Chapter 1 Paradise, Unfortunately #2
“You were less mouthy when I kept you busy,” he murmured.
My pulse kicked once. Sharp. Ugly.
I didn’t look at him. “That must have been someone else.”
“You sure?”
“Grant,” I said softly, still smiling for my mother, who was watching us with hopeful terror. “If you keep putting your mouth near me, I’m going to let everyone know what you’re doing with it.”
His silence was brief. Then he laughed, loud enough to pass as charm.
“Still Cassie.”
“Yes,” I said. “That has been the problem for several people.”
Mara’s gaze shifted between us.
She had heard. I could tell by the tiny stillness around her eyes.
Tessa had not. She was too busy cooing at the small white dog barreling toward her across the drive.
“Henry!” she cried.
The dog hit her shins in a white blur, dragging a pink leash and wearing a collar decorated with tiny silk flowers. Henry was technically a Maltese, though he had the soul of a demon and the survival instincts of a powdered donut.
Tessa scooped him up and kissed his head. “There’s my ring bearer.”
Henry stared at Grant with black, suspicious eyes. I respected that. Grant scratched under the dog’s chin and Henry sneezed in his direction.
“Smart boy,” I said.
Tessa hugged Henry to her chest. “He’s been so anxious since we arrived. I think it’s all the new smells.”
At the word smells, Mara looked at the dog.
“We recommend keeping pets leashed in all outdoor areas,” she said.
“He is leashed,” Tessa said, holding up the dragging pink strap.
“Held,” Mara said.
Tessa blinked. “Right. Of course.”
Mara’s smile returned. “The island has wildlife.”
“What kind?” I asked.
“Nothing that troubles guests who follow posted restrictions.”
Another answer hidden in liability terms.
Henry wriggled in Tessa’s arms and looked east, toward the black hedges. A low sound came from his tiny chest, like some kind of whine mixed with a growl.
Tessa laughed. “Oh, stop. You’re fine.”
Mara’s expression didn’t change.
“Shall we get everyone checked in?” she asked.
Inside, Halcyon Ridge smelled of salt, citrus, and expensive candles. The lobby opened under carved beams and tall windows that threw afternoon light across pale stone floors. White flowers sat in black bowls. Water moved somewhere behind a wall, quiet and tasteful.
There were no seashells. No bright murals. No cheerful sign promising paradise. This was a resort for people who found typical island paradise vulgar.
A receptionist greeted us by name before anyone introduced us. An attendant offered champagne. Another presented warm towels with silver tongs, as though our hands had done something to earn ceremony.
My aunt Linda accepted champagne from two different trays and winked at me. Aunt Linda had never met an open bar she could not turn into a personal advantage.
“Cassie,” she said, drawing me into a one-armed hug. “You made it.”
“I did.”
“Proud of you.”
“For attending?”
Aunt Linda grinned. “For not committing a felony.”
“I haven’t ruled anything out.”
She winked. “Good girl.”
My father appeared behind her with his reading glasses tucked into his shirt pocket and travel exhaustion sitting heavy around his eyes.
“Cassie girl,” he said.
That one nearly got me.
I hugged him fast. He held on longer than necessary, which was my father’s way of saying everything he didn’t have words for. He knew Grant had hurt me. He knew Tessa had helped. He also knew my mother had decided forgiveness was easier to seat at a reception than rage.
“You all right?” he asked quietly.
“I’m wearing blush chiffon in public.”
“So no.”
“I’m managing.”
His eyes moved over my face. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
I swallowed. “I know.”
He nodded, though neither of us believed me.
At the front desk, the receptionist slid a black key card across the counter. It bore the same silver wolf crest as the staff collars and Mara’s tablet.
“Room 314,” she said. “West wing. Partial ocean view.”
“Partial ocean?”
“You’ll have a lovely view of the west gardens and shoreline.”
“So the ocean is available if I work for it.”
Her smile held. “Yes.”
“I respect honest branding.”
She blinked, unsure whether that was praise.
It was, technically.
A welcome packet waited beside the key card, tied with blush ribbon. Tessa’s wedding colors again. If I survived the weekend, I was never looking at pale pink without wanting to invoice someone for emotional damage.
Mara appeared beside me. “Your itinerary includes tonight’s rehearsal dinner on the west terrace, tomorrow’s beach ceremony, and the farewell brunch.”
“Packed schedule.”
“We find structure helps guests relax.”
“Does it?”
“It helps staff predict them.”
I looked at her but her expression remained pleasant.
Maybe she had meant to say that. Maybe she had not.
Before I could decide, Grant appeared at my shoulder without Tessa.
Too close.
I felt him before I looked. Expensive cologne, warm skin. Audacity.
“You always did love making strangers uncomfortable,” he said.
I kept my eyes on the key card. “Only when friends and family aren’t available.”
His laugh was quiet.
“That mouth,” he said, voice lowering to something more invasively private.
I went still.
The receptionist reached for another packet, pretending not to hear but Mara’s gaze sharpened.
Grant lowered his voice. “I seem to remember better uses for it.”
Heat flashed up my neck, but it wasn’t desire. It was rage. Fast and clean.
I turned to him with a smile that hurt my cheeks. “Careful. You’re about six inches from giving your fiancée a very educational welcome weekend.”
His eyes held mine. For one second, the mask slipped, and there he was. Bored with what he had won. Irritated by what he had lost. Already testing the fence because fences existed to flatter men like him.
Then Tessa called his name from across the lobby.
Grant stepped back.
“There you are,” she said, carrying Henry and beaming. “Mom wants a picture outside before everyone gets sweaty.”
“Of course.” Grant’s smile returned at full wattage. “Coming.”
He brushed past me and his fingers grazed the inside of my wrist, just a small touch. A threat disguised as an accident.
I didn’t flinch and that was important to me. I waited until he was gone before I let my hand close around the key card.
Mara watched me.
“Ms. Morgan,” she said quietly, “please let the staff know if any member of the wedding party causes you discomfort.”
I laughed once. “That’s a generous offer, but I don’t think your staff is trained for my family.”
“You might be surprised.”
There was something beneath her voice. Not exactly sympathy. Something more practical.
Then it passed.
A bellhop led me toward the west wing. The corridor was long and cool, lined with mirrors and white flowers.
Through the glass along one side, the gardens opened in tiers.
The wedding lawn below. The terrace where we would all pretend to enjoy dinner tonight.
The clipped green paths curving toward the locked east gate.
Henry barked somewhere behind me in the lobby.
The bellhop paused, his fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase.
“Problem?” I asked.
“No, ma’am.”
There was that ma’am again.
I looked at him in the mirror. “You people say no with your whole bodies.”
His eyes met mine for a second.
Then he smiled, polite and empty. “The dog dislikes the island.”
“Smart dog.”
He said nothing.
My room was beautiful in the irritating way expensive rooms always were. Cream walls, blue bedding, a balcony, fresh flowers, a basket of fruit I would be charged for if I breathed near it wrong. The bathroom had a soaking tub large enough for poor decisions.
The bellhop placed my suitcase on a stand and hung the blush garment bag in the closet.
The dress inside gave a faint, tragic rustle.
“I’ll have a steamer sent up,” he said.
“Can it steam away shame?”
His professional face almost cracked. “I believe housekeeping has limits.”
“Disappointing.”
He left with a bow of his head and a reminder to avoid the east grounds.
When the door closed, the room went quiet. I stood there for a moment, alone at last, with the ocean making bright noises beyond the balcony and my sister’s wedding itinerary waiting on the desk.
Then I exhaled. My face hurt from holding itself together.
I crossed to the closet and unzipped the garment bag. The bridesmaid dresses hung inside in layers of blush chiffon, tasteful, expensive, and cruel in the way only pastel could be. Tessa had chosen well. They would look good on me, it would make me look complicit.
I touched the fabric.
Thirty-eight years old. Betrayed by a man who used therapy language as a weapon and a sister who cried beautifully enough that everyone forgave.
And here I was. Still showing up. Still making everyone comfortable enough to enjoy the view.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Tessa.
Tessa: Thank you again for coming. I know it means a lot to Mom. And to me. I love you.
I stared at it until the screen dimmed.
Then another text came through.
Unknown number.
Unknown: You looked good walking away.
My stomach dropped, it didn’t need a signature to tell me who it was.
A third bubble appeared.
Unknown: You always did.
I locked the phone and set it facedown on the desk.
For several seconds, I did nothing.
Outside, voices drifted up from the lawn. Laughter. Glasses. My family gathering itself into something photogenic.
Then Henry barked again, this time, the sound came from below my balcony.
I stepped outside. The west lawn spread beneath me in clean green slopes.
Staff carried trays. Bridesmaids clustered near the bar.
My mother stood beside Tessa, already arranging people by height and perceived usefulness.
Henry sat at the end of his pink leash, which Tessa had tied to the leg of a cocktail table.
Four days, I told myself. I only had to survive four days.