Page 1 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

Chapter 1:

Paradise, Unfortunately

Cassie

My sister chose a luxury destination resort to marry my ex because, apparently, family humiliation photographed best at golden hour.

That was unfair.

Technically, she chose the resort because the brochure promised limestone terraces, ocean views, private beaches, seven imported kinds of marble, and “an intimate setting for once-in-a-lifetime romance.” The kind of place where the towels were probably folded by monks.

The fact that she was marrying Grant there was just the little garnish of cruelty on the plate.

I stood outside the resort shuttle with one hand on my suitcase, one heel sinking into the pale gravel drive. Thirty-eight years old, and somehow I had still been assigned a bridesmaid dress by a woman who had already taken my boyfriend.

Life had range.

“Cassie,” my mother said beside me, in the tone she used when she wanted me to remember we were in public, “please fix your face.”

I turned to her. “This is my face.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and I resent the accuracy.”

Her mouth tightened.

My mother looked beautiful, of course. She had dressed for the weekend in cream linen, pearl earrings, and the bright, anxious hope of a woman determined to photograph well beside a family disaster. Her hair was set. Her lipstick had not moved once since baggage claim. If I cried, she would probably blot me with a cocktail napkin and ask whether I could do it away from the photographer.

Across the driveway, my younger sister flung herself at Grant Carrington.

“Tessa,” he said, loud enough for the nearby bridesmaids to hear. Soft enough to sound intimate on video.

He caught her at the waist and lifted her off her feet.

Of course he did.

Grant was excellent at public affection. He understood camera angles, hand placement, and exactly how long to hold a woman before it started to look possessive instead of romantic. He spun Tessa once, set her down, and kissed her temple with the solemn tenderness of a man who had practiced tenderness in mirrors.

Tessa melted against him, several people sighed.

“Oh,” my mother whispered. “Look at them.”

“I am looking.”

“They’re beautiful together.”

“They’re standing in good lighting.” I pointed out flatly.

My mother sighed. “Cassie.”

“What? They are. That is professional-grade sunlight.”

“You promised you would try.”

“I am trying.” I glanced down at my hands. “Nothing is on fire.”

“That is not trying.”