Page 4 of Acadia Falls

I watched her carefully. I didn’t want to get my hopes up unless she was serious. “You really think you can spend the summer away from you-know-who?”

“Tim’s not Voldemort, and hell yes, I can stay away from him.” Her brow wrinkled. “I broke up with him and didn’t invite him as my plus-one for your wedding! If that’s not the definition of ‘over,’ I don’t know what is.”

“Good. Tim was a real douche, you know that? I never liked him.”

She giggled. “So was Derek! I never liked him, either.”

I laughed. For some reason, it made my head hurt. My temples were throbbing, but my heart lifted a little. “So… Is that a yes, Maran Riley? Will you be my plus-one for the summer?”

She grabbed the empty bottle of Patron and raised it toward the beach. “It’s a yes, Alex. Bye-bye to New York and the smell of trash rotting on the sidewalk in July. Hello, mountains and fresh air. And celibacy, I think—I need a break from men. My taste really does kind of suck, huh?”

“Not as bad as mine.” The sun crested above the horizon; the waves crashed against the shore. It was going to be a beautiful day. I had another flash of Derek behind Daisy, her features twisted in ecstasy as he pumped into her.

Bye, Derek.

Despite a growing headache, I smiled at my friend. “We should both take a nap. I’m totally having the reception—and I swear, it’s going to be the party of a lifetime. Something good is going to come out of this.”

Maran was still squinting out at the beach and the mountains beyond. “I think you might be right about that.”

“Take a nap,” I ordered. “At seven, we party.”

Jilted or not, I was going to make damn sure of that.

Chapter One

MARAN

The reception—the party, I should say—was at the island’s only restaurant, The Dock. Alex’s parents had rented it out for the night. There were servers in linen suits, a raw bar on ice piled up halfway to the ceiling, and custom chandeliers made from local birch branches.

The Vejas had spared no expense. First, there was an open bar, gourmet appetizers including a lobster spring roll, then an enormous carrot cake decorated with fresh flowers. Later, a custom fireworks display lit up the Maine sky.

At least a hundred people crowded the restaurant. Even Derek’s attendants and most of the guests from his side had shown up. Everyone had flown in for the event; Alex insisted that the show must go on, even without its leading man.

We were getting fresh flutes of champagne when one of the guests caught my eye. “Holy shit.” I froze like a deer in the headlights. “Is that Tori Blaisdell?”

Tori Blaisdell was a famous actress. She had stick-straight hair, a yoga body that wouldn’t quit, and starred in one of the biggest sitcoms of all time. I kept stealing glimpses at her—she looked insane in a fitted black jumpsuit, her toned arms already lightly tanned. Tori Blaisdell was in her early forties, but she had the body of a hot twenty-something.

“The one and only.” Alex raised her champagne flute in the actress’s direction. “She summers here. She owns the biggest house on the island—it has a lookout.”

I almost choked on my champagne. “I didn’t know she was going to be here,” I whispered. “I’m, like, her biggest fan.”

“You and everybody else.” Alex laughed. “I didn’t think my parents invited her to the wedding. But maybe they invited her tonight, after… after.”

She wrinkled her nose as she eyed the crowd. “Come to think of it, there are a lot of scrandos here. They must’ve invited the entire island.” She shrugged. “We do have a lot of liquor to go through.” At that, she drained her glass.

Alex looked stunning. Her long hair hung in loose waves over her shoulders, and she wore a flowing orange dress, the “opposite of white,” as she’d said.

“Black would look like I’m mourning,” she’d explained, “and fuck that.”

She hiccuped. “I need more champagne. You good if I leave you for a bit?”

“Absolutely.” I watched as she disappeared into the crowd, hugging some “scrandos,” as she called them. That was Alex’s shorthand for “scary randoms.” One of the men she hugged did indeed look a bit scary, dressed in a hoodie and trucker hat, a far cry from the other elegant guests.

I sipped my champagne, trying not to stare at Tori Blaisdell and failing.

“You need a refill?” a deep voice from behind me asked.

I turned, slightly startled. And then I almost fell over dead.