Page 31 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“You okay, El?” Harper asks.

“Of course, why do you ask?”

“Not every day that you get confused for Emma.”

I give her a look. “It happened more than once on set. I mean, sheisplaying me.”

“Fictional you.”

“Yes, yes. Let’s go in, shall we?”

Inside, the villa is a little outdated with lots of red tiles and reddish-brown wood, but it has an incredible view of the water and Descanso Beach below.

“You never answered my question,” Oliver says.

“Which question?”

He gives me a look because he knows that I remember, well, kind of everything.

Which is a curse, if you’re wondering.

I mean, wouldyouwant to remember all of your worst moments like a highlight reel every night before you fall asleep?

Oh, that happens to you, too?

So you know.

“El...”

“He approached me,” I say.

“Why?”

“He’s working his case.”

“Why would he think that you’d know anything about Fred?”

I loop my arms around his neck. “Emma’s my best friend. It makes sense to talk to me. Plus, it’s Connor. Who knows how his mind works?”

Oliver grimaces. “Oh, I know how his mind works.”

“He’s not that bad,” Harper says.

We both turn. “What?”

“I’m not saying he’s perfect or anything. I mean, he’s stillConnor. But he’s been trying to do better. You know, reform his ways or whatever.”

“Since when?”

“Italy,” Harper says. “He took the blame, right? And you don’t have to pay him anymore.”

I get that sick feeling in my stomach that I had on the boat. “Why are you defending him?”

“No reason.” Harper busies herself at the table. There’s a welcome basket on it, full of wine and fruit. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Oliver and I exchange a look because Harper is acting weird.

Not that I’m not grateful to her for distracting us from my conversation with Oliver.

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