Chapter 2
Coconut Cove has never smelled so much like money. Orchids dangle from every beam, plumeria leis are stacked as if we’re running a floral cartel, and the tiki torches are lined up military-style, waiting for someone to accidentally set their muumuu ablaze.
Evening has settled over the resort like a warm blanket soaked in perfume, the trade winds are whipping my hair around as if I’ve offended them personally, and in less than an hour, Candy Tassels’ wedding circus officially kicks off with her so-called Love in Paradise Luau.
Translation—it’s a seven-day social media siege complete with hashtags, matching outfits, and more ring-light selfies than this island has the bandwidth to handle.
The entire beachfront of the resort has already turned into wedding central. And I’ll admit, the cobalt Pacific, the pale sand, and the orange-kissed sky make for a romantic backdrop. And don’t get me started on all the flowers.
“Who ordered all this floral nonsense?” I mutter, trying to balance a tray of pūpūs while sidestepping a rooster who’s currently blocking the lobby door like he’s head of security.
Normally, I love flowers, but since these are specifically designated for my ex’s impending nuptials to the Queen of Nipples, I’m not feeling all that jovial.
Ruby appears at my side in a turquoise muumuu splattered with hibiscus prints that could be seen from the Big Island. She flicks her red braid over her shoulder and gives the rooster a glare. “I swear these roosters have unionized. He’s been on door duty all afternoon.”
“He’s doing a better job than half the staff,” I say. “At least he doesn’t charge overtime.”
The rooster crows in my face, which I take as agreement.
Out by the buffet tables, Lani is bossing the junior staff as if she’s commanding a five-star restaurant. “No, no, no. Pineapple skewers on the left. The laulau goes on the right. And somebody get those cats off the poke table before they help themselves.”
Three cats stare back at her from the table, tails flicking, clearly weighing whether raw ahi qualifies as fair game. Spoiler: it does.
I set my tray down and fan myself with the clipboard that’s been permanently glued to my hand since Candy’s people took over the place. “Why did I agree to this again?”
Ruby grins. “Because the idiot you were married to begged. And because Candy is paying triple the going rate.”
Right. My ex-husband’s wedding. At my resort. Because apparently, my bad luck is an overachiever.
The sound of tires crunching against gravel comes from the front of the resort, signaling that the first shuttle of wedding guests has arrived.
Ruby peers in that direction like she’s about to narrate a red-carpet event. “Here we go. Mainland money meets island humidity. Oh, look—matching linen outfits. Didn’t see that one coming.”
A crowd spills onto the lanai—women in gauzy white dresses, men in linen shirts already clinging damp with sweat, and Candy herself in a glittery caftan that screams sponsored content.
She poses under the torchlight while Alana circles with a camera.
Alana’s bob is razor sharp, her phone case sparkles, and her expression says she’d sue the sun if it dared set without her approval.
Candy throws her arms wide. “Aloha, darlings! Welcome to paradise!”
The guests cheer as if she just parted the ocean.
Ruby leans my way. “If she says aloha one more time, I’m throwing her in the koi pond.”
“Don’t,” I say. “We just had it cleaned.”
Bertha shuffles through the door in a floral muumuu and orthopedic sandals, her purse swinging like a wrecking ball. She takes one look at the orchids and snorts. “Too much. Weddings should be simple. Roast chicken and sheet cake in a church basement. Not this carnival.”
Her eyes land on me. “If you’d learned how to cook a proper pot roast, maybe my Erwin wouldn’t have strayed.”
“Oh, my word.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s not even cocktail hour, and I already need a drink.” Or the entire bottle.
Halea struts past us in her scarlet dress with her heels clicking on the tile like she owns the island. She blows a kiss at Erwin, who turns redder than the poke.
Ruby leans in. “Place your bets—how many groomsmen will she seduce before dessert?”
“Three,” I say. “Four if she paces herself.”
The torches flare to life, music spills out from the hired band, and the Coconut Cove Paradise Resort officially becomes ground zero for Candy Tassels’ Wedding Week Extravaganza.
The band strikes up a version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” so syrupy it could give you cavities. Guests sway, suggesting they’ve already had three mai tais too many, and it’s only been five minutes.
“The music is nice,” Ruby says, swiping a coconut shrimp from a passing tray. “If you ignore the part where they’re butchering Israel Kamakawiwo?ole’s legacy.”
“Don’t say butchering,” I whisper. “This place has seen enough actual murder.”
Lani swoops past with her wooden spoon like a general wielding a sword. “Out of the way, amateurs. I’ve got laulau to deploy.” She elbows through the influencers arranging shots of their plates.
Candy is in full performance mode, twirling under the torches with her glittery caftan catching the flames like she’s auditioning for a Vegas show that no one asked for. And Alana snaps pictures from every angle while barking hashtags like battle orders.
“Hashtag—LoveInParadise. Hashtag—ForeverTassels. Hashtag—CoconutCove.”
“Hashtag—SomebodySaveMe,” I mutter.
Erwin stands off to the side, already sweating through his linen shirt. He raises his mai tai in a half-hearted toast to no one in particular. And yet his bald spot gleams under the lanterns, no matter how much strategic styling he attempted in the mirror.
“Your ex is glowing,” Ruby says, following my gaze.
“That’s not glowing,” I say. “That’s plain old sweat.”
“Same thing in this humidity,” she replies, licking coconut crumbs from her fingers.
I shrug. “He’s going to bomb this marriage just like he bombed the last one, and he knows it.”
The torches flicker, the trade winds roar, and the cats arrive like a furry cavalry.
They prowl through the crowd with their tails held high, sniffing plates and glaring at tourists who dare refuse them scraps.
One orange cutie leaps onto the dessert table and helps himself to the haupia pudding before anyone can stop him.
The tourists squeal like it’s the best part of the show, and a whole slew of cameras flash in that direction.
“Now there’s some authentic Hawaiian hospitality,” I deadpan.
Halea slinks closer into view, and her scarlet dress clings to every curve as if it were hand-painted. She zeroes in on Detective Koa Hale—because of course he’s here, looming at the edge of the crowd in his official uniform, watching everything with those molten-lava eyes. He had to go and change.
Halea glides up to him, lays a hand on his chest, and purrs something that makes him frown harder than usual. And the entire scene makes me grit my teeth.
Ruby leans my way. “Careful, your jealousy is showing.”
“I’m not jealous,” I sniff. “I’m nauseated.”
“Really?” she says, sipping her mai tai. “Because that looks a lot like you plotting a murder.”
Across the courtyard, movement near the small stage draws everyone’s attention. Candy pops up from her seat, clinking her glass for silence and flashing a smile bright enough to power the tiki torches.
“Okay, everyone!” she calls. “I just have to introduce my baby sister, Della Tassels, to you all. She’s one of the best singers to ever pick up a microphone, so make her feel right at home!”
A dark-haired woman who looks a lot like Candy but with softer features gives a quick wave to the sea of people, and the crowd cheers on cue, because who doesn’t love an unexpected performance at a destination wedding?
Someone hands her a ukulele, and she launches into a moody ballad about betrayal and broken hearts that makes the guests shift uncomfortably in their chairs.
The entire performance feels like a big mistake.
Let’s just say her vocal cords are better suited for communicating with animals who respond to high frequencies rather than a beach filled with innocent eardrums.
Candy claps along like it’s the best performance she’s ever seen while Erwin looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole.
Della narrows her eyes at Candy while strumming away on her ukulele and howling at the moon—I mean singing.
“You’ve never understood tradition, have you?
” she screeches. “Everything has to be a little off. A little embarrassing. I suppose this all makes sense, coming from you.” She motions to the chaos before us. “Even the chickens!”
“Oh, my goodness,” I mutter. “If one more person brings up poultry, I’m throwing myself in the koi pond.”
As if on cue, the koi pond gurgles behind me, with lights from the lanterns strung up above shimmering across the water. I swear the fish look nervous. Maybe they know something we don’t.
The night unravels fast with guests double-fisting mai tais, Halea draped over every man here like a cheap lei, Candy live-streaming the whole thing to her two trillion followers, and Erwin sneaking glances at Halea that scream affair incoming.
Ruby fans herself with her hand. “Jinx, honey, this week is going to kill you.”
“Not if it kills one of them first,” I mutter.
She gives a wicked laugh, and her eyes sparkle in the tiki light. “Now that’s the spirit.”
I grab a mai tai from a passing tray and drain half of it in one gulp. The rum scorches my throat, the perfume from the nearby plumerias makes me dizzy, and the cats have now commandeered the poke table. I can’t blame them. The sushi is delicious.
One week of this circus. Seven nights of orchids, hashtags, and family dysfunction.
Heaven help me.
Because if this kickoff luau is any indication, the only thing guaranteed by the end of this week is that somebody’s going to end up lei’d to rest.