Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Dad laughs heartily at this, but his eyes are still ice. I know for a fact that we don’t. Only three of eleven members have arrived, in fact. I’ve been counting.
“I think any statement would need to be cleared by the board,” I tell Ellis. “I know Forbes is excited to get some buzz out there, but let’s do this the right way, what do you say?” There. Evasive enough, but not a flat-out denial. I hold out my hand, and Ellis takes it with an amused smile. “Have a great time on the island, okay?”
Without acknowledging my father, I turn to leave, intending to walk directly to Anna, but she’s no longer at the bar. As calmly as possible, I wander around the party, shaking hands when I’m stopped, saying hello, returning hugs, but everything gets only half of my attention. My mind spirals beyond this moment, beyond this room, wondering what my dad is up to, wondering where Anna has gone. It’s then that I notice I don’t see Jamie, either.
With tension ratcheting in my gut, I walk out of the restaurant, heading down the trail toward the beach and the bungalows, searching every shadow for her and dreading what I might find: two figures entwined in the shadows, one long and willowy, wearing a dress like a million tiny stars glimmering in the moonlight.
I hear her voice, low and reassuring, her quiet, husky words reaching me in a shapeless murmur, as if she’s having a private conversation. My pulse rockets, jealousy raging inside me.
But then I pull up short at the view of her from behind, sitting on a long branch that dives down from the tree and runs parallel to the sand for several feet, forming a perfect natural bench. She’s not alone; she has her arm around someone, but it’s nothing like I thought.
Beside her is Reagan.
I approach but stop when I hear the telltale sound of a jagged sob.
“There’s nothing harder than seeing your friends having fun when you’re gone,” Anna says soothingly. “Yes, you’re on a private island. Yes, you’re in paradise. But our hearts don’t care. Parents forget what it’s like sometimes.”
Reagan’s voice is thick with tears. “I know I’m lucky to be here! He didn’t have to yell at me!” I swear to God, if my brother repeats our father’s habits with his kids, I’ll beat his ass myself.
“Weddings are stressful for families, you know?” Anna turns to face Reagan, straddling the big branch, so focused on the girl in front of her that she doesn’t care if her tiny dress rides up. “A big, expensive event that everyone puts their busy lives on hold for and has to be excited about and engaged in the whole time? I think sometimes parents forget that you had to put your life on hold, too. And it always sucks to see your friends out doing things when you can’t be there.”
“Julia and I got the outfits together,” Reagan says. “We were going to go when I got home. Does she think I won’t see her posts? I’m on an island, not Mars.”
I have no idea what the hell all of this is about, but obviously Anna seems to. “Maybe Eileen invited Julia?” she asks.
Reagan sucks in an angry breath. “Whatever! They’re barely even friends. Julia knows I hate Eileen. She pantsed me in PE last year!”
“She didn’t,” Anna says with the appropriate level of dismay.
“They suspended her, and she blamed me! She’s been so mean ever since.” Reagan sends a hand across her tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s always trying to start drama with everyone. Julia should have said no. She’s been my best friend since first grade!”
“How about this: when we get back to California, you and I will go to Disneyland in matching outfits, and Eileen and Julia can suck it.”
Reagan nods. “Okay.”
“Dang it. If I had some paper, I’d show you something I do to make myself feel better.”
Reagan reaches into her little sparkly evening bag. “I have one of the welcome programs. Will that work?”
Reagan hands it to Anna, who takes it and pulls something out of her own bag. “Perfect. We wouldn’t normally do this with a Chanel lip pencil, but desperate times and all that.” Anna turns the program over and lays it flat on her leg. “Before we start, if any adults ask,” she says, and I bite back a laugh at the dramatic clearing of her throat, “I am not encouraging you to make fun of someone. That’s not what this is about. Even if they maybe, possibly deserve it a little. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. How often do you draw?”
“Almost never,” Reagan admits with a laugh.
“That’s fine,” Anna says, smiling over at her. “The nice thing about art is that it can be terrible, and people will still call it art.” She bends, beginning a sketch I can’t see. “But this here? This is also self-care.”