding.
“Wine? Or the featured drink? It’s called an Aubergine Thresher.
One part vodka, one part gin, two parts grape soda, and a sprig of rhubarb. ”
“That sounds disgusting.”
Joe shrugged as if it wasn’t his decision and kept the tray steady in front of me. I relented and selected the red wine.
I held up the plastic cup. “No crystal goblet?”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” Joe leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Brett’s footing half the bill for this party, and he’s cheap, that son of a bitch. Wouldn’t even spring for name-brand Fanta.”
Joe wasn’t wrong to call him that, but I couldn’t tell if he meant it as a term of endearment or condemnation.
His eyes trailed to Brett Brinkley, the man of the hour who was laughing and flirting and dancing like a man who’d fulfilled his senior class prediction of Mr. Most Likely to Succeed.
There was something in Joe’s expression that I couldn’t quite read.
Bitterness? Envy? Disdain? Brett had become a household name after winning a reality dating show, and I did recall hearing someone say at a graduation party ages ago that Joe wanted to be an actor.
Perhaps he was jealous of our former classmate’s success.
He raised an eyebrow before continuing to circulate.
I leaned forward, perching my chin on the base of my palm.
One hour, that’s what I’d promised Lacy.
Then, I could flee the ballroom and meet Charlie after his shift.
I only had three days in town, hardly enough time to see the people I loved, attend Mr. Finch’s will reading, and figure out what I would do after finishing vet school.
This reunion was the lowest priority on my list.
My watch’s second hand was barely moving—forty-one minutes to go.
I looked around the room and noticed a sign hanging above the stage.
It read Let’s Hear You Scream, Class of 2015 and featured a caricature of our school’s farmer mascot.
Decades ago the mascot had been an actual eggplant—the crop from which Aubergine once got its name—so, all things considered, an agricultural icon holding a pitchfork was a move in the less phallic direction.
Surveying my half-drunk peers on the dance floor was a good distraction at first, but it made me realize that, even after ten years, I still cared what the people here tonight thought about me.
I could almost hear former Homecoming Queen Becky Jones asking me what I was doing now and me responding, Sometimes I get to express a dog’s anal gland.
A few yards in front of me was Lacy, rocking out with her high school sweetheart while a professional camera crew captured them from various angles.
I’d heard that Brett was trying to sell a new show about life with the woman he’d wooed in front of a national audience—but that’s not what the cameras were currently filming.
Lacy’s boyfriend Anton stood at the edge of the dance floor watching her dance far too close to Brett Brinkley.
After a minute or two, the upbeat song ended, and Lacy, glistening, came over with a drink and a handful of gummy bears that she’d swiped from the abundant snack table laden with candy corn, Mike & Ikes, cherry sours, and M&Ms of every kind.
Catered canapés and crudités were also circling the room, but we both preferred the cheap, sugary stuff.
She pasted on a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and offered the handful to me.
I picked out the yellow and green bears and popped them in my mouth.
A new song began to play, one I vaguely recognized. Cheers went up around the room, and people started lifting hands in Brett’s direction, singing along.
“What song is this?” I shouted into Lacy’s ear.
“‘The One That Got Away,’” Lacy called back, eyebrows knit in concern. “Brett recorded it. Remember?”
I listened for a few more seconds, and the melody started to come back to me. I even recalled having a lively discussion one time with Lacy about whether or not the popular song was about her. I certainly hoped not. “Is this the one that goes, ‘She was the hottie who made me wanna be naughty?’”
“That’s the OG version. I heard he had to change the lyrics to get more radio play.
Apparently his manager thought the line might be too sexist, and that he should go for a more brooding, wholesome kind of love song.
Listen.” Lacy pointed a finger in the air, and instead of the lyrics I’d just quoted, Brett’s voice crooned, “She was the mind who made me wanna find… myself.”
“Great rhyme,” I said, with a hint of sarcasm.
“Did you see his girlfriend?” Lacy asked as she nodded toward the other side of the dance floor.
I followed the direction of her eyes to where Savilla, wearing a belted, one-shoulder, deep purple midi dress and matching ankle boots, stood speaking to a fashionably dressed woman in tight black pants, a fuzzy gray jacket, and stilettos.
Even I, who considered most of pop culture a mindless wasteland, had recognized her immediately when I’d arrived tonight.
At the door, Savilla had introduced the two of us, and we’d all exchanged a few sentences of pleasantries before I’d excused myself to find my table and begin the countdown.
I hadn’t needed the introduction because Brett’s girlfriend was Presley Lombardi, the contestant who’d won his heart on Small Town, Big Romance two years ago. I still remembered the ridiculous teaser that was played and replayed and quoted all over town the summer before it had aired:
You’ve loved and hated The Bachelor. You’ve binged every season of Love Is Blind. Coming this August, you’ll fall in love all over again with Small Town, Big Romance, a new reality show that will test whether opposites really do attract and whether or not you can put a price on love.
Before the show aired, Presley had already run with the New York elite, but she’d become ultra-famous after the show when a sex tape of the two of them, everything laid bare, had been released online.
Since then, Presley had started her own fragrance line, performed cameos in a few films, opened a New York restaurant in her name, and somehow put up with Brett Brinkley, which was likely more doable because the two of them seemed to lead separate lives, him living on the West Coast and pursuing his acting career while she mostly stayed on the opposite side of the country.
Unfortunately, I knew this last part because I’d seen a tabloid headline about them having separate residences and questioning whether a breakup was imminent. Not that I actually cared.
Anton approached from the left. I gestured toward him as I said to Lacy, “I think some guy is looking for you.”