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I felt bad, though, and sent him flowers and a note with my sympathies. I’d even stupidly offered to pay an extra month’s salary before I’d gotten an angry phone call from him blaming me for everything. The inadequate care she received at the government hospital, he claimed, resulted in his wife’s premature death.

I’d laughed then, perhaps insensitively, because grieving aside, that was a ridiculous thing to say. I’d politely told him that my offer of an extra month’s salary still stood, but if he wished to discuss anything further it would have to go through my lawyers. I’d thought he would have left me alone after that. That he was hysterical because of his loss, but would come to his senses after he calmed down. I’ve been waiting for him to calm down for weeks.

First, he had shown up at my house during the cocktail party, screaming that he wanted to see me. For what? I had no clue. Thank god the staff had the sense to get rid of him.

And this evening, when I’d hurriedly picked up a call from an unknown number thinking it was something wedding related, it had turned out to be him. I only managed to duck into the bathroom at the Mount Lavinia Hotel lobby in the nick of time, and it took me more than a minute to calm down before I made it out to my bridal shower. Given everything that was happening, I wasn’t really in the mood.

I used to love these events. It definitely gave me a ton of content for my Instagram, that’s for sure. And it was nice to see all the comments—Kaavi, you’re so beautiful! Kaavi, where did you get your dress from? Kaavi, tell us about your makeup routine? Seriously, everyone thought this shit was real. My makeup routine is three different types of foundation and fifteen minutes on the Facetune app, bitches. Calm the fuck down.

But now, well, if I was being honest, it was exhausting. Sure, I loved being the queen bee, but the amount of work it took to keep my throne drained me. There were times I caught myself fantasizing about getting away from everything. Just jumping onto a boat and sailing off far, far away.

But then I looked around the party—the exquisite food, the sparkly cocktails, the random booths, the fawning young girls all craving a piece of me. I’d have to die before I gave all this up.



* * *



—



FINALLY, SOMEONE ANNOUNCED that it was time we move to the beach. I breathed a sigh of relief. The “after-party” will be a completely different type of exhausting, but at least everyone will be too smashed to remember if I was perfect or not.

I let the crowd move out before I joined them. Pulling out my phone, I dropped Mike a text—

Anything new?



I wasn’t expecting a reply, but the phone pinged back right away.

When are you signing the marriage certificate?





What the fuck was wrong with him?

The day after tomorrow, Mike. Stop fucking around.



I might have a lead on Zoe Bassett. Will have more information for you tomorrow.





Tomorrow is the religious ceremony. Work faster.



Tomorrow morning is the best I can do. Sorry, darling. Where are you now?





I’ve checked into the Mount Lavinia Hotel. Just call me, okay? Don’t just show up here. My family and relatives are everywhere.



Sure thing, sweetheart.





Mike?



Yes, love?





Do I need to be worried? I typed out, but hesitated. I was sounding like a whiny, needy bitch. Whoever this Zoe is, I can figure it out. I’ve come this far, haven’t I?

Just hurry the fuck up. I hit send.

My head was starting to hurt. I felt inexplicably nervous as I walked down to the party. I wished, well, I haven’t actually wished for this in a while, but I wished I had a friend. Someone I could talk to. Someone I didn’t have to calculate my moves around.

And that’s when I crashed into Amaya.

I was surprised that she’d turned up here today, just like I couldn’t understand why the hell she’d decided to invite herself to all the wedding festivities. Maybe if I didn’t have so much going on with Mr. Ananda and Mike’s information, I’d have been more upset about her. She was the one who disappeared, after all. She was the one who threw out our friendship like it was some dirty old rag not worth saving.

But maybe she knew something about Spencer? Maybe she had information that would help me? Give me something I could use against him if I needed it.

I thought about what happened between us, all those years ago. How she was so upset with me. How she stormed out of the house, never to talk to me again, and all because—it happened so long ago that I couldn’t fully remember all the details.

All I remember was that she and Spencer had broken up, for perhaps the millionth time since the spring. It was just after our graduation, so Amaya and I had rented out a new apartment. She was supposed to be starting her internship right away, but I was moving to Chicago in two months to work at J.P. Morgan. I remember feeling scared. It was the first time we would be well and truly apart. I was different then. Fearful, timid, afraid of my own shadow.

She’d asked me not to tell Spencer where we’d moved to. I wasn’t, under any circumstances, supposed to give him our new address. But he’d shown up when I was returning my cap and gown, and he was just so heartbroken, and they had already ended things and gotten back together so many times that I just caved and gave it to him.