“Pretty view,” I say, coming in hot to stand beside her.
Blaire startles just slightly, then turns to look at me. Her hazel eyes do a quick sweep of my outfit—shorts, tank top, sandals, the type of thing normal people wear on a boat—and I can see her processing and dismissing me in real time.
“Oh Bizzy.” She offers a cold smile. “How practical you look.”
There it is. The passive-aggressive compliment dressed up as an observation. I’ve heard variations of this my entire life from people like Blaire—women who think being mean is an art form as long as you say it with perfect diction.
But then, something shifts on a dime and her shoulders drop a notch as she looks back out at the water.
“I needed a moment away from all that.” She gestures vaguely toward the group behind us. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending everything’s fine all the time.”
The admission surprises me. Maybe she’s human after all. Maybe underneath all that designer linen and borrowed pedigree, there’s an actual person with actual feelings.
But knowing the sort of company Mackenzie keeps, probably not.
“It must be hard,” I say, keeping my voice even-keeled. “Losing someone you were close to.”
“Close to?” She gives a hollow laugh. “I’m not sure any of us were close to Brittany. She didn’t really allow closeness. More like proximity with benefits.”That sounds like a compliment she didn’t earn. The only thing being close to that witch ever brought was pain.
Fish shifts in my arms, and Blaire notices her for the first time. Her expression softens a touch as she reaches out to scratch Fish behind the ears.
“Oh, aren’t you sweet?” she coos. “I’ve always loved cats,”she says, as her voice loses that sharp edge. “They’re so refined. So selective about who they give their affection to.”
I’m selective about everything, including who gets to pet me,Fish thinks, but she’s purring as loud as a jet engine, so clearly she approves.
“What’s her name?”
“Fish,” I tell her.
Blaire blinks my way. “You named your cat Fish?”
“Trust me,” I say, patting her on her furry back. “It was her idea.”
“I see.” Blaire gives a little laugh, but I get the feeling she doesn’t see at all. In fact, she’s too polite, or too confused, to push it. She clucks her tongue, still mesmerized by my four-footed cutie pie. “I always wanted a cat growing up. My father said they were too messy. Too unpredictable.”
She’s not wrong,Sherlock gives a soft woof.I can never predict when Fish is going to steal one of your cookies and blame it on me!
He’s lying! Bizzy, I demand you step on his tail. The oaf doesn’t have a truthful bone in his body. And not even in his name.
I bite back a smile and refocus on the suspect at hand.
There’s something in the way Blaire saysmy fatherthat makes me think this isn’t a happy topic, but before I can follow up, she’s already moving on.
“Preston and I are getting married next spring,” she says, and now she’s back to that cultivated uppity tone. “We’re having the engagement party at the Rolling Oaks Country Club.”
“That sounds snazzy,” Isay, then wince. I’m pretty sure people in Blaire’s social circles or even her tax bracket don’t use the wordsnazzy.
“It has to be perfect.” Her voice cracks just slightly. “I’ve been planning it for months. I almost cancelled the entire thing. After... well, everything. But Preston said life goes on.”The party has to go perfectly. It’s all I have left.
Her thoughts hit me clearly, and there’s a desperation there. Real, genuine panic wrapped up in wedding plans and seating charts.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she does have a soul.
“You probably think I’m terrible,” Blaire says quietly. “We all are, aren’t we? Brittany’s friends. A pack of shallow, vapid women who care more about our social media presence than actual human connection.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. I wouldn’t.” I would think it. And boy, have I ever.
“You didn’t have to.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “It’s what everyone thinks. You’re just a small-town girl who made good, runs an inn, and probably thinks we’re all monsters.”
