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“Connor and Montana’s mother, Paula,” he said, gesturing to the white woman sitting next to Kenya. She gave me a nod and a smile—the smile I recognized from when she’d been featured on the cover of the Nighthawks’ second album, wearing a statement necklace and not much else. Now, though, she was wearing a button-up shirt over a bathing suit, her silver-streaked hair damp.
“And this is Chloe, my ex-wife.” I nodded, still trying to get my head around all of this. Chloe was probably the ex of Wylie’s I was most familiar with, just because she was the most recent. She was as stunning in person as she had been on the cover of People after she and Wylie had gotten married despite only knowing each other for a weekend—Fifth Time’s the Charm! the headline had touted. She had long blond wavy hair and dark blue eyes. She had a dusting of freckles, and I could see a constellation of tiny earrings in her ear, multiple piercings. She was wearing slouchy sweatpants that said Free City on one leg and a white T-shirt. But somehow, these didn’t look like the sweats and tees I normally wore—you could somehow just tell they were expensive.
And while I knew she was Wylie’s ex-wife—I’d read all about their contentious divorce, the fight over their twins—sitting here, with no makeup that I could see, she looked incredibly young. Younger than most of the people at the table, and that included Wylie’s kids. A second later, I also realized that she was the girl in the sci-fi oil painting in the foyer, the one who’d commissioned it.
“Hey,” Chloe said, drawing one leg up. “Darcy.” She raised her eyebrows at my name. “Pull up a chair. Allegedly, we’re eating dinner.”
“I’m working on it!” Priya called, sounding stressed.
I lifted my hand in a wave that I immediately regretted. “Uh, hi.” I tried not to sound as baffled as I currently felt. But I was truly stunned by what was in front of me—the web of exes and kids and partners that had just been laid out. What was going on? Why were all Wylie’s kids from different relationships hanging out together? Why were three of his ex-wives all sitting next to each other, none of them in a screaming match? Weren’t Wylie and Chloe going rounds with lawyers over the custody of their twins? That was what I had heard was going on, at any rate. What was happening here?
I glanced over at Russell, and he met my eye for just a second before looking away. I felt my anger rise again as I thought about what he’d told me—that he was an only child. How he’d pretended to agree with me, to know what it was like. And here he was, surrounded by a family that was living proof of the lies he’d told me.
“This is Priya, Montana’s partner,” Wylie said, and the woman at the stove gave me a nod. “Bronwyn, who keeps the wolves at bay,” he said, indicating the dark-haired woman in the kitchen who was still bent over an iPad. “Astrid and Artie and Dashiell are here too, but they’re sleeping,” he said, checking these off on his beringed fingers, then turned to me. “So! Any questions?”
I actually had a lot—including, but not limited to, where my possessions were—but before I could answer, Wylie was continuing.
“Everyone, please give Darcy a nice Sanders family welcome, okay? So she doesn’t think we’re complete savages and reprobates.”
“She’s going to be disappointed when she finds out, then,” Montana said with a grin. She shot Russell a significant look, like she was indicating she thought I was a lot more than a friend. Russell, however, just stared pointedly out the window.
“Name a celebrity,” Wallace said to me, adjusting his glasses, pen poised over a scrap of paper.
“Wallace,” Kenya chided, taking a sip of her wine. “Is that how we welcome guests?”
He rolled his eyes. “Hi, welcome. Name a celebrity.”
“I… what?” I looked around, but everyone was just looking at me expectantly, nobody explaining what was happening. Was this some sort of weird Sanders hazing ritual? Was I supposed to say Wylie Sanders? Or was I not supposed to say him?
“Just anyone,” Connor said. “We need it for Fishbowl.”
“First person that comes into your head,” Sydney added, giving me a smile.
Wallace pointed at me. “Go.”
“Um. Um. Steve Guttenberg?” The second I’d said it, I regretted it, and felt heat flood my face. Steve Guttenberg?
Deafening silence greeted this answer, and I saw Wallace widen his eyes at Connor before looking back at me. “Sure,” he said, nodding. “Uh—thanks.”
“Good pick,” Wylie Sanders said cheerfully to me, which somehow made everything worse. I was getting pitied by a multiple Grammy winner because the only celebrity I could think of was Steve Guttenberg. It was like a nightmare, but one I hadn’t had before because I hadn’t been creative enough to think up these specifics. Wylie steered me away from the table and toward the kitchen. “Now, sauce help.”
“I was actually—”
“Here.” Priya was suddenly shoving a spoon at me. “Opinion, please.”
I took the spoon from her, figuring it was the path of least resistance. It was a vodka sauce, and good—until the end, when it suddenly got very spicy. “Ah,” I said, trying not to look like my mouth was on fire. “Um. Good. A little spicy?”
She whirled around to face the dark-haired woman who was still bent over her tablet. “I told you, Bronwyn! We didn’t need that extra pinch of chili flakes.”
She glanced up from her iPad. “I’m from Texas,” she said. “Don’t ask me about spice level if you don’t want a real answer.” I noticed she was dressed a little more professionally than everyone else, who were mostly in sweatpants or bathing suits with cover-ups. She set down her iPad with a relieved sigh. “Okay, there’s no chatter about the hotel. We’re monitoring the social media accounts of the Silver Standard employees and front-desk workers, but nothing so far. And C.J.’s going to be getting NDAs to them first thing tomorrow.”
“Wait, what’s happening?” Priya asked, frowning.
“Nothing,” Bronwyn said cheerfully. “Because I’m very good at my job.” She turned to me. “Bronwyn Taylor. I handle Mr. Sanders’s PR. Just wanted you to know it looks like everything is locked down in Jesse.”
“Where?” Priya asked, turning around from the stove. “Stop distracting me if you want to eat!”
“Are we eating?” A man in his fifties wandered in. He was Black, and wearing a sweatshirt that read Sedona! “It’s getting late.” He stopped when he saw Russell. “Russ is back!” he said, smiling at him. “Where did you come from?”
