Page 167 of Forty, Flirty & Fall Inn

Luke clears his throat.“We were told there was a… pre-launch event?”

Roarke turns his scowl on us, but it’s not unfriendly—more like the look of a man holding back a sigh he’s had caught in his throat for weeks.“Yeah.This is it.Or what’s left of it.”He gestures at the glitter-pocalypse.“Supposed to be a presentation for a few investors, but…” He waves vaguely at Isla, the parakeet, the fort.“Plans changed.”

Luke’s mouth twitches, fighting a grin.“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

Roarke’s eyes narrow, but there’s the faintest twitch of humor there.“You wouldn’t happen to know a competent nanny, would you?”

I glance at Isla, who is now teaching Captain Feathers to spin in a circle.“Define ‘competent.’”

“One who can survive this without a nervous breakdown.”

Luke slips his arm around my waist.“Don’t look at us.We’re strictly in the goat business.”

“Goat business?”

“Long story,” I say quickly.“Short version: Goats are no less of a handful than kids.Or parakeets, it seems.”

“Debatable,” Luke mutters.

Roarke exhales like a man already regretting this conversation.“If you change your minds, I’ll pay hazard rates.”

As he turns back to Isla, Luke squeezes my hip.“So.Mediterranean wedding?”

I smile at the chaos in front of us—the glitter, the yacht, the parakeet shouting “History has its eyes on you!”—and murmur, “Let’s maybe get through this week first.”

But something tells me Roarke West’s drama might just make its way into our guest list.

* * *