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Twenty minutes later, I reemerge, heading outside in a fresh dress—black this time.

The neckline of the long-sleeved bandage dress gives away the sunburn on my shoulders from this morning’s boat ride with Will and his daughter, Mia.

In my head, my mother chides that tan lines are gauche. But at least the dress is clean.

Down at the dock, I spot Will engaged in what looks to be a relatively heated conversation with his law partner, Fritz. As in Frederick Hall III, a descendant of one of the founding families of Winter Park.

I watch as Will and Fritz’s argument goes quiet, and they turn back toward the house to rejoin the party. Will picks up his pace toward me as Fritz sidesteps, half nodding in my direction, looking flushed. Probably from too much bourbon.

“Why’d you change?” Will murmurs in my ear, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I liked the white.”

“Unfortunately, white silk and red wine are natural enemies,” I quip, hoping to drop it.

Before Will can react, Fritz loudly starts to tell the story of a recent weekend he spent at his family’s hunting camp on the St. Johns River, sucking up all the attention within a hundred-yard radius as he is known to do.

Fritz is the quintessential example of Florida wealth, an avid hunter with a designer wardrobe.

Golf and guns by day with a crisp Brioni tux always at the ready.

He’s clutching a glass of bourbon that waves precariously over designer shoes, with every gesture threatening to douse nearby listeners. We’ve heard the story before, but we join the listening crowd, playing along. Will pulls me close to him, a warm surge of energy sparking between us.

“We were there to hunt turkeys, but after a few too many bourbons, catching alligators seemed like a more reasonable pursuit,” Fritz booms, holding court.

His faintly Southern accent is an old-money sleight of hand—angling toward gentility.

In truth, there’s nothing genteel about him.

He’s the kind of person you either love or find yourself needing an escape from.

People are wide-eyed as he describes “gator shining,” the practice of stunning baby alligators by shining a floodlight in their eyes and lifting them up with a hand wrapped around their snouts so they can’t bite you when they come to.

In contrast to Fritz’s exuberance, Will embodies quiet confidence.

Their partnership—forged in law school and tested through more than twenty years of building a successful firm—has weathered the highs and lows of their journey, including working out of their cars and cherry-picking which bills to pay as they struggled to get their momentum.

Will is the careful anchor to Fritz’s inflated ego, but without Fritz’s hubris in the beginning, they might have folded.

To put it frankly, Fritz had the name and the money, and Will had the brains.

Now, they stand at the pinnacle of their profession. Their firm is recognized as one of the most formidable in the state, and their partnership is the longest-running relationship in Will’s life.

“So, at this point, we’ve got five or six baby gators in a bucket, and we were going to put them in your swimming pool, Nora.” Fritz laughs. “But with Will pushing fifty, I thought that might give him a heart attack. We can’t have him keeling over justyet.”

“Who’s pushing fifty? We’re the same age,” Will shoots back lightly, but the grip he has around my waist tightens a notch.

Fritz ignores Will, arriving at the part of the story where he’s in possession of six baby alligators that need to be released back into the wild.

“Now, I’m starting to wonder about alligators’ memories and whether they can hold a grudge like crows do, because I can’t say for certain if I’m putting these fuckers back in the right nests. ”

Fritz’s wife, Gianna, rolls her eyes so dramatically that it’s almost audible.

Gianna Hall is a stunning woman, with piercing eyes and sharp features—a few of them frozen in time by a delicate touch of Botox and the latest technology in peels.

From what Autumn tells me, Fritz and Gianna met as freshmen at the University of Florida, when she took one look at his pedigree and locked him down for good.

Having grown up perfectly upper middle class, Gianna was by no means born to the fuck-you money that Fritz’s family had.

And though she’ll haughtily advise that speaking about money or wealth is tacky—while wearing a blinding stack of diamond rings—she makes very good use of the family plane and their bottomless bank accounts.

And who can blame her? She bagged a winning lottery ticket—even if that ticket came in the form of Fritz and all his vainglorious personality.

Every few years, some gossip about Fritz bubbles up—a DUI or even a cocaine-fueled dalliance with a college-aged babysitter—but the rumors disappear as quickly as they surface.

It’s all at the hands of Gianna, or so the urban legend goes.

How she squelches the gossip in a town like this, no one ever asks.

She and Will’s ex-wife, Constance, have always been close, so naturally, Gianna hates me.

Constance and I are the antithesis of each other.

She is Scully & Scully to my Target home décor.

I wouldn’t put it past Gianna having been the one to crown me “Interloper,” withholding the approval of her social connections just to ice me out.

As Fritz’s oration continues, Will takes a step back from the crowd, pulling on my arm. We’re just out of earshot of the guests when he says tightly, “Seriously. What happened to your dress?”

“I told you. Este spilled a glass of wine down the front of it. Autumn is going to stain-treat it. I’ll get it to the cleaners.” I sound more defensive than I intend to. I just want everything to be perfect. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’ll get sorted.”

“Is Este drunk already?”

Este isn’t Will’s favorite person. She’s too carefree for his taste. He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and he expects everyone else to have his level of care. Still, the accusation stings.

“No. But accidents happen.”

“Accidents happen a lot more when you’re high as often as Este is.”

“She likes to have fun. That’s not a crime.” Behind the group, I watch Marcus step out of the French doors and ring a tiny, tasteful dinner chime. Grateful for the interruption, I nudge Will and point in Marcus’s direction. “I think it’s time for dinner.”

Will raises a hand for Fritz to pause his storytelling. It’s a gesture that commands respect, carrying the weight of their long-standing friendship.

“If we wait for Fritz to finish his story, dinner will be cold. The punch line is that the gators got away, but Fritz was convinced one of them was stuck in the trunk of his car for a week.”

The crowd lets out a polite laugh, shifting their attention to dinner even as Fritz glares at Will for cutting his story short.

Then we follow the pebbled path down toward the lake.

All morning, I watched as Autumn and her team raised a white tent on the lawn and transformed the space with green garlands and delicate fairy lights.

Chandeliers dangle from above, casting a soft glow.

In the center of the tent, a long white table serves as the focal point, adorned with elegant candelabra and vibrant bouquets of ranunculus and freesia, the sweet, earthy fragrance mingling with the evening breeze.

Beyond the tent’s edges, the moonlight shimmers on the surface of the lake, creating a play of light and shadow, and the clean-cut hedges that separate our lawn from Este and Beau’s add a touch of structure to the wild beauty that surrounds us.

As I go to take my seat at the table, I’m a little worried that Will won’t be able to let the dress thing go, but he pulls out my chair and kisses me.

“This is something else,” Will says. “Thank you.”

I smile. “Between Marcus’s food and Autumn’s party planning, I’m afraid I can’t take much credit.”

Dinner is served with precision, a choreographed dance of waiters in white gloves presenting all the plates in perfect unison. Marcus stands on the edge of the tent, orchestrating the delivery like a conductor.

“Autumn is a real master of ceremonies,” Fritz says. “She once threw a Monte Carlo–themed party for the firm, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I was in Monaco. I got so caught up in the moment that I lost about ten grand before Gigi cut me off.”

Gianna’s lips press into a chilly smile as she avoids my eye. “Will, how is Mia?”

She reaches for her wineglass, and the soft glow of light catches on the bejeweled ring on her pointer finger.

I take note of the mosaic of gems, and Gianna’s deft ability to showcase her new bauble.

Half-blinded by the sparkle, I can make out seven or eight flawless stones fixed in an artistic shape.

Just flashy enough to display power without appearing too gaudy.

“Land of conspicuous consumption” should be scrolled on the city’s crest.

Will smiles at the mention of his only daughter. “She’s good. Nora and I took her out on the boat this morning. She wanted to stay for the party, but I couldn’t think of a more boring way for a fourteen-year-old to spend a Saturday night than at a party for her dad.”

He’s sugarcoating the fact that Constance refused to let Mia stay for the party.

But Gianna probably already knows that.

The divorce might be far behind him, but Constance has hated me since Will and I first started dating.

While she was fine with Will spending the morning with Mia, hell would freeze over before she entertained the idea of her daughter attending a party I hosted—even if Mia and I have built a sort of friendship.

And, unlike some people in Will’s life, she doesn’t seem to wish her parents were still together.

As dinner progresses—to my relief—the evening finally finds an easier rhythm.

Maybe it’s the champagne or just being next to Will, but when he leans in to ask if I’m having a good time, I find myself nodding quietly and smiling.

And by the time cake is served with Fritz leading the crowd in a roaring rendition of “Happy Birthday,” there’s a lightness in the air that everyone seems to be enjoying.

For tonight, for now, everything seems to be just right.