“Hey, what just happened? You okay?” Nate asks, steadying me.
“Did you see that?” I shout.
“See what?”
“For a second, I wassurethat was a camera flash!”
“So what?” Nate asks, confused.
“So someone’s taking photos of us. You didn’t see?”
“I’m sure it was just someone taking pictures of their own group—not us. Why would it matter anyway?” A crease has formed between his brows.
I shake my head. I realize I’m sounding a little paranoid. But I have good reason to be. “It would matter if it werepaparazzi,” I shout back. “A bad pic could cost me, Nate. My public life is my job.”
Nate puts a hand on my upper arm. “I get that. But still, paparazzi? Here at Big Jay’s?” He sounds almost amused at the thought, which just makes me angrier.
“Maybe Cara called them,” I retort.
“What?”
“Cara!” I shout. Is it me or has the music gotten even louder? I lean in closer to Nate, trying to ignore the rush of chemistry that comes over me whenever we’re this close. “Your sister! She’s gone to the tabloids before. What’s to stop her from doing it again?” The sober part of my brain knows I sound petulant, but also, it’s not acrazy theory… Even though I believe what Nate told me about Cara, that she was blindsided by Aaron’s betrayal, the fact remains the girl went to the press with her story at the worst possible moment. She’s clearly someone who loves drama and the limelight.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Nate shouts back.
“Of course I know what I’m talking about. I lived it, Nate!”
“She didn’t go to the tabloids!”
“Yes, she did!”
“No, she didn’t, Nikki,” he shouts. “They came to her!”
I stop and turn to him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s—she—” But before he can clarify, Cara herself finishes her take on “Before He Cheats” and steps off stage… right toward us.
“Y’all are up next,” she says, handing Nate the microphone.
“Cara, we’re kind of in the middle of something,” he says.
“I don’t do karaoke,” I add.
I absolutely do not want to go onstage and make a fool of myself. I’ve never been one of those people who can have fun being bad at something. Other people can wail off-key and somehow make the whole crowd cheer—their confidence more than making up for lack of skill. But my confidence has alwayscome frommy skills. I knew I could win pageants because I had the best smile, the best practiced answers to the questions, the best talent; I knew I could nail a dance routine because I had the best turnout, knew the choreo like the back of my hand.
I do not have the bestanythingwhen it comes to singing.
“Uh-uh-uh.” Cara waggles her finger at me. “All the other Bennet siblings have gone up there…” She’s clearly mimicking the way I cornered her on the boat earlier this week. “Even me,” she continues, “because I’m joining this family, Nikki Bennet. In two days. I’m getting married in two days.” Her smile flickers, then collapses at the edges. “I’m getting married,” she whispers. “Intwodays.” Her eyesgo glassy in a way that’s both sentimental and vaguely panicked—or maybe just drunk. Looks like Cara might be even tipsier than I am.
“Okay, okay.” Nate places a steadying hand at the small of her back and offers her his water. She greedily sucks down what’s left of it.
Then he turns to me. “Come on, let’s do it. Consider it our gift to the bride,” he says, with a fond eye roll. “We can do ‘The Heart Won’t Lie.’ You be Reba, and I’ll be Vince.”
“No.” The idea of singing a song about unspoken truths and unfulfilled romance is way more than I can take right now, looking into Nate’s playful gaze. “That’s a couple’s song. We’re not a couple.”
The words drag painfully against my throat.
Nate darts a glance sideways at Cara, who’s watching us with a sly grin. “I know…” he says, slowly. “I realize that.”
