Page 7 of Meant to be Mine

“We have wind screens.”

I cleared my throat. “And the lighting situation—you mentioned that in the last call. String lights along the railing?”

“Exactly.” Walter gestured along the perimeter. “We have a few options. Hurricane lamps provide a romantic atmosphere. I would recommend the Edison bulbs.”

“Absolutely,” Kensey said dramatically.

I turned to look at her with what I hoped was a warning expression.

She was staring out at the ocean. Completely serene. The picture of innocence. She took a slow, thoughtful sip of her champagne—pinky out.

I turned back to Walter. He was talking about the number of staff that would be circulating through the party, bragging about the customer service ratings and other stuff I was not paying attention to because she was looking at me.

I didn’t have to see her to know she was staring at me. I could feel it like a physical thing. Like she was poking me.

Don’t look. Do not look at her.

I looked at her.

She went completely cross-eyed at me. Both hands wrapped primly around her champagne flute, posture perfect, face absolutely deranged.

I pressed my lips together, inhaling through my nose and doing my best not to react. She was going to get me in trouble.

Walter was still talking. I nodded, although I had no idea what I was agreeing to. It could’ve been anything. I might have just approved a petting zoo.

“Walter.” Her voice was normal and perfectly pleasant. “I have a question.”

Walter turned to her, delighted to include her. “Of course.”

“Will there be a swan centerpiece situation, or are we going more minimalist?” She asked it with total sincerity, head tilted.

Walter blinked. “I—we can certainly explore that. Are you thinking an ice sculpture? That could prove problematic in the heat.”

“She’s joking,” I said.

“I’m not joking,” Kensey said serenely. “Swans are very stylish.”

“We’re not doing swans,” I said.

She shrugged. “One swan.”

“Zero swans,” I said.

“One tasteful swan.”

“Kensey.”

She pressed her lips together and looked back out at the water. Her shoulders were shaking. Walter was looking between the two of us with the patient, pleasant expression of a man who had survived a thousand rich girl meltdowns and had seen everything. He simply waited.

“Apologies,” I said.

“No, I think swans would look great,” Walter said smoothly. “Anything you want, we’ll accommodate you, Mr. Blackwell.”

We finished the tour, Walter walking us back through the room one more time to confirm the flow. She behaved herself, settling into the explanation with a curious expression. Her boredom looked like it had been replaced with interest. I could understand that. Kensey was getting a look behind the curtain of an unfamiliar world.

“Now,” Walter said, clapping his hands together once we’d circled back to where we started. “All that’s left is finalizing the menu. Are you ready for the tasting?”

I looked at Kensey. “You hungry?”