Chapter 6
Fiona knocks on my door at five o’clock as I’m brushing on mascara.
“You look cute,” she says, taking in my black shorts and rainbow crocheted top.
I don’t feel cute. I feel stressed out. I can’t stop thinking about all the loose ends back in Wisconsin or the fact that I barely have enough clothes to get me through the weekend or the conversation I overheard between the twins.
Or the weird shit I’ve seen since getting on this boat. But I won’t tell her any of that.
“I think there’s a pipe leaking in my bathroom somewhere,” I say instead.
“Oh, that’s annoying,” Fiona says. “Tell Viv. She’ll have the engineer come out and take a look.”
I try to smile at Fiona, but I taste bile in the back of my throat. There have been some odd occurrences, yes, but what if I’m just being paranoid again? I don’t want Viv to regret hiring me. I’ll keep the “pipe” to myself for now.
Fiona doesn’t notice my nerves; she grabs my hand and leads me to the main level. I stop at the top of the stairs, goggling out at the living room and kitchen, now packed with undulating bodies.
“Surprise!” Fiona chimes in my ear. “We wanted to give you a legit welcome! No better way than with a party, right?”
The space is filled with people. Ridiculously hot people. I spot the twins standing near the kitchen island, margaritas in their hands, and Viv flitting around, glowing as if she has her own spotlight.
“Oh my God, I’m not dressed right for this,” I say, panicking as Fiona pushes at my shoulder.
“What are you talking about? This is totally your style. Sorry, I stalked your page a bit while you were getting settled. Those shorts match your botanical tattoos perfectly.”
“Fiona…”
“Viv planned it kind of last minute since we didn’t know for sure we’d be getting a new girl today,” Fiona continues, ignoring my feeble protests. “Hard to get people to come down from Miami on such short notice. But go on, have fun! Mingle!”
The main lights are dimmed; in their place are pulsing red bulbs tucked into the ceiling that glow with the beat of the music.
Shivers of intimidation travel up my sides as I stare at bodies that look airbrushed and faces that appear to be ripped from the pages of fashion magazines.
There’s an almost-feral vibe to the atmosphere, like everyone is one drink away from tearing at each other with teeth and tongues.
My eyes are torn in a thousand different directions as I watch fashionable, half-naked people sip drinks and dance to the bass music pumping out from the ceiling. I was vaguely aware of the music starting when I was getting dressed, but I assumed the girls were doing a TikTok dance or something.
“Who…who are all these people?” I stammer.
“Oh, you know, local friends. Mostly Trey’s people. He always travels with a big entourage. I think he brought a bunch of his associates down from Miami.” Fiona peers into the throng of people, and then squeals. “Carl! CARL! Come here, babe!”
“Wait, Trey Bardi is here?” I ask. “Where?”
Trey is a billionaire. If I do well on Empress, maybe there’s a chance he’d hire me for a normal job. I could have a real salary, a 401(k), and leave my past behind. I have to meet him.
But Fiona isn’t listening—she’s running forward to meet an absolutely ripped man with skin the color of burnished copper.
His face looks like something out of a Renaissance painting; brown hair sways against a sharp jawline.
Shiny muscles bulge from a white button-up shirt, and his emerald eyes sparkle as he wraps Fiona up in a hug.
He’s hands down the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my life. I suddenly remember why I’m into all genders.
“They don’t make them like that in Wisconsin,” I mutter as the man pulls back and plants a kiss on Fiona’s mouth.
“My lipstick! Babe, don’t!” But she’s giggling as his hand settles on her waist. She pulls him over to me. “Carl, meet our newest queen. This is Charlie.”
“You ready to deal with these crazy girls, Charlie?” His voice sounds like smoky barrooms and slow dancing.
“They’ve been nice so far,” I manage to respond. “What do you do, Carl…”
“Carl Mumford.” He sees the expression on my face and laughs. “I know. I have the name of a stuffy eighty-year-old who collects paintings of horses.”
“I mean, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…” I reply, unable to help a smile.
“Oh, stop flirting, Carl, and answer the girl’s question,” Fiona says jokingly, poking Carl in the side.
“I’m an entrepreneur,” Carl says, moving closer to me while pulling Fiona into his chest. “I own a few businesses in Miami. Allows me to have enough free time to come see my girl Fee here on the weekends.”
Fiona is looking at him adoringly, and I am reminded of how very single I am.
Sage and I always talked about how we didn’t have time for dating.
I was working two jobs, three if you count the Instagram page, and Sage was…
Well, she told me she was studying and trying to apply to graduate school, but in reality she was writing, hiding it.
The truth was that Sage was never broke like me. Her father doted upon her, made sure she had everything she needed. We roomed together because I needed a roommate; not because Sage wanted one. She’d been doing me a favor, one she reminded me of often.
Unlike me, Sage had the energy, time, and money to write. Which was how she churned out A Song of Scales and Salt so fast, securing an agent shortly after an unprecedentedly short querying process. Within a month, she had a six-figure book deal.
“You met Trey yet, Charlie?” Carl asks, yanking me back to the present moment.
Right. Trey. My boss. My future. Focus.
I shake my head, scanning the crowd. “No, and I’d love to meet him—”
“Shit.” Fiona stares at something behind me.
I turn, and there, coming down from the top level, is one of the prettiest people I’ve ever seen.
Even in her current state—long blond hair disheveled, eyes red, weaving slightly on her feet—she is a knockout.
Her limbs are tanned a golden brown, her lips are full and pouty, her figure is effortlessly curved.
She’s wearing pastel blue linen shorts and a loose white tank top that would look completely frumpy on me.
On her, she appears to have stepped out of Fashion Week in Milan.
“Carl, help me get her back upstairs,” Fiona hisses, and the two of them disentangle from each other and rush over to the blond girl.
“No, I’m allowed to be here. It’s my home,” the girl snaps as Fiona takes her arm and whispers something in her ear. “What are you gonna do? Push me overboard if I don’t go?”
Fiona goes rigid, and Carl takes over. I can’t hear what he says to her, the girl who must be the mysterious Piper, but she goes limp and allows him to turn her back to the stairs.
“I belong here,” Piper says again, slurring. “Please. I want to see real people. I want to be with real people.”
Carl and Fiona sweep Piper back up the stairs, hushing her rapidly rising voice, spiriting her away before anyone besides me notices.
I hover at the bottom of the staircase for a moment, trying to decide. Should I follow them? Try to help?
“Charlie!” Viv is suddenly at my side. “Hey, love. Come on, you’re missing your whole party!”
Did she see? Or did she happen to look over and notice me standing by myself?
I eye Viv’s sumptuous red dress, clinging to her body and offsetting her dark hair. “I wish you had told me about this, Viv. I’m so underdressed.”
“No way, babe, you look incredible. So you.”
Weird. That was almost the same exact thing Fiona said to me. “I heard Trey was here. Can I meet him?”
“Of course!” Viv replies, smiling and reaching out to take my hand, pulling me through the crowd of people. “There are so many friends of ours I need you to meet!”
I wish she would stop touching me. There’s something too familiar about it.
“I don’t see him inside; he must be out on the deck,” Viv says, craning her head. She turns, winking at me. “I’ll go get him. You grab a drink. There’s a pop-up bar over by the kitchen. I think you’ll appreciate the signature cocktail.”
She disappears into a throng of bodies, leaving me alone in a cluster of sexy people who are ignoring me because of course they are. They probably don’t think this party is for the way-too-casually-dressed tattooed chick in dollar-store flip-flops.
Sage was the outgoing one. She made friends easily, was the life of every party, and told me my social anxiety was something I needed to “get over.”
“Especially if you want to be an author!” she’d crow at me. “How are we going to do giant book signing events together if you’re too shy?”
My chest contracts, squeezes. I wonder if she meant it at the time. That was before A Song of Scales and Salt. She had no idea what was coming. Or maybe she did. Maybe she planned it all along.
Why did she do it? I never got a real answer from her. And I never would.
An image of her floating, face down, hair spread out on the water’s surface invades my mind. I didn’t see her body, couldn’t even attend her funeral, but my mind is intent on picturing it anyway.
“Stop it,” I say out loud, panic rising as flickers of memory creep into my consciousness.
My friend. The book. The boat.
I smack my palms against the side of my head.
A buxom white girl in a bodycon dress gives me a weird look, and I turn away, desperate. One of the twins—the plastic-surgery-free nutritionist—is weaving her way to the bar, and I dart over. Rachel stood up for me when her twin called me awkward; maybe that means I can trust her to help me now.
“Rachel!”
She turns, takes one look at my face, and changes direction, ignoring the bar and gliding toward me instead. “Come on.”