Page 17

Dark-Hair shakes her head, her lips thinning.

My shoulders sink. If I could negotiate a few hours inside the bungalow, I could salvage some planned content. Anything would help.

“Aloha!”

A hotel employee stops beside us. He faces Hat-Lady, who is nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Is this your fiancé?” His gaze pings between us. “Are you two enjoying the Hibiscus Bungalow? It’s the perfect place for a honeymoon,” he sings with a wink and points to my bungalow.

“I’m sorry, what?” I glance between the three, completely confused by the conversation.

Her fiancé? Our honeymoon? Are we enjoying the bungalow?

The chipper employee continues, blowing past my question. “Do you need more towels? More malasadas? There’s no request we can’t accommodate.” He folds his age-spotted hands across his stomach.

To make things worse, Matt appears at my side. He’s chewing candy so loudly, he sounds like a horse. It distracts my train of thought. So now, I’m stuck on why the ladies would lie about staying in the bungalow. It’s not their fault the hotel messed up the reservation.

Unless . . .

I reach out and snatch off the woman’s straw hat. Wet blond hair spills over her shoulders. Behind her heart-shaped sunglasses, I connect with cold blue eyes.

“You.” My mouth falls open.

“You can’t have my hat too.” Sparkles snatches it back.

“But how?” My glare ricochets between her and the bungalow. My mind roves over the ways this could have happened, the impossibility.

She only flashes me the same intimidating stare from yesterday. The one that clearly signaled to fuck off.

“So, you’re all good here? Great, I’ll let you chat. Aloha.” The employee exits the conversation and practically runs away. Perhaps he senses what’s about to happen.

A throw-down.

“Whoa, what’d I miss? Something is tense.” Matt holds out his hands as if he’s picking up the bad vibes, but his pea-sized brain is struggling to translate them. If he’s not careful, it might overheat.

Mine already has. Steam might pour from my ears because this hotel room “mixup” was not an accident. This was fucking retaliation.

“You took my place?” I stare at Sophia, whose name I learned from internet sensation @Freddiethefreak. Over private messages, the kid was all too eager to share tidbits about our sweet but not-so-innocent former bride.

Sophia’s friend covers her mouth and shakes her head, but I detect a smile. She thinks this is funny.

I don’t.

“Oh shit! She did this!?” Matt catches on too, bellowing and pointing. “Bro!”

He paces with a burst of energy and kicks the air for good measure like a frat boy winning a mullet-and-mustache competition. Both of which he proudly sports. Dirty blond on ass-pale skin.

Matt continues. “Brav-the-fuck-oh. Well played. You are a mastermind, my mistress.” He applauds, and then he bows to Sophia like a man enthralled.

Does he even realize who signs his paychecks? The traitor.

Sophia eats it up and curtsies, splaying the skirt of her wet sundress. Unfortunately, for me her response is the cutest kind of cute in my book. The ruthless kind.

I cross my arms over my heaving chest, trying not to get distracted by how I’m attracted to her bad-ass behavior. It’s disturbing.

“Matt. Find Casey. Now,” I say curtly, but my gaze never leaves Sophia’s. Our eyes have been locked in a stare-off since she admitted guilt. I drag in a breath, my nostrils flaring.

Our little tiff has been entertaining, and I admit, I was quite taken with her. God help me, I still am. But this? This is something different. This is life-ruining. It’s a problem.