Sienna smiles. “Thanks. Something tells me this is going to be a tequila night.”
“Smart woman,” I say. “So tell me…what do you really think about all this?”
She lifts a brow. “Define all this.”
“The wedding. The drama. Jake. Misty acting like she saw a ghost. The fact that I’m actually considering you a friend even though you bill by the hour.”
Sienna laughs—really laughs—and it’s the most genuine sound I’ve heard all day.
“Okay,” she says. “You want my real opinion?”
“Lay it on me.”
“I think the people here have more secrets than this island has palm trees. And I think we’ve only scratched the surface.”
That sobers me a bit. I may be hiding the biggest secret of all.
Then again, I don’t know anyone else very well. This whole Jake thing is huge. I mean, he was supposed to be dead.
I sip my drink. “You’re not wrong. Something about Misty’s reaction. I’m well versed in fake, and I have my own opinions about Misty, but she wasn’t faking, from what I could see. Though I only saw her a bit before the guys grabbed Darby and took her inside.”
Sienna nods slowly. “No. It was real. And I’m no shrink, but to me it seemed just as emotional as it was physical.”
I stare out at the courtyard. The breeze is warm, but I shiver anyway.
“Do you ever get the feeling,” I say quietly, “that we’ve all been pulled here for a reason? Like this isn’t just amatchmaking event for four hunky billionaires. It’s more of a… Fuck, I don’t know.”
“A reckoning?” Sienna offers.
Wow.
Not what I was thinking, but I can’t deny the word feels right.
I just hope it’s notmyreckoning.
“Maybe,” I finally say.
We both fall silent.
The bartender hands us our drinks.
“To surviving the storm,” I say.
Sienna clinks her glass against mine. “To whatever’s coming next. Whatever it is, may we be strong enough to survive it.”
I tilt my head. “Those are ominous words.”
Sienna gives me a half-smile. “I don’t mean to sound dramatic.”
“Too late.” I take a long sip of tequila, letting its smokiness coat my throat. “We’re way past dramatic on this island. We’ve entered the cinematic tragedy portion of the program.”
She laughs again, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “I mean it, though,” she says, quieter now. “There’s something off. The energy. The timing. Just when my life seemed to be coming together.”
I raise my eyebrows.
She takes a drink. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good enough. Though as a hair stylist, I’m a good listener. Kind of like a bartender.” I flash a smile at the handsome barkeep. “Only I don’t have to get you drunk to get you to spill your guts. I just have to make you beautiful.”
