VANESSA BELMONT
As we entered the patio area, Carver said, "Margaritas, ladies?"
"Hell, yes," said Grace and I together.
"I'll go with Carver," said Ollie. "We'll need four hands for all that booze."
Grace followed slightly behind me as we walked toward the pool's shallow end. Fiona stepped in front of us. "Miss Belmont, may I speak with you?"
The image of Miss White Moonlight pushing me and then "falling" into the pool flashed through my mind. "I don't want to talk to you. If you need a friend, go find Nathan."
Her expression immediately turned to hurt and her eyes filled with tears. "There's nothing going on between us, Miss Belmont. I don't know why you're so mean to me."
"Fuck off," said Grace as she came to stand beside me.
Fiona hugged herself, crystalline tears streaking her cheeks. "Miss Witherstone, what have I done to offend you?"
"You're standing in front of me."
Fiona went to grab my hands, which was her go-to move for showing how sweet she was (vomit). But I avoided her grasp. It didn't matter, though. Fiona launched herself into the pool. Spluttering, she came to the surface.
"Vanessa!"
Nathan jumped into the pool and grabbed Fiona, who was acting her little heart out. She cried pitifully and sagged into his arms as he walked out of the pool, holding his princess.
Grace glanced at me. "What? Did he think that was you?"
"No way."
I remembered how this played out before. Whispers from bystanders who reacted to the trembling, crying Fiona. While I hauled myself out of the pool, I heard all kinds of terrible comments about how awful I was. Fiona's efforts didn't stop the wedding because Nathan would not break the contract—and neither would I. But any relationship we might've built never happened because Fiona destroyed the foundation.
I shouldn't be surprised, though. That's how it worked when you married for money and your familial relationships were built on avarice.
Fiona coughed and clutched Nate's shoulders. "You didn't have to push me, Miss Belmont. I'm really sorry."
Grace rolled her eyes. "Not sorry enough," she muttered.
"Who pushed you?" asked Nate.
"Your fiancé. She said I was trying to seduce you."
"What do you mean trying?" Grace snorted. "You've succeeded. You're clinging to a man who's getting married in half a year. And he's letting you." Grace looked at me. "Anything in that marital contract about fidelity?"
"No," I answered. "You'd think he'd at least wait until the honeymoon was over before he bedded another woman."
We both looked at Nate, and he had the wherewithal to at least look uncomfortable with the situation. I would've preferred red-faced shame, but oh well.
"What's going on?" Ollie and Carver arrived each man holding two strawberry margaritas. Grace and I each took one.
"You're missing the show," said Grace. "Fiona here is telling everyone how mean Vanessa is."
"She knows I can't swim. She shoved me," insisted Fiona. Her fingers curled around Nate's wet shirt. I felt jealousy jolt through me. I didn't want her hands on him. Also, who the hell was Nate to tell me to stay away from other men when he let this vicious kitten paw him whenever she wanted? I blew out a breath to calm my anger. This scenario had already played out in my previous life.
And I had been the loser.
Grace looked around. "Anyone witness Vanessa pushing little Miss Muffet into the pool?" She crossed to where Nathan stood holding Fiona. She sipped her margarita and then smiled coldly. "No one? Oh, c'mon, people. Surely one of you saw Vanessa's cruelty."
"Fiona jumped," came a woman's voice. "I saw her."
"I did, too," said another partygoer.
"Vanessa didn't touch her," admitted a third.
Grace turned her glare to Nathan. "You want to keep believing this woman's bullshit? Then you get what you deserve." She turned around and sauntered to Nate and I. "C'mon, besties. The atmosphere around here stinks."
"Vanessa."
Nathan's voice stalled me and I looked over my shoulder at him.
"Your shoes," he said, jerking his head to the right. My sandals were on top of the nearest table. I had forgotten them at the water-battle field. I sent him a puzzled glance. Why did he have my shoes, and why did he bring them to me? I grabbed the sandals. Then I followed my friends.
***|***|***|***|***
VANESSA BELMONT
Karaoke had been set up next to the pool—fairy lights, a temporary stage, and drunk people who couldn't sing worth a damn.
I loved it.
The four of us found an empty table and sat down.
Ollie clinked his glass against Grace's. "Alright, who's going first? No backing out now."
Grace smirked. "Vanessa and I are going to rock Wind Beneath My Wings."
"You've chosen death," I said. "If I sing, I promise you that Siberia will call us and ask us to put the dying cow out of its misery."
"So we should prepare," said Carver. "With more margaritas."
I nodded. "The drunker, the better."
Carver left and returned with a tray full of fresh margaritas.
Grace dragged me onto the makeshift stage, and the opening notes swelled. She belted out the first verse like she was auditioning for an off-off-off Broadway musical. I joined in. I hoped my enthusiasm might make up for my lack of talent. Given Grace's pained expression, I was guessing it did not.
Then I saw him.
Nathan stood at the edge of the stage, his dark gaze locked onto me. My fingers tightened around the mic, but I reminded myself: He wants Fiona. He loves Fiona. He does everything for fucking Fiona.
The song ended, and everyone burst into applause. Probably because I had stopped caterwauling. I stepped down, determined to avoid Nathan—until my bare foot caught on the uneven patio stone.
I went down hard, my knee scraping against the rough surface, the sting sharp enough to make me hiss.
"Vanessa!"
Nathan was there in an instant, his hand outstretched, his expression unreadable. But before I could take it, Fiona materialized out of nowhere, her delicate fingers fluttering to her lips in faux distress.
"Oh no! Miss Belmont, are you hurt?" she gasped, stepping right into Nathan's path.
Unbelievable.
I glared up at her, but her adoring gaze never left Nathan. Carver shouldered past my fiance, his usual smirk replaced with genuine concern.
"Neenie, are you okay?"
"Other than bruising my pride and my knee, I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
Carver effortlessly scooped me up. I had no choice but to hold on to him. Nathan's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering between me and Fiona, who was now clinging to his arm like kudzu.
"It's just a scrape," I muttered, but Carver was already carrying me toward the house.
Grace and Ollie fell into step beside us. "What does Nathan see in Fiona?" she asked. "She's obviously horrible."
"They're childhood friends."
"Friends with benefits," muttered Grace. "I know a really great lawyer. I hate his guts, but he's amazing at his job. I can call him and see if there's a way for you to break the contract without paying the penalties."
"He'd be a miracle worker," I said. "Why do you hate him?"
"That's a long story," said Grace. "Just know that if I ever got into trouble, he'd be my first phone call."
"Does he hate you?"
"No. I wish he did."
"This sounds like a story I want to hear," said Ollie gleefully.
"Maybe one day I will tell you the tragic tale of Grace Witherstone and Marcus Lu."
"Of the Lu Group? They're real estate big shots," said Ollie.
We reached the house, and Ollie led the way into the huge first floor guest bathroom. He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out a First Aid kit.
After he put medicine on the raw wound staining my knee, I hissed in pain. He leaned forward and blew on the stinging owie.
Then I heard an angry male voice yell, "What the hell are you doing?"