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“Jesus. Fuck!” the voice boomed from down the hall. “What in Christ’s name were you thinking, Will? You fucking eloped on a goddamn beach? You didn’t think about what that would expose us to?”

Will answered calmly, “I really didn’t think my personal life had anything to do with you, Fritz.”

“Like hell!” Fritz roared.

Autumn found me in the kitchen, pretending not to listen to Fritz and Will fight in Will’s home office.

Or, to be more accurate: pretending not to listen to Fritz yell while Will responded in a voice now too low to hear.

I did my best to look composed even though I felt like a kid about to be sent to the principal’s office.

I looked down at the outsize diamond now sitting on my finger.

True to his word, Will had replaced the plastic straw with a massive stone and diamond pavé wedding band within a few days of our return from Nevis, but I kept the plastic ring in my jewelry drawer.

The sentimental feeling I got when I spotted it was in sharp contrast to the shame I felt listening to Fritz yell.

Am I in trouble for getting married?

“Nora, I’m thinking we should do the champagne toast in about twenty-five minutes,” she said. “Just before sunset.”

“You could have called!” Fritz went on. The sound of his voice reverberated up the hallway. “I could have sent you something basic. Something to protect the firm.”

What the hell does that mean?

Since we returned from Nevis, everything felt shiny and new.

Maybe it was na?ve, but the wedding ring on my finger made me feel like a bona fide member of Will’s circle.

My mom had been so excited she shrieked, and I swear I could hear her all the way from Bali.

Even Mia had been by to deliver flowers and a hug. She was genuinely excited for us.

Constance tacked in the other direction and completely ignored the fact that anything had happened.

Where she had been brazen in her outbursts before, she suddenly fell silent, offering zero acknowledgment of any kind.

I would have taken a halfhearted congratulations as a sign that we could start to coexist, even in the most tepid sense.

But blatantly ignoring the whole thing was as cutting a choice as she could make.

Well played, Constance.

Will had roped Autumn into planning a wedding celebration at the house.

And, over the course of a day, she had transformed his place— our place —into one of her picture-perfect parties.

She arrived bright and early that morning with a burst of energy and a take-charge attitude.

Furniture was rearranged, service stations created, and floral arrangements tastefully distributed.

She moved quickly through her tasks, talking layouts and itineraries.

And when she finally had put order to chaos, she came to help me choose an outfit.

“So you just got married? Just like that?” she had said as she stood in the closet wide-eyed, holding the dress she’d chosen.

There was a combination of wonder and horror as I told her about the wedding.

For an event planner as meticulous as she was, such a spontaneous affair was one of Dante’s innermost circles of hell.

I’d ignored her judgment and nodded blissfully. “It was perfect.”

Maybe she didn’t care for elopements, but Autumn knew how to throw a party.

And once the event was in full swing, it felt like something out of a movie.

Like Jay Gatsby himself had come back to life for one last hurrah.

The air buzzed with excitement and laughter and the faint sound of clinking champagne glasses.

She had insisted the servers pour only Dom Pérignon for the first hour, and I didn’t even want to imagine the bill for that.

There was a dance floor and a fourteen-piece band, working their way through the wedding reception hits.

But as the night went on, it turned out Autumn was in the majority with her shock over Will’s decision to elope.

When I passed pockets of people chatting, I kept catching weird snippets of conversation.

Phrases like “gold digger” and “shotgun wedding” bubbled up from the crowd.

It felt like one of those dreams where you’re naked on the first day of school.

With every errant whisper or comment, I took another sip of champagne—as some deranged, self-punishing drinking game.

So by the time Fritz and Will were having a fight in Will’s home office about why I hadn’t signed a prenuptial agreement and I listened in from the kitchen, I was well and truly hammered. Enough so that it took a minute to even occur to me that Autumn was hearing Fritz’s shouting, too.

I looked desperately at her for help. “Do you think people can hear them?”

Am I slurring my words?

“Everyone’s outside,” she said confidently. “I’ll bring Fritz another drink. That should break things up.”

I quickly drained the champagne flute she handed me. “Thanks. I smight need another one of these.”

Shit. I am slurring my words.

She shook her head and handed me a glass of water.

“Go outside and get some fresh air,” she soothed. “Be back in twenty minutes. I’ll tell the band to take their break around that time, and when you hear the music stop, that will be your cue to meet me by the dance floor. Try to be a little bit less…drunk by then, okay?”

She was managing me. I had just been managed. But I could see it was coming from a good place, and when the room swam a little, I knew she was right. I needed some water and a little fresh air. Autumn headed for the bar without another word.

I stood in the kitchen for a few seconds, drinking water and wondering if Will would come looking for me.

Then, deciding I didn’t want him to see me in this state, I meandered out the side door and along the side of the house, where a hedge served as a barrier between our house and the next.

By my champagne logic, that seemed like as good a place as any to sit down for a second.

But as I leaned against the hedge, I fell straight through the shrub branches, bonking my head on the ground hard enough to ring my ears.

“Ow.” I rubbed the back of my head.

“You okay?”

A celestial-looking woman appeared above me.

Everything about her was breezy and flowing, from her long, golden brown beach waves to her silk caftan.

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was some kind of fairy or an angel.

The thought almost made me laugh, but I bit my lip to quell my giggles.

I had just fallen into her yard. No need to further alarm her.

“I’m Este.” She cocked her head at me.

“Nora.” I blushed as I walked my hands back until I could sit up on her side of the property line.

“Okay, Nora. What are you doing in the hedge?”

“Sorry to be…I was just—” I shook my head, trying to lose the champagne spins, and pointed back toward the party. I took a breath to compose myself. “I live next door. I was sent outside to sober up,” I confessed.

Something close to recognition settled on her face. “You’re the young, new wife I heard the country club moms prattling on about at yoga.” She shook her head. “Boy, do they hate you.”

It should have hurt. Her repeating this gossip back to me should have registered as something in the vicinity of pain. But she wasn’t saying anything I didn’t already know. And at least she was saying it to my face.

“Don’t worry.” She smiled gently. “I’m the new-money bitch from California. They hate me, too.”

“We should start a club.” My words sounded a little more solid than they had in the kitchen. Maybe the change of scenery, or a whack to the head, was helping to sober me up.

“Or a coven.” She shrugged. “Who gives a fuck what they think anyway?”

It wasn’t exactly a groundbreaking point of view, but after spending the day with Autumn—the executive director of giving a fuck—it was nice to exhale a little of the tension I had been holding on to as I tried (and failed) to keep perfect composure.

“Come up to the house.” Este motioned with one hand. “You’ve got a little…” She waved her other hand around my face. “…shrubbery. In your hair.”

As we walked up the side of her house toward her pool deck, I noticed a man about Este’s age sitting in a lounge chair outside.

“Nora, this is my husband, Beau.”

A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I had to stop and bend over a little. I should have been embarrassed, but liquid courage was propping me up.

“Hey, I’m Nora.”

“Nice to meet you. You look a little…green. I’ve got an edible that might help?”

Beau looked to Este, who made a face at him to play along. She didn’t think I saw, but I did. Bless her. And him.

“You look great. But by Beau’s math, there’s nothing an edible can’t cure.” She looked back at him. “Nora belongs to the party next door. She’s the bride.”

“Nice,” he said. “Congrats.” Then he frowned and looked at Este. “Wait. Are you supposed to congratulate the bride or the groom? I can’t ever remember.”

“Those rules are stupid.” Este waved the question on. “Beau is an engineer. If it’s not ones and zeros, he needs a road map.”

“Este likes to think she’s the brains of this operation,” he said and winked at her, then gestured around the property. “But it’s all a part of my long con to get her to take care of me.”

“Shut up.” She laughed. “I’m going to take her inside and let her borrow a little makeup.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t be a stranger,” Beau called behind us.

As we walked into her modern mansion and out of earshot of Beau, Este said, “Beau sold his tech company back in California, and we made a killing. Now, he spends most of his time mentoring start-up founders. He’s thinking of teaching a class at Rollins.

But mostly, he’s impossibly rich and does whatever he wants. That qualifies as genius these days.”

She explained this the same way most people explained their professions.

He’s an attorney. She’s an architect. Este and Beau are essentially retired gazillionaires with zero fucks.

In a place that seemed to be built on double-talk, it was refreshing to be in the company of someone who called things as they were. Este didn’t talk to be crass or boisterous. She couriered the truth with an ease and sense of perpetual relief. I was immediately jealous.

We wound our way down a hall that led to a well-appointed master bedroom, sparsely decorated and furnished with pieces that were simultaneously sleek and serene.

There was a vanity in the dressing area between Este’s bathroom and closet that I was pretty sure I’d seen on a decorator’s Instagram touted as “one of a kind.”

“Sit there,” she said, pointing at a velvet bench. And I flopped compliantly into the seat as she handed me a Diet Coke from a minifridge in the corner.

“Sip. Slowly,” she instructed as she reached for a brush.

“You have a minifridge in your closet? God, rich people think of everything.”

Sniffing a little laugh, she said, “I’m just going to zhuzh a little.”

She brushed and spritzed my hair with product before applying a few touches of makeup. “Just a little extra,” she narrated as she tapped eye shadow into the inside corners of my eyes. “To brighten you up.”

I felt like she was throwing me a lifeline in the middle of the ocean.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to crash-land in your yard.” I realized I hadn’t given any thought to what she might have been in the middle of. “I thought this party would be fun, but it is… not. ”

“With that crowd, I can’t say I’m surprised.

You know that expression ‘Never let them see you sweat’?

It doesn’t really work here. They’re out for blood.

” She reached for a bottle of Evian face spray and misted my cheeks.

“Not a hint of sweat or blood in sight. Only a youthful, dewy glow for you, my dear.” She handed me the bottle.

“Take this with you. It will keep you looking hydrated.”

I checked the mirror and was relieved to find that I looked almost sober again.

Thank you, Boho Fairy Godmother.

Once she had cleaned me up, Este walked me outside and practically patted me on the butt, as if I was an athlete returning to the field.

“Go have fun,” she encouraged. “And don’t take any shit.”

I wanted to hug her. Instead, I said, “You should come with me!”

“Not a chance. I don’t socialize for sport.” She didn’t hesitate. “But I’ll come over tomorrow—we’ll get a coffee and some Advil.”

“You’re a really good neighbor.”

“Yes, I am.”

—

Autumn was vibrating with stress when I made my way toward the dance floor. “Where have you been? You were supposed to be here five minutes ago. The sun is almost down.”

Don’t take any shit.

“Almost isn’t completely,” I countered confidently. “There’s still time. Let’s do it.”

Autumn opened her mouth to speak, and then, as if realizing there wasn’t a moment to waste, dashed away, likely in search of Will.

Instead of Will, though, Fritz appeared. He flashed a wide grin when he saw me, but I could see the hint of weariness in his expression. He was smiling by rote. Still, he extended his hand to me, and I took it with my own polite smile.

“So happy for you two,” he said.

“That’s such a nice thing to say.” I dropped my hand. “I’m glad to hear you finally came around.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Came around?”

“It’s a big house, Fritz. But sound still travels. Hard to miss the screaming match in Will’s office.”

He cleared his throat and punched his hands in his pockets.

Stonewalling. Fine.

Autumn was approaching with Will. I was going to have to be brief but firm.

“I’ll sign whatever Will tells me to sign,” I said in a tone I was sure Fritz could hear but Will couldn’t. “Just have the paperwork drawn up and stop beating your chest, okay?”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Fritz promised.

I straightened my spine a little.

Champagne-fueled bravado is powerful.

“There’s my wife.” Will pulled me against him and planted a kiss on my lips.

The fake smile I had turned on for Fritz gave way to genuine joy for Will. “Hi,” I cooed as I wrapped my arms around him. And then I turned to Fritz. “Thanks so much for the well-wishes. I’m looking forward to hearing your toast.”

There was a dark flash in Fritz’s eyes. But it passed in an instant.

Will didn’t notice, and after a beat, I didn’t care anymore. We were too busy drinking each other in as the sun set over Lake Maitland.