CHAPTER 74

The resort is stunning. A low building we passed on the ride over houses the administration, plus meeting rooms. Surrounding it are lush pockets of trees carved up with pathways leading to the private pods of villas, including the one we rented out for our use.

Nestled amongst the paths are sparkling pools and flower beds exploding with pink and purple and white.

But the island itself is the main attraction. Lush vegetation, palm trees, a balmy breeze that makes me feel as if I'm on another planet. Far from the hustle New York and LA both personify in their own unique ways.

I frown at my phone-no list from the resort or Timothy yet. I had asked the woman at the desk to keep one detail off the shared rooming list.

My stealth wedding gift to Timothy-one grumpy British billionaire-hasn't checked in yet.

The attendant parks the golf cart in front of our villa, a light sand-colored building, and shows me up the walkway, holding the door.

When I step inside, I suck in a breath.

It's beautiful, wood floors and open air. There's a kitchen and living area that opens to a patio beyond, but I head down the hall to the bedroom. An enormous bed with wooden posts, plus a lounge area on one side with low chairs. The attendant sweeps the doors open to reveal a private patio with a hot tub and its own lap pool.

"It's perfect," I tell him. I can't wait to spend time with Timothy here.

But first, I have something to do.

The attendant departs, and I open my suitcases, pulling out a pink two-piece bathing suit. When Rica said she was going to the pool, I wanted to be there too. We haven't had a moment together alone, and I'm determined to find out what happened at her gig. This whole week is about family and friendship, and what Jacob said the other day is right-everyone here with us is as good as family.

Once I've changed into the bathing suit and pulled a wrap over top, I head out of the villa with a beach bag on my shoulder and aviators on my nose. This part of the resort is private, with a dozen villas surrounding a shared pool. When Timothy and I saw it, we knew it would for our intimate wedding and for family and friends to spend time together.

I pad across the little walkway to the pool area, spotting Andie already there and pulling a patio umbrella over to her lounger. Jacob is dressed in trunks and chatting up the bartender.

"What'll you drink, Manatee?" Jacob calls.

I consider as I approach, stopping next to him at the bar shielded by a thatch roof. I tug the sunglasses down my nose to inspect my friend. "Coffee."

He laughs. "Only with a chaser."

He orders me a margarita to go with my coffee, and a few minutes later, both are in front of me courtesy of our personal bartender, plus a margarita for him. We clink mugs and glasses.

"You aren't worried about your abs?" I tease, nodding toward his six-pack stomach.

"My dad might be a prick, but I have exceptional genetics."

"So, you won't be checking out the gym while you're here."

He shakes his head vehemently while he answers, "Every day at 6 a.m."

I throw my head back and laugh before starting back toward the loungers with a coffee in one hand and a margarita in the other.

Jacob and I shift into seats next to Andie.

"Your speech at the party was epic," she informs him. "All that stuff about togetherness. You must be practicing for your Emmy acceptance."

"I do have a working draft on me at all times," he says. "But for real, I gotta remind you fools in love there's a more important commitment than to each other."

"Which is?" Andie asks, opening a package of hair dye and laying her supplies out in front of her.

"To the group. We're together for life," he vows.

The words help soothe the dull ache in my stomach, and I lean over and hug Jacob. "We're going to remind you of that once you're a legit A-lister and want nothing to do with us."

"Impossible."

Rica comes over wearing a one-piece with denim shorts, and I wave her to the lounger next to me.

"You need a hand with that?" Jacob asks Andie, watching her open her bleach and mix it in the shade.

"Nah, I've been doing my roots for ages."

"Without a mirror?" Jacob asks. "All right, Emily's not going to say it, so I will. Think of the pictures. I'm not being photographed with a zebra."

Andie rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. Hold your phone camera up for me?"

Jacob turns to do that, and I focus on Rica as she drops onto the next lounger.

"Cute bathing suit."

She grunts as she reaches for sunscreen. She applies it, twisting to reach her back.

"Here, I've got you." I take the tube from her hand and rub some into her skin, scanning for any other marks.

Jacob and Andie are talking about some new joke she's working on, and I lower my voice.

"The other night after your set," I say under my breath, "I noticed you had bruises on your wrist. As if someone had put their hands on you."

Rica stiffens but doesn't answer. When I hand the tube back to her, I look at her wrist, still covered in bracelets.

"It happened the first night in LA," she says at last. "The booth at BLUE is in the middle of the bar. Partway through my set, this guy grabbed me from behind. Security was busy doing something else. I told them afterward they needed to pay more fucking attention, and they said they would. But the next night, I saw a woman getting pawed on the dance floor. She motioned for help, but no one came. I ended up leaving the booth and found her huddled in the alley behind the club. Her skirt was ripped. Her fucking hands were cut."

Shock rises up. "That's bullshit."

"It's assault," she corrects. "And they weren't going to do anything about it."

Disbelief and anger clash in my chest.

"I told her to go to the police station to make a statement, even put her in a cab with all the cash I had on me to make sure she got there okay. I don't know if she did. But if the club had done their fucking job, it wouldn't have happened."

"Did you talk to the promoter who booked you?"

"He brushed it off. I'll take it to the owner." Rica shifts back in her chair, sliding her glasses on her face. "But it's part of a corporation and it's hard to find someone to take responsibility."

"Let me help. If anyone puts their hands on you, I will hunt them down myself," I vow. "Which corporation?"

"Echo Entertainment Group. They have clubs from Paris to Ibiza."

Echo Entertainment. My stomach knots, but if I look ill, Rica doesn't notice.

"It's not like I've never been treated like shit as a woman breaking into music. But when that happens in public and the people whose job it is to have your back turn a blind eye..." She shakes her head. "You hear about the industry, but it's not until you're in it that you experience it firsthand."

"We'll fix this."

Is it just me, or do the words sound hollow?

Because I know the man who runs Echo Entertainment, and he's on his way here.

"Whatever." Rica stands and kicks off her shorts before I can decide what to say. "I'm going swimming."

She heads for the pool steps, and Beck hollers at her, "No. There's only one way to enter a pool, woman."

He rounds to the deep end, his body shining in the sun and his RayBans firmly in place. Standing at the head of the pool, he holds up his arms as if demanding the world bear witness.

"Well?" Andie drawls from where she's reading a book, her roots covered in white goop.

"It's called building suspense," Jacob tosses back.

Then he cannonballs into the pool.

There's a huge splash before he strokes down the pool and surfaces in the middle, tossing his hair back. He's carefree, and it's contagious. Still, I can't completely join in because Rica's comment is still echoing in my brain.

"You gonna pull a 'my makeup will get fucked if I dive in'? Because I flew hours from LA to get away from that."

Rica flips him off before jumping into the pool right on top of him.

I have to tell her about Harrison King. But the second I do, all the ease in this moment evaporates. Ease all of us have deserved.

He's not even here yet. There's nothing to do right now, I decide. So, I drain my margarita, leave the coffee, and follow them in.

A few minutes later, Andie's gone somewhere to grab a giant unicorn float and drops into it, bobbing around us while we talk. It feels like school and nothing like it.

Rica looks past me, yanking off her sunglasses. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

I turn, seeing a figure in khakis and a white T-shirt. It takes a moment for recognition to set in, but when it does, I'm floored.

Finn Harvey approaches, one easy step at a time. It's as if no time at all has gone by since he was my mentor at Vanier even though I haven't seen him in more than three years, since I followed him to LA when Timothy and I were struggling and sang backup at a few of his gigs.

He's handsome, and smug, and entirely at home on this island.

I haul myself out of the pool and drip across the patio to where he's standing. "Finn? What are you doing here?"

Finn cocks his head, grinning. "You're the one who invited me. Figured you needed a backup groom or something."

My laugh is loaded with disbelief. "I invited you?"

"All I had to do was get on the plane that picked me up."

I'm beyond confused, but something scratches the back of my brain. "You're one of the artists from Wicked."

His grin widens, accompanied by a slow survey of my body that takes longer than it should. "It's good to see you again, Emily. I've been following your career with more than a little interest. And I like to think I had a hand in it."

I glance over my shoulder to see Rae watching with interest, along with Jacob and Andie. Something tells me they would be over here in a second if they thought something was wrong or I was in danger, but Finn and I are just talking.

The bartender appears at our shoulders, offering to bring Finn a drink.

Before I can protest, Finn asks, "What's she having?"

"Coffee and a margarita," the bartender responds.

Finn laughs. "I'll take a vodka on the rocks."

"So, Timothy invited you," I say when the bartender disappears.

"See, that's what's fucked up about this industry. I know more than you do about the guy, and you're marrying him."

The words have me bracing for a fight. "That's not true. He has his career, and I have mine. This week is about me and Timothy making a commitment in front of our family and friends. To each other."

"Then why am I here?"

I pause because I don't know where he fits in. From his raised eyebrow, Finn knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Let me give you one more piece of advice. A wedding present," he goes on. "Artists are self-centered. They don't commit to another person."

His drink shows up, and he takes a sip before his gaze jerks past me, eyes narrowing on something in the distance.

"Well, this should be interesting."