Misty looks at me. “What the fuck is she rattling on about?”
“An orgy,” I say. “She wants an orgy under the full”—I look up—“make that thecrescentmoon.”
“Uh…I’m not undressing in front of my brother.”
I don’t look behind me. Jazz and Brett are no doubt gone by now, anyway.
“You know,” I say, “when I got here, I was hellbent on having as many orgasms as I could. I did pretty well.”
“Did you?”
I nod. “And I’m thinking I might be looking for more of them tonight.”
EPISODE 243
WITCHY WOMAN
Misty
I used to be the one stirring the pot, the hurricane at the center of the island’s drama. Tonight, though, I’m more like debris caught on the tide, drifting quietly on the edges while everyone else sparkles beneath the party lights.
Maybe it’s the dehydration—note to self: never again underestimate island sun and running after your long-lost brother on the beach—or maybe it’s just, well, everything. The old me would be draped in the thick of it, but right now, I’m content to watch, glass in hand, waiting for June to explain what the hell is going on.
Sienna thinks it’s an orgy.
For a bachelorette party? Maybe back in LA, but not for sweet little Ariel.
Sienna still stands next to me, her smile brittle, even though she just said she’s going after more orgasms.
I know the signs. I’ve worn that same expression enough times. I think about saying something, but what? Just becausewe were talking and she asked how I’m feeling doesn’t mean we’re friends now.
I don’t have friends.
“So let’s go,” June says. “Evie is already there, and everything should be set up by now.”
I walk alongside Sienna, my sandals sinking into the sand as we head toward the courtyard. The air’s cooled just enough to raise goosebumps on my skin, though I know that’s not what’s really making me shiver.
It’s the strange hush that’s fallen over the group. And it’s the tension that crackles inside me like a live wire, the kind that says something isn’t as it seems.
“I’ll be excusing myself,” Cheryl, Ariel’s mom says. “You young people have a good time.”
Good thing. If an orgy is what June is after, as Sienna says, the mother of the bride has no business being there.
Emily returns to Sienna and me, along with Ariel, who’s biting her lip.
“This full moon thing,” Ariel says. “What exactly are we doing?”
“Oh, darling,” Emily replies dryly in that British way of hers, “don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.”
“I want them answered,” Ariel says, slowing her steps. “I’m getting married tomorrow. I don’t need weird juju messing with my vows.”
“It’s all symbolic,” Sienna says, but there’s a tightness in her voice.
We reach the courtyard, and I stop short.
Candles flicker in hurricane jars. A circle of cushions surrounds a massive driftwood structure twined with vines and hung with crystals that shimmer in the moonlight. Where the hell did they get crystals?
Probably from the massage therapists. They have all that shit.
