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4
Kenzi
Live piano music plays. Candlelight flickers over white tablecloth.
Pearl has dressed me in white. Which is not a good look for me. I look like a cream puff, the dress bunching awkwardly over my tummy. I crush my crème brûlée with my fork.
The Blue Heron is the high-end restaurant that overlooks the marina. It has two entrances, one for the “common folk” of Long Island, and a second entrance exclusively for the boat owners. The restaurant overlooks the marina, and you can see boats swaying in their slips through the siding. The Blue Heron calls itself the best place to catch the sunset on all of Hannsett Island, and they’re not wrong.
It’s incredibly romantic. And incredibly awkward when you’re sitting across from your mother and her new catch, who are both caught under the spell of the ambiance.
What is it about candlelight that makes people so disgustingly gooey?
“God, that sunset is beautiful,” Pearl muses, touching her manicured nails to her lips.
Four peels her blonde hair from her shoulder and places a kiss on the bare skin there. “The second most beautiful thing here,” he muses.
She laughs, a high bell-like sound which is definitely not genuine. I make a vomiting noise.
“Kenzi.” Pearl says my name as a warning, her eyes slits.
I pout. I crack another layer of toasted caramel.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Jason King. The temperature practically changes when the King family enters the restaurant.
They’re royalty. Jason’s father is a salt-and-pepper high-baller—perfectly groomed, wearing a blazer and a watch they could probably see from space. Mrs. King is ageless, tanned, and a Hollywood classic beauty. She’s fiddling with the shirt collar of what must be Jason’s older brother—they have the same strong jaw, same bright eyes, and the same prowling presence of a cougar.
Jason looks different without his beach boardshorts and his posse. His shirt is buttoned up all the way to his Adam’s apple, and the collar looks tight. He’s holding his wrist, hands falling about to his groin—classic defensive posture. He’s the tallest one in his family, a full head taller than his father, but next to the other man, he’s shrunken, somehow. His shoulders are hunched, head half-bowed like a chastised dog.
Jason might be the king of high schoolers, but in his father’s shadow, he’s a meager prince. And it shows.
Mr. King smiles past the concierge, and the owner of the Blue Heron greets him personally with a stiff handshake. I find my eyes following them—the King family has become my new favorite nature documentary. And here, we see the Kings in the wild, prowling over their domain…
Blue sapphire eyes meet mine. Oh shit. I’ve been caught staring. I look away just when Jason’s penetrating gaze connects with mine. Where to put my eyes? Outside. On the pearly stars. I twist my hair in my fingers.
Out of the corner of my vision, a too-tall figure approaches. “Shit,” I whisper under my breath.
“Mr. Blake. Missus P.” Jason stands at the edge of our table, polite as a fucking church mouse.
“Jason.” Four smiles. He rests his hand on the back of Pearl’s neck. “How’s it going, son? Is your family here?”
“Yes, sir.” Jason’s eyes fix on me again. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. Can I have a word with Kenzi?”
I roll my eyes and pick a breadstick off the table. I chew it the way Bugs Bunny might nibble his carrot in front of Elmer—you’re not the boss of me. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of the table,” I tell him.
“Okay.” His eyes are sparkling. There’s that mischief again. He comes out with it: “You’re the one who cast off my boat.”
He doesn’t look pissed. If anything, he looks…amused? There’s that smug smirk climbing his lips.
I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Wanna come to a bonfire tonight?”
“Oh, a bonfire, honey, that sounds like fun!” Pearl says too enthusiastically.
“Pearl,” I chastise her. She’s completely ruining my cool.
Pearl sighs loudly. “Excuse me for wanting you to have some teenage escapades while you’re still young.”
