Page 58 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“I don’t need a warden. I’m not little Pip anymore.”
“Could you, for once, not fight me on everything?” Gavin steps closer, lowering his voice. “One week. That’s all I’m asking. Be nice to Fiona. Let Bryce guide you. Can you do that for me?”
I start to bristle, but then he places a hand on my arm. The weight is firm, grounding. And there it is—that damn Rolex. The one Mom and I bought him. For all his hard-ass tendencies, Gavin’s always been my rock. He stood up when Dad left. He worked his waythrough college while sending money home. He’s given me more second chances than I deserve.
A single week of playing nice is more than reasonable. Besides, I shouldn’t bring up Mystery Man until I have real proof. My suspicions won’t cut it—only solid evidence will survive Gavin’s scrutiny.
“Fine, I’ll let Moneybags be my fairy godmother.”
Bryce’s mouth twitches at the corner.
Gavin switches instantly to CEO mode. “Great. You’re my point person for wedding logistics. I’m depending on you to stay on top of things.”
My phone’s out of my clutch, and I’m opening my notes app as he launches into his list.
“Confirm the fire dancers have a safety perimeter set up for the reception, and Fiona wants an ice luge for the tequila tasting at the bachelorette party. Make sure it’s the one carved like a Mayan jaguar, not a walrus penis.”
I glance up from my screen. “Ice sculptures? In Mexico? Why not set fire to your money instead? It’s more efficient.”
“Miss Muffy has very specific aesthetic preferences,” Gavin says, ignoring me. “The gift bags for tomorrow’s excursion will require her final sign-off before distribution. Then, confirm the satellite hookup for the virtual guests. Mom wants to make sure Uncle Charlie can see from his hospital bed in Palm Springs. He’s doing great, by the way, recovering from hip surgery.”
“Lucky Uncle Charlie. He doesn’t have to be here.”
“Petra, focus up. It’s expected that you ask Miss Muffy for all approvals—or consult with Nigel, who acts on her behalf.”
“I’m sorry… Thedog? I needthedog’spermission?”
The silence hits hard. For a moment, I think I’ve stepped in it. Thankfully, every head swivels toward the entrance.
Fiona floats across the ballroom toward us, oozing old Hollywood glamour. Her gown is a masterpiece of silver beading and crystal work, creating the illusion she’s glittering on ice. Her blonde hair is twisted into an elaborate updo.
“Fi, you’re a vision,” my brother says, kissing her cheek.
“Thank you, Gav-Gav,” she purrs, her hand landing on his chest with practiced delicacy. “Sorry I’m late. Had a last-minute detail to handle.”
Oh, I bet you did. In a candlelit room. With Mystery Man’s scarf tied around your hands.
I search for evidence on her wrist, but if it’s there, it’s hidden beneath a massive diamond bracelet.
“Petra! Playing princess tonight?” she says, eyeing me. “That dress is… surprising. So edgy-meets-elegant. Like a tattooed Cinderella.”
The insult is wrapped so beautifully in compliment paper that if you’re not fluent in Fiona’s backstabbing, you’d totally miss it.
“Wow thanks,” I reply with artificial sweetness. “Your outfit is stunning too. I especially love how it matches your personality—cold, sharp, andshineover substance.”
Gavin’s eyes narrow to deadly slits, sending me a clear warning shot across the bow.
“What I mean is,” I say through gritted teeth, “you’re gorgeous. Like an angel who fell from heaven…”
Fiona beams, smug as ever.
Gavin claps a hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “We need to talk Heartvest. I received a call earlier about some wording Legal flagged in the press packet. Might be smart to pivot to an early mediahit—”
Fiona clears her throat. “I thought we agreed on no business talk at wedding events.”
“You’re right, Fi. I’m here. All in.”
He kisses her cheek again, and I glance at Bryce.
