Page 83 of A Storybook Wedding

Nate nods, his eyes squinting as the puzzle pieces come together. “That’s what your book was about. That book you made your students read.”

“Well, I had to write something, and write what you know, that’s what they say. So I knew that it wouldn’t be hard to tell a story about a working author who gets bumped by a lucky debut. That, I was told, they could publish. They even said I was ‘clever’ for making lemonade out of the rotten lemons you left me with. Dan finally agreed to publish my original manuscript four years later, after your season had long come and gone. It came out last spring, and though it didn’t have quite as much relevance by that point, it still held its own.”

“But none of that was my fault. You do realize that, right?” Nate asks.

“And then you show up here, in my house, with your dumbass charm and your stupid PEN Award, and everyone falls at your feet while you pour a lovely combination of ignorance and salt right into my wounds.”

“I didn’t even know who you were,” Nate says.

“Exactly,” Devereaux seethes. “If you had any sense, you would have done your homework and realized that authors do best when they stay in their respective lanes.”

“So you set out to—what? Hurt me?”

“I didn’t have to try very hard. You dug yourself a fine little hole when you kissed a student on television. All I had to do was chase down that lead.”

“You were the one who told Dillon Norway about us,” I say. The revelation hits me like a tidal wave.

She smiles, and it’s quite reminiscent of what might happen if the Joker from Batman crossed with Pennywise from It. “I thought for sure I’d be rid of you, Mr. Ellis. But no. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You lied your way back into the heart of Professor Norway, who thought it best to give you a second chance.” She laughs. “Only you blew it, not an hour into your time on the island. Fighting about the sleeping arrangements like a bunch of teenagers. You made it all so easy for me.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“You, my dear, are very gullible. One little presentation convinced you that social media was a must. One simple compliment, and you signed up for the Rising Star Program. All I had to do was livestream the graduation and get your family to tune in, and the house of cards crumbled in on itself, now didn’t it?”

My heart is racing. The cold air constricts my blood vessels, and I feel a scream rise in my throat. I swallow it down.

“Get her family to tune in?” Nate shouts. “What right do you have to speak to her family?”

“Well,” Devereaux smiles. “Once I saw Dillon’s speech in the graduation file, I had no choice. It all happened so organically. He felt it necessary to mention your nuptials, which meant I didn’t even have to find a way to weave that into the comments feed in the livestream. All I had to do was DM your mother and invite her, Cecily. Lovely woman,” she smirks.

I’m about to clap back when I see Dillon Norway exit the main doors of the sanctuary. He walks toward us. “You two,” he says, looking at me and Nate. “I want to see you right now. Meet me in the library of the main house in five minutes.”

“Dillon, she needs to come too,” Nate argues, pointing at Alice Devereaux.

Dillon Norway looks at Nate, then at Alice, and back at Nate again. “That won’t be necessary,” he says. He pulls up the collar on his coat and walks away.

Nate turns back to Devereaux. “You are the ugliest human soul I’ve ever met. To go after an innocent student like that—”

“Ha!” she cries. “Pot? Meet kettle.”

“You’re disgusting,” he continues. “And you’ll get yours. Maybe not today, and maybe not even from me. You know what they say.”

“Hell hath no fury?” she snickers.

“Karma’s a bitch,” Nate corrects her.

He turns to me. “Let’s go,” he says as the snowflakes gently begin to fall from the ever-darkening pink night sky.

CHAPTER 16

Nate

When we enter the room, he is seated at the head of the dining room table that doubles as a conference space. We are holding hands, even though she’s mad at me. She didn’t speak a single word to me on the way here—not that it’s a long walk—but I tried to apologize, and she just looked straight ahead. I grabbed her hand on the way into the room and was happy she didn’t pull away from me. It’s like we represent a unified front, even if CJ is quite possibly not speaking to me at this particular moment.

“Sit down,” Dillon says. It’s not his usual welcoming, almost soft voice. This is a command.

We sit. She takes her hand away from me and places it in her lap, bracing herself for a stern talking-to, like a child about to be grounded.

“Before you start, Dillon—”

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