Page 63 of Mexico Can Choke On It
If Disney created a modern-day Korean princess, she would 100 percent resemble Hana Choi. Her face is heart-shaped perfection—high cheekbones, flawless porcelain skin, and almond eyes that sparkle with perpetual excitement. Her black hair falls in a glossy waterfall past her shoulders, each strand moving with choreographed grace as she bounces on her toes in a lavender silk gown.
Diamonds adorn her throat, wrists, and ears. Her teeth are aggressively white. And her voice? Somewhere between a Miss America contestant and a talking cupcake.
“You’re Gavin’s sister! Fiona has told me all about you!”
“Well, that’s terrifying.”
Hana giggles. “She said you were super spicy and unpredictable. Like a jalapeño in a mimosa!”
I force a smile. Am I supposed to believethisseat just happened to be open for Fiona’s BFF? Sure.
It’s surveillance, plain and simple. Hana’s here to monitor my every move, gather information against me, and report back to her queen B-word.
She clutches my arm, her bracelets digging into my skin. “This week is a full-blown fairy tale. The yacht party, the spa day, the sunset ceremony—it’s like living in a bridal magazine! Aren’t you totally over-the-moon excited?”
I would respond, but Hana’s already yapping away.
“Oh, silly me! Of course you’re excited! Gavin is your brother, and now you are getting the best sister-in-law on the planet. You and Fiona are going to be like,realsisters!”
My face freezes in what I hope passes for a friendly smile.Real sisters?It’s more of a Cinderella-stuck-with-evil-stepsister situation.
BOOOOOOONG!
Everyone in the room goes still—mannequin-level, nobody-blink, first-date-fart-slip kind of still.
“Distinguished guests,” Nigel announces, “it is my most profound honor to present the hostess of this night—her grace, her legacy, her unparalleled taste—Miss Muffy Von Cashmere the Second. Heiress to the Von Cashmere Fortune, Empress of the Jungle Estate, Patroness of the Arts, and Beloved Mistress of Casa Cashmere.”
And in she trots.
Miss Muffy Von Cashmere the Second.
The dog.
She’s a spectacle. Her snowy fur is blown out within an inch of its life, her tiny frame swaddled in a green velvet couture evening gown with a gold satin sash cinched at the waist. Topping it off? A tiara.
The Maltese saunters down the center of the table on a raised platform designed specifically for her grand entrance, her little paws clicking against the polished surface. She reaches the end of her royal runway and ascends a set of carpeted stairs to her throne, turning once to survey her subjects before delicately sitting down.
Chairs scrape as the entire room sits. Synchronized. Like this is a verynormalthing we’re doing.
Before I can inhale, a tuxedoed server appears, lifts the napkin with quiet precision, and arranges it neatly in my lap.
Good God, these rich people don’t know how to do anything for themselves. What’s next? Personal fork lifters and mouth openers? Professional chewers to masticate our food beforeswallowing?
“Miss Muffy,” Nigel continues, “wishes to extend a warm welcome to you this evening, with special recognition to our honored bride and groom, Mr. Gavin Brinkman and Miss Fiona Whitfield.”
On cue, the dog lets out a single, sharp yap. Everyone breaks into polite applause.
“Thank you, Miss Muffy, for this extraordinary reception,” Fiona coos. “We’re overwhelmed by your legendary hospitality.”
Another bark. More applause.
“Isn’t she inspiring?” Hana says. “She’s so elegant. I keep thinking she’s like… a duchess instead of, you know… a dog.”
A fleet of servers glides into the room in formation, each carrying a covered silver dish. With seamless coordination, they set the first course in front of the guests. I watch my lid lift with a whisper of steam and something… gooey.
What’s in my bowl stops me cold: a milky white broth with clear, jelly-like blobs floating in it, garnished with unidentifiable brown bits.
“Whatisthis?”
