Page 5

Jess had to stop wandering around in the dark while being funny and only moderately attractive. It was a classic horror movie blunder.

Following their conversation, Poppy had insisted on ordering Jess what she called “an emergency omelet.” Poppy pushed Jess into a comfy wingback chair near her office’s picture window and practically force-fed her fluffy cheese-stuffed eggs studded with bell pepper cubes. Then Jess spent two hours with her head in her hands, explaining the mechanics of her job to Poppy, her background in wedding planning, her history with Diana, Aubrey’s weird microaggressions, and why she needed Trenton’s money very, very badly. While the eldest Osbourne didn’t seem to think Diana deserved Jess’s efforts, she pledged the entire family’s help to make Jess’s job easier—“because, good Lord, somebody should.”

Poppy even offered to drive Jess back to her villa, but Jess had felt weird occupying more of her time when she walked into the dining room and saw the staff sweeping the floors and re-setting the table linens. Oh no, she was the customer bothering the staff past closingtime. So, Jess accepted a bottle of spring water from Poppy’s office minifridge and began the long walk down the hill to the villas. She could only hope that Diana would be asleep with some sort of gel mask over her eyes before she got back.

The grounds of the spa seemed so much emptier now, with only the wind for company. The constant rustle of the leaves reminded her of that feeling she’d had arriving at the Golden Ash—of being surrounded by an ocean of trees, with possible monsters lurking in the unknown depths of the woods. From the corner of her eye, Jess spotted the same light she’d seen before, bobbing and weaving in the trees. That was…weird. She trailed after it, walking the length of the lodge’s porch and rounding the corner near the kitchen.

It was a little late in the year for fireflies, wasn’t it?

She followed that light, past the entrance to the kitchen and a wide, flat patch of land marked with an “H.” Jess assumed it was a helipad for people too posh to drive through Chickenhawk Valley. Jess was grateful Diana hadn’t known that was an option.

After a few more minutes of trailing that meandering light’s progress, Jess found herself standing next to a sign reading “Meditation Hollow.” That was just one more indication of the spa’s fanciness. Normally in Tennessee, or even Kentucky, a depression in the landscape surrounded by craggy rocks would be called a “holler.” Which was way less elegant. The far side of the holler was marked by a convergence of creeks, flowing gently down a rocky slope to form a pool under the lip of a cave. Jess wondered if this water feature occurred naturally or if the Osbournes had moved those boulders here to create a place so peaceful, she’d temporarily forgotten she was alone in the woods. As far as she knew, the boulders were from Home Depot.

The moving light was getting smaller, fading into the trees beyond the rim of the holler. The high full moon almost lit the stepping-stone path to the holler’s “floor”—a wide bed of pea gravel. The bed, maybe forty feet across, hosted a double-layer semicircle of flat stones centered around one round raised stone. Jess carefully stepped down the path, even though the hollow sign clearly stated “Guests must be accompanied by staff.”

Probably should turn around, then, Jess. Obey the signs.

And yet she stayed. Passing the thick glass water bottle between her hands, Jess considered the space. The rock ridge formed a sort of amphitheater over the class space, shallow enough that Jess could see the entire expanse of the cave. The pool’s rock basin seemed too round and perfect to be real.

Poppy mentioned guided meditation sessions. Were the raised stones meant for seating? Jess sniffed, sure she smelled something green and medicinal, rosemary and…parsley? She moved to step off the path, toward the cave, but before her foot could even touch the gravel, she heard a twig snap behind her.

“Hel—” She bit off the syllable before she fully formed a word. Calling “hello” in the dark was how semi-starlets were tracked by axe-wielding murderers in those horror movies. Not that Jess considered herself starlet material. But she was definitely “wise-cracking friend who dies” material.

Jess pressed her lips together, breathing deeply through her nose. Spending time with Diana was really messing with her brain.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a voice barked at her, making her jump. Before she could even process her surprise, Jess turned and flung the water bottle in her hands dagger-style toward the voice. She heard a faint clatter at her feet, but was focused on the bottle, flying with horrifying precision toward the tall, masculine shape standing on the path. It only occurred to her after the bottle left her hand that the shape was Strawberry Guy.

“Ow! Fuck!” he shouted as the butt end of the bottle struck his chest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Up close, Strawberry Guy was even more devastating. The shadows emphasized the sharp angles of his features and the depths of his eyes. She could see now that they were a smoky blue, eerily reflecting the moonlight.

She’d thrown a bottle at a staff member and was now openly ogling him. She was sober, but did that count as “impacting other people”?

“Um, hi,” she said, waving awkwardly. “I’m a guest at the spa?”

Why was she making it sound like a question?

“Yeah, I saw you earlier,” he rumbled, rubbing a hand where she’d hit his sternum.

Jess didn’t know if she should be flattered by him noticing her. Probably not. He didn’t sound impressed.

“You know, you can’t just go wandering around any-damn-where you please, especially in the dark,” he told her, his voice growing harsher by the word. He bent to scoop up her bottle, which somehow had remained intact in its collision with his chest. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? There are fifty-foot drops out here. There are sinkholes. There are bears , for God’s sake. How do you think it’s gonna make those friends of yours feel if you disappear and they never hear from you again?”

“I know. I know. Well, they’re not my friends, and I don’t think my disappearance would bother any of them. Anyway, I’m sorry. Wait—what are you doing out here? It’s kind of far from the kitchen, isn’t it?”

“These are my woods,” he told her.

“Got it. You’re doing a whole Chef Mountain Man thing. Fine,” she retorted. “Now, if you’re done sneaking up on me, I’ll just head back to my villa.”

“It’s Dean,” he told her. “I’m Dean Osbourne.”

“I guess male flower names are a little harder to come by. I’m Jess Bricker.” She paused, biting her lip. “Unless hitting you with a bottle will get me kicked off spa property, in which case my name is Aubrey Porter.”

His frown, which was starting to feel pointed, deepened. He made a gesture for her to follow him. She did what he asked, careful not to stare at his jean-clad ass as they moved up the incline and turned toward the rear of the lodge. She wondered how he was able to move around so confidently like this at night. Was it because he was used to walking by moonlight or because he’d taken the path here so many times?

“I thought the villas were that way,” she noted.

“Yeah, but this way’s shorter and has more lights,” he told her, gesturing to a well-worn footpath marked with little black shin-high lamps. “Think of it as a frontage road. It lets the staff move around the property unnoticed. Gives the appearance of this place running itself.”

“So, walking into the hollow was too dangerous, but following a man I don’t know into the woods is OK, got it,” she muttered. She stopped when she saw that alien light again—too blue, too bright, to be natural, this time off to her right.

Dean paused, turning to her. “Hey, I thought I made it clear how important it was to keep up.”

Before she could even point at it, the light winked out. Jess rubbed at her face. Maybe she was just tired. “I saw something, I thought.”

“Probably a will-o’-the-wisp,” he told her.

“Huh?”

Dean groaned like he was annoyed with himself for continuing this conversation with her. He walked on, and she scrambled to follow.

“It’s an old story our granny used to tell us,” he told her. “Ghost lights that float through the woods to lure travelers off the safe path to their doom. Most mountain ghost stories are about luring people out of security to their deaths…and yes, this is what I would call ‘a pointed hint.’?”

“Well, I followed one into an abandoned meditation hollow, so I guess that’s fair,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to go down there on my own, or to stay out so late. I was angry and I needed someone to talk to, and your cousin Poppy was kind enough to listen. I kind of verbally threw up all over her. I’m wondering if it’s some sort of unprocessed adolescent trauma—probably rooted in my mom leaving—that’s keeping me from standing up to the cool mean girl or the other cool mean girl, or if it’s my current financial dependence on keeping the first cool mean girl happy. Either way, I don’t think it speaks very well of me as an emotionally evolved adult.”

“I’m sorry, why are you telling me any of this?” he demanded. “Even if you tricked Poppy into listening to you complain, we are not friends. If whoever you’re staying with made you so mad that you damn near wandered off the side of a mountain, you should just stop hanging out with assholes. I swear, you people come up here thinking this place is some mystical universal force going to fix something in you. It’s not magic. It’s only mud.”

“Wow, your cousins should really put that on the brochure,” she muttered.

He stopped before she even registered the movement, and she found her nose buried between his shoulder blades. He smelled nice, like warm spices and black tea, but also ow . He turned and gently put his hands on her arms to steady her so he could step back. Jess rubbed at her stubbed nose.

“They’re not all my cousins, OK? Sis is actually my sister,” he said. “And everything about this place is hard work for my family. It’s even harder when I come off a dinner shift only to be dragged back into the kitchen by a last-minute room service order from a guest who just ate dinner , and find another guest wandering around a dangerous place with uneven wet surfaces, loose gravel, and dim lighting. And have I mentioned the bears?”

“Yes, you did,” she murmured.

His hands, warm and ridiculously large, were still on her upper arms. She glanced down, and he snatched them back. This had to be a weird position, a staff member alone in the dark with a guest. The version of herself who purchased liability insurance for her own small business cringed inwardly for putting him through this.

As they walked along the footpath, she expected to see the bank of guest villas, but Dean led her through a fiery leaf canopy to a…temple. There was no other way to put it. The square stone building looked like some mystical space devoted to ancient vainglorious gods. The tall windows were inlaid with alternating clear and gold and pearlescent-white stained-glass panels, which loomed tall and stately in the moonlight, drawing Jess in, even if she was a little afraid of what she might find.

“What the…What is this?” she asked, marveling.

They seemed to have arrived at a strange new corner of the grounds. How had the Osbournes managed to make a hidden footpath putting her on this undiscovered side of the spa property so quickly? Would she have managed to get back out of the hollow safely without Dean, given his dire warnings of all things bear-related?

Oh, who was she kidding? She probably would have fallen into a ravine or something and her remains never would have been found. Aubrey would have given the Dateline producers the worst reference photo possible, and her episode would have been called “The Woman Who Disappeared…along with Her Dignity.”

“Your group arrived too late for the full tour. That’s the thermal suite,” Dean said, like this monument to stone elegance was nothing impressive. “It’s where Jonquil built all these hot tubs and special showers and saunas and stuff. Kind of like a grown-up water park. I don’t see the point in it, but if guests want to turn themselves into people soup, who am I to judge?”

“Can I express, as someone somewhat trapped in a remote location with you and your industrial kitchen, how uncomfortable I am with you using the phrase ‘people soup’?” she suggested.

Dean stared at her. Hard. But she got the feeling he wanted to laugh. She wanted to believe that, anyway, given the “people soup” thing.

Instead, he huffed out, “Look, just don’t go back to the hollow alone, OK? Stop spending your time with people who make you mad enough to put yourself in a stupid amount of danger.”

“That’s reasonable advice,” she conceded as he led her over a little rise in front of the thermal suite building. She could see the villas down the hill, which apparently kept the thermal suite hidden from the guest quarters. It made sense, giving guests the sense of being tucked away from the aesthetic business of facials and steam showers. Compared to the imposing thermal spa, the guest villas looked like Hobbit cottages tucked away in endless nature. An enchanted smile curved Jess’s lips. “It’s like the Shire, but for grown-ups.”

“Your villa is that way,” he said, chin-pointing toward Tranquility.

“Thank you for getting me back,” she told him. “Enjoy the rest of your broody, misanthropic evening.”

“Likewise, and check yourself over for ticks,” he called after her.

She whirled around, glancing down at her legs as if she could spot them in the dark. “What?”

“Yes, this is reality, not a sterile environment,” he said, sweeping his arms toward the trees. “There are bugs out here.”

“Clearly, they’ve been biting you on the ass for a while,” she grumbled under her breath as she walked away.

“What was that?” he called, sounding amused.

“Good night!” she yelled back.

She crept quietly toward Tranquility Villa, hoping to avoid the notice of anyone who might be out this late. She noticed a room service cart parked outside DisHarmony Villa. Inside, she could hear them arguing, again, clear as day. Jess wondered if they thought nightfall made them undetectable or something?

“I heard you! I heard you tell her, ‘I know where all the good bars are in town if you want to sneak away some night. I know where all the secret spots are—the ones only locals know about,’?” Susan rumbled out in a pathetically eager bass timbre before switching back to her more natural strident tone. “Really subtle, Jeremy.”

“I wasn’t implying she should ‘sneak away’ with me,” Jeremy practically whined back. “I was just trying to be helpful! Jesus, Susan!”

“She is a local, you dumbass. She doesn’t need you to tell her where anything is,” Susan shouted. “You have got to stop being so weird around the staff! Slapping cash into every hand you come across. Ordering room service every night when we’ve already spent hours in the dining room! Dean Osbourne isn’t going to come work at your ‘restaurant’ just because you order that disgusting pasta over and over!”

“The tagliatelle was his signature dish when he worked at Sazio,” Jeremy protested.

Susan yelled, “It smells like old gym socks!”

“I’m trying to let him know I recognize his history!” Jeremy cried. “He’s the only chef for the restaurant, Susan. He’s the whole reason we came up here in the first place.”

“I thought we were here to spend time together,” she retorted. “Jeremy, you have got to let this stupid, half-assed dream go. You’ve been ‘perfecting’ your plans for this restaurant for more than ten years! You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re embarrassing me , trying to prove you’re the big man, like your brothers—”

“I don’t have to listen to this!” Jeremy burst out of the villa’s door, dressed in dark gray joggers and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. Silently, Jess ducked behind an oak tree between their villas. She did not want to be caught up in the marital dysfunction unfolding here. She had her own dysfunction to deal with in her villa.

Jeremy saw the room service cart and snatched a plate, silver cloche and all. And then, after a few steps, he came back for a napkin-rolled set of silverware.

Jeremy stomped toward the golden ash tree, waiting until he was safely away to shout, “I can’t deal with you when you’re acting this crazy!”

And then he stormed off. It was really hard to storm off effectively while wearing bright red rubberized athletic sandals. The smick-smack sound of his steps sort of ruined the exit.

Jess stepped out of the shelter of the oak tree, covering her mouth with her hand to smother her laugh. Susan followed Jeremy out, chest heaving. Jess froze. She’d been in enough raging, stressed-out bride scenarios to know that any movement would attract Susan’s attention and, therefore, her aggression. But paralysis also kept Jess from ducking into the shadows of her own villa’s porch. So, when Susan, who seemed to have snapped out of her anger long enough to scan her surroundings for witnesses to this scene, inevitably looked toward Jess…she was just standing there, like the ghost of a Victorian child, creepily staring into the depths of Susan’s domestic tumult.

Susan’s eyes narrowed angrily. She muttered something under her breath before striding into her villa and slamming the door. With Jeremy out of her reach, Susan let loose a guttural scream only slightly muffled by the villa’s walls. The sound of anguish and rage and deep, festering hurt made Jess flinch, her chin drawing into her chest. The motion felt wrong somehow. Jess paused and realized she couldn’t feel the rounded weight of pearls against her throat.

Confused, she reached down and patted her neck. Her great-grandmother’s necklace was gone.

The clasp, while solid silver, was about as dependable as a drummer ex-boyfriend. Where could Jess have lost them? She remembered worrying them on her angry march out of dinner. But she also recalled the faint plink of metal against stone when Dean had startled her at the meditation hollow.

Oh…shit.

What if she’d lost her necklace in the one place where she’d promised Dean she wouldn’t return alone? Obviously, Jess couldn’t go back and look for them now, in the dark, after defying the wise-cracking best friend movie odds thus far, but when it was light out tomorrow…yeah, those pearls were the one heirloom her family had. The Brickers didn’t have baby spoons to sell.

While she mulled over the safest way to find them, Jess turned toward footfalls in the distance. The clip-clop sound was different than Jeremy’s undignified sandal smacking.

Who knew there would be so much late-night traffic at a spa?

Jess watched as a curvy dark-haired woman in a bright aqua sweater strode to Stillness Villa on an adorable pair of chunky tan booties. The Yoni Egg Queen yanked her door open, scowling at the newcomer. The visitor glanced around, as if she didn’t want to be observed, and handed the Yoni Egg Queen a brown paper lunch bag. She snatched it from Lunch Bag Bearer, then turned and slammed the villa door.

Lunch Bag Bearer didn’t seem offended by this display, shrugging and walking back into the darkness. Who was that woman? She wasn’t wearing a spa uniform but she…well, she didn’t seem to be a guest. She didn’t seem to be trying to impress anyone with her ripped jeans and casual saunter. Even Jeremy and Susan dressed like they were trying to impress someone, with their flashy jewelry and designer loungewear. Jeremy’s impractical sandals were the latest luxury signature product from a nineteen-year-old basketball phenom.

So, what was this strange outsider doing, delivering mystery bags door-to-door after midnight?

It could be drugs. The Yoni Egg Queen looked pretty crunchy granola, but she also seemed to be the type to only smoke organically grown hydroponic special reserve weed sold by her favorite bud-rista, not some random strand clandestinely delivered in a sandwich bag.

This…felt weird. What if the delivery wasn’t weed but something worse? Was Dean so agitated about Jess being out at night unsupervised because he was protecting a clandestine drug operation? The spa could be a front. The entire Osbourne family could be Breaking Bad.

It was possible that she was spiraling due to extreme emotional tension, she mused.

Jess’s Big Book of Life Plans: Stay away from potential drug dealers, even if they have super-cute taste in shoes.

“The Big Book of Life Plans probably isn’t a healthy coping mechanism,” she muttered, jerking her villa door open.

***

It was possible Jess’s frayed nerves were preventing her from accurately gauging threats, because waking up in unfamiliar surroundings to a virtual stranger staring at her had her scrambling back until she nearly fell out of bed.

“Morning,” Kiki said, sitting up in a twin bed that hadn’t seemed so close the night before. She scooted until she was sitting against the headboard, a wry smile on her face. The wide neck of a bright yellow sweatshirt reading “Girls Just Want to Have Fun…ding for Their Academic Research” fell off Kiki’s shoulder while she slid on a pair of black-framed glasses.

“How are you doing this morning?” Kiki asked gently. “You got back awful late, and that whole thing with Aubrey last night was, again, weirdly intense.”

“It was not great,” Jess agreed. “And I’m trying to figure out my place here.”

Kiki gave her a speculative look. “So that whole story Aubrey was telling about the Pepperman-Copperfield wedding?”

“Not even close to the right names,” Jess told her, making Kiki laugh. “And Aubrey’s version was not what happened. Forty minutes before the Pepperfield-Cooper ceremony—one of the few weddings that Angenette let me plan entirely on my own—there was an incident. The whole process was sort of a nightmare because the bride was overanalyzing every little word and gesture from the groom for signs that he was ready to bolt. It didn’t help that the groom could not have been less enthusiastic about getting married because he was in love with his former roommate, Tiffany, who he’d sworn up and down was just a friend.”

Kiki frowned. “Oh.”

“Who he’d asked to be an usher.”

When Kiki’s brows winged up, Jess added, “It was a very awkward wedding. Anyway, he disappears right before the ceremony and I find him in the rectory, having a panic attack—because he’s not ready to be married, or at least, not to the bride—but he thinks somehow crawling out of the church window using a rope made of knotted choir robes would be less hurtful than saying so to the bride’s face.”

When Kiki’s eyes went wide, Jess added, “Men have a deep-seated misinterpretation of what makes them look like ‘the bad guy.’ Anyway, I try to talk the groom through the hyperventilating but he passes out. In his fight with consciousness, he drags me down to the floor and falls right on top of me. I’m pinned under his dead weight and he is a surprisingly bony guy, all elbows and angles.”

Kiki winced. “Ow.”

Jess nodded. “I don’t have the upper body strength to move him. When the bride came in, all she saw was her groom on the floor on top of me.”

Kiki frowned. “And she thought…”

“Yes, she did,” Jess said, nodding. “And she yelled loud enough to attract quite a few of the vendors and early guests. Fortunately, one of their grandmothers was able to calm the bride down while one of the uncles revived the groom. We explained the whole ‘not cavorting with the groom’ thing, which, fortunately, the bride mostly believed. But I think the fact that she believed he would cheat so easily—with someone who was actively trying to help them get married—made her have second thoughts. And he was already having second and third thoughts. So, they decided to just call the whole thing off, fairly amicably, but all that the guests and vendors knew was that they were told to go home. The groom married the usher lady a year later. But by the time the gossip made the rounds—thanks to those aforementioned sucky coworkers, I’m guessing—the story was that I was the reason they canceled.”

“Did you leave the wedding planning business because of the story?” Kiki asked.

“No, I left the business because it was time for me to do something different,” Jess told her. “The sucky coworkers didn’t help.”

“Yeah, Diana is never going to believe this less exciting version,” Kiki told her.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” Jess sighed. “Changing the subject, I have a question about the Helston bridesmaid tradition. Why aren’t any of your other cousins serving their tour in Diana’s wedding party? Or, you know, physically present?”

Kiki winced. “As I said, Diana’s the family favorite amongst the older generations. There’s a laser focus on her, with not much attention paid to anyone else our age in the family. And that favoritism hasn’t exactly made her popular with our generation. All the cousins found reasons not to take part—knee surgery, pregnancy, vertigo, broken foot, ‘It’s inappropriate for me to be a bridesmaid at forty-seven.’ Aunt Birdie is incredibly frustrated over it. She’s never been able to not guilt the cousins into doing something.”

Jess pushed her unruly hair out of her face, wincing when her fingers caught in it. “Your aunt came to school sometimes, for parent events. I never spoke to her directly because she seemed like a genuinely terrifying person.”

“She is.” Kiki pursed her lips, plucking at the gray duvet. “You know, I was accepted to Wren Hill, but I didn’t get to go. The family didn’t see the sense in scrounging together tuition for a girl who wouldn’t take advantage of the school’s social opportunities. I had to make my own way—public schools, merit scholarships to STEM-oriented universities.

“Diana may be the favorite. She may have gotten to go to Wren Hill, but she’s also under their thumb in a way I’m not. She didn’t get her pick of colleges. She made some noises about going to Millsaps to major in business, but Aunt Birdie wouldn’t hear of it. The ‘right type’ of man wouldn’t want a woman who could compete with him. How was this hypothetical man going to feel if Diana got opportunities or— gasp— a job that he wanted? Better for her to stay local, go to Harrow, and major in marketing. That was much more aesthetically focused, less threatening, and would train her for the right sort of charity board memberships. The job for the custom jewelry lady? Diana only got that because Aunt Birdie thought it would bring her into contact with people capable of buying expensive pretties.”

Suddenly, Jess remembered the math awards Diana had won on Wren Hill’s parents’ days. Diana had been a legitimate academic threat in freshman and sophomore years, but then she’d sort of drifted away from it. Jess supposed she was replaced by girls whose potential suitors wouldn’t be intimidated by long division skills.

“Diana tried to argue that she could major in international business, where she had the potential to meet financial highfliers. But Aunt Birdie was afraid it would take her too far away for the family to benefit. So, Diana’s wants got lost in the shuffle. They want her to be successful, but not in a way that benefits her only.”

Jess’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know if I’m emotionally prepared to feel sorry for Diana.”

“Trust me, I get it,” Kiki told her. “My aunt Neely didn’t even get to pick her own daughter’s name. Aunt Birdie named her, after Princess Diana. That’s the expectation Diana’s had on her shoulders her whole life, to aspire to that sort of notoriety and to drag the whole family up with her. It’s on her to help us recapture the former Helston glory.”

Jess supposed this was why Diana was the only Helston considered to inherit family jewelry, but she figured it would be pretty awful to bring it up.

Kiki murmured. “I mean, I don’t even know if Diana likes Trenton. But she’s going to marry him because the family wants that pecan money. I mean, it’s been made clear to me that no one expects anything from me, but at the same time, no one expects anything from me . There’s a certain freedom in that.”

“You have a PhD,” Jess reminded her. “I mean, for all they know, you could invent the next ibuprofen, and they’ve spent all these years backing the wrong horse. It would serve them right if you did the ‘new private island, who dis?’ to the whole bunch of them. All this archaic patriarchal bullshit about marrying Diana into wealth…Did no one in your family see any movie made about Anne freaking Boleyn? None of those movies ended great for Anne. Or the Boleyns. What do they think marrying into Tillard money is going to do for them?”

Kiki shrugged, piling her dark russet hair into a messy bun on top of her head. “Cash infusions for failing businesses. Investments in our properties all over the damn state that are basically falling apart. Funding for whatever harebrained scheme will lead to their next chapter eleven filing. They want an easy life, minimal effort, guaranteed security. Without the risks involved in some of their more ‘creative’ financial maneuverings.”

“Wouldn’t buying lottery tickets be a little easier?” Jess asked.

“All that scratching off and the math,” Kiki scoffed. “Look, Trenton has a very large, very rich, very clueless circle of friends who are going to need you to organize their proposals when Diana’s engagement blows up Instagram. And Trenton is a trout-mouth, so he will tell everybody. You just have to find it in you to get through this week and you’ll be able to write your own ticket.”

“Trenton does seem to have the subtlety of a sack of hammers,” Jess said with a snort as Kiki opened the curtains that overlooked their balcony. “But how are you going to profit from all this? Where do you fit into the family’s plan?”

“Oh, I have plenty of ideas.” Kiki winked at her. “So, change of subject, do you want to talk about why you came back from your night hike looking, well, flushed and bothered ?”

Jess couldn’t be sure whether her flustered state had been the result of Dean’s vampire cheekbones, witnessing the breakdown of the DisHarmony guests’ marriage, or what appeared to be a secret drug deal, so she just said, “Nope. What’s on your treatment schedule today?”

Kiki pouted briefly but responded. “Some punishing form of yoga and then we’re rewarded with facials and body wraps. I’m gonna take the bathroom first, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Jess told her. She got up and closed the bedroom door, noting that across the hall, Aubrey and Diana’s door was still firmly shut.

“I wasn’t ‘flushed and bothered,’?” Jess muttered to herself.

Kiki called from the other side of the bathroom door, “Yes, you were!”

***

True to Aubrey’s word, the breakfast delivered to their villa was a selection of fresh fruit, fresh-squeezed juices, and plain poached eggs. Aubrey had sent back a tray of croissants and the hollandaise with the room service attendant, along with strict “no pastry, no sauce” instructions for the rest of the week.

Jess set about making herself jasmine tea in the villa’s electric kettle, with an extra pot of coffee to supplement their breakfast selections. She had a feeling she was going to need the caffeine.

“I don’t want to admit out loud that I would fight somebody for a croissant, but I think I could take her,” Kiki whispered, nodding at Aubrey as she directed the staff in setting out their breakfast on the dining table. Jess snickered, only stopping when Diana glared at her.

Diana was wearing head-to-toe prestige-brand yoga gear in her signature color. Aubrey was wearing a near clone of the outfit—down to the off-the-shoulder sweatshirt and crisscrossed sheer-panel workout tights, but in heather gray. By comparison, Jess was decidedly more relaxed in jeans and a sweater. Kiki was wearing an old, faded Vanderbilt T-shirt and jean shorts.

“You’re not seriously considering wearing that, are you?” Aubrey asked eyeing Kiki’s attire.

Apparently, they were going to just pretend that Aubrey hadn’t acted like a complete jerk the night before. Fine. Jess was lady enough to engage in abject denial first thing in the morning.

Aubrey continued, “I mean, there’s a certain standard here, and you’re representing Diana’s brand. Remember, luxe positivity is all about ‘external attentiveness, internal affirmation.’?”

Again, Jess took a moment to appreciate the absolute concentrated banality of that brand statement. Because…damn.

Jess couldn’t help but notice that despite hauling a professional wedding planner up a mountain with her and all her talk of “branding,” Diana hadn’t mentioned a lot of specific details about her wedding dreams. She’d mentioned a dress, but not a special location or food or even music. She didn’t seem attached to a particular look or feeling. Was it a lack of creativity at work, or would Diana simply choose the most expensive option at every turn?

“A ratty T-shirt doesn’t imply attentiveness, Kiki,” Aubrey continued. “And Jessie, I’m gonna need to see your selection for the day.”

“Not likely,” Jess retorted. “Also, I’m not wearing yoga gear because I’m going to the office to contact some vendors for Diana’s proposal.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Jess could use the phone access to call vendors for Trenton and Diana’s botanical garden extravaganza, but it would also allow her to contact Mavis and possibly work for other clients. It would also allow her some space from Diana and Aubrey. And since temporarily moving Jess’s room to another mountain wasn’t an option…

“Well, I’m glad to see you making some effort,” Diana noted. “You ran out of the brainstorming session last night.”

“Super unprofessional,” Aubrey told her, shaking her head.

“Yeah, almost as unprofessional as spouting completely untrue rumors about a colleague in front of a client,” Jess retorted.

“I mean, did you really believe the Pfefferman-Copperpot wedding story?” Kiki scoffed, giving Aubrey a withering look. “So gullible.”

“I appreciate the support, but you’re getting further away from using the right names,” Jess whispered from the side of her mouth.

“Do you still believe in the Easter Bunny? Do we have to have the Santa talk?” Kiki asked Aubrey, her eyes wide. Jess snickered. Yes, it was kind of immature that they’d basically broken down into whispering slumber party factions. But it was reassuring, having someone else who was just trying to survive this week without a stress rash.

“OK, I don’t care about this anymore,” Diana said. “Are you girls ready for yoga? We need to clear our minds of this static before we get down to work.”

“As I said, I’m going to the office to make some calls based on some details you’ve mentioned,” Jess said. “I thought that was the whole point of me being here.”

Diana frowned, seemingly caught between being pleased that Jess was forwarding her proposal plan and displeased that Jess was disobeying a direct order. Her eyes narrowed at Jess. “I guess so.”

“Thank you,” Jess replied.

Aubrey gave her a withering smile. “It’s probably better that you try to do something productive anyway, Jess.”

Diana flounced back into her room with a “Kiki! I’ll find you something more flattering to wear!”

“Good luck wrangling all that once the wedding planning starts,” Jess told Aubrey, waving carelessly after the bride-to-be.

“Some of us are professional enough to handle the challenge,” Aubrey said with a sniff, following Diana through the door.

Jess leaned over and told Kiki, “I think you could take her, too.”