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I smiled back and we clinked the rims of our glasses.
Shutters clicked—snap, snap, snap.
The cameras might catch our smiles but the flash of exhaustion in Marta’s eyes remained hidden. She frowned as if she realized she’d showed me too much and turned to the Instagram Princess.
I stared out at the ocean. Coming to this place had been a mistake. I couldn’t outrun sadness. If anything, I felt more alone than I had at home.
I wanted to get away from the laughter and the smiles and the music. I wanted a locked door and a box of Kleenex. I wanted Jake.
The Instagram Princess pulled me into another picture and air-kissed my cheek. What show had she been on? Nothing memorable. Well, nothing I could remember.
“You’ll come out on the yacht with us tomorrow?” she asked. My new best friend.
“I may have a friend flying in. I’ll let you know.”
That’s when I saw him.
Him!
He’d fixed his gaze on someone and he was staring as if his life depended on it.
Jake.
It couldn’t be him.
Jake was dead.
I rubbed my eyes. I blinked. It had to be a trick of the light. That or someone who looked
exactly like him.
Or maybe my heart was playing tricks on me.
Except—the way he tilted his head, the way he rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand.
It was Jake.
I pushed toward him, weaving through the crowd.
A woman in last season’s Prada stepped in front of me and I bumped into her.
Her drink sloshed over its rim. “Watch where you’re going,” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how much I paid for this dress?”
The temptation to ask her if she’d bought it second-hand was awful. I gritted my teeth and shifted my gaze to her annoyed face. “I’m so sorry.”
“You should be,” she snapped.
I could argue with her or I could find Jake. Jake won. Hands down.
“Really, I apologize.” I looked back to where he’d been standing.
But Jake was gone.
Almost as if I’d imagined him.
“Where is he?”
A waitress stared at me with wide eyes as if I were a crazy American—one who’d taken too many drugs or drunk too much tequila or just lost her mind. Possibly all three.
“Where is he?” My voice rose. My gaze darted here, there, everywhere.
“Quién?”
“The man who was standing right there.” I pointed to the exact spot. “American. Tall.” I lifted my hand and showed her how tall. “Blond.” I touched my hair, which was brown—so that probably wasn’t helpful.
She shook her head. Had she not seen him? Or, did she not understand me?
I took a breath. “El americano que estaba aquĂ.” My Spanish was embarrassingly bad. “DĂłnde está?”
“No sé.” She backed away from me.
I turned a full circle, scanning the crowd. Jake wasn’t there.
My lungs deflated
I’d made a mistake. A crazy, stupid, heart-breaking mistake. Jake was dead. I knew that. I knew it, but I couldn’t give up. I completed another circle.
A hand closed on my arm. “Poppy.”
I wheeled around with my heart in my throat.
Tall. Blond. Not Jake.
Mike Wilde had his fingers wrapped around my arm. His brows were drawn together as if I’d worried him. “You okay?”
Mike’s father was an actor (two movies with Chariss). Mike was an actor (zero movies with Chariss). Mike’s father got paid eight-figures per movie. Thus far, Mike hadn’t broken through.
“I saw Jake.” The words slipped past my lips and hung forlornly in the air. It was official—I’d lost my mind.
“Your boyfriend? Is he here?”
No. Jake was supposed to be dead. But Mike was Mia’s friend more than he was mine. There was no reason he’d know Jake had died.
“Seriously, where is he?” Now Mike’s gaze scanned the crowd. “I’d like to meet this mystery man of yours.”
My eyes welled.
“Poppy, what’s wrong?” Mike tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No.”
“Because, if he did.” Mike suddenly looked very fierce.
“He didn’t. I promise. I’m fine.”
Mike stared at me, assessing. “Let’s get you a drink.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
“You don’t look fine.” His voice was soft. Gentle. “Not at all.”
I shook my head. Bit my lip. Scanned the crowd.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just feeling a little down.” Not exactly a lie. Every muscle in my body hurt, plus my feet were complaining (the Louboutins had been a mistake), plus I was seeing dead people, plus that whole bottomless well of sadness. Those things could definitely weigh a woman down.
“I’ve got just the thing to make you feel better.” He dug in his pocket.
“That’s okay, I don’t need anything.”
He dug.
“Really, it’s okay.” Unless he pulled out a Lifesaver or a Tootsie Roll, I wasn’t interested.
“No, no. You gotta try this.” He thrust his hand toward me and a little coffee-colored pill bounced on his palm.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “What is it?”
He shrugged and returned the pill to his pocket. “The latest party drug. Let’s see about finding you a drink.”
“Wait. Is that a Venti?”
“Yeah.”
“Mike, I’ve heard awful things about that stuff. You’re not taking it, are you?”
“It’s not a big deal, Poppy.”
It was. “Seriously, Mike. People are dying.”
“Lighten up.” He led me to the nearest bar. “What’ll it be?”
“Just water.”
“That’s it?” His brows rose. “Open bar.”
“That’s it.”
“If you say so.” He ordered a bottle of water for me and a shot of Don Julio tequila for himself. “What are you doing here?”
“I flew down for the opening.” I accepted the water bottle he held out to me. “What about you?”
“There’s a tequila company looking for investors. They brought a group of us down on a junket.” He held up the shot glass and eyed the liquid inside with narrowed eyes.
Owning a winery or a tequila distillery—the new latest Hollywood status symbol.
“So, where's Jake? I wanna meet him.”
My gaze traveled back to the spot where Jake had stood. The walls around my sanity were crumbling like sand castles in the rain. “He was right there.”
“We’ll find him.” Mike sipped his drink and smiled.
No. We wouldn’t find him. Jake was dead and I needed my head examined.
I opened my water bottle and drank.
“Can we grab another picture?” Clipboard-girl stood right in front of me. Again.
Mike wrapped his arm around my shoulders and grinned at the camera.
I managed a smile—I was Chariss’ daughter—I could act happy.
The woman with the clipboard thanked us and hurried off in search of the next celebrity on her list.
“You know, Mike. I think I might turn in.”
“The sun’s barely down.” A naughty smile lit his face. “I get it. You guys have a good night.”
I didn’t have the energy to explain. Not about seeing dead people. “Maybe another time.”
“Can I walk you to your room?”
“I’m in one of the villas.”
“The ones with the private pools?
“Yes.”
“Fancy. I just have a suite.”
“Poor you. Good luck with your tequila people.”
“Yeah.” He looked over my shoulder, already in search of who he’d talk to next. “See you later.”
I reached up on my tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and left him at the bar.
The crowd had thickened and all around me smiling people drank exotic cocktails and preened.
I
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