Page 53 of Forced Vows

We need to launch. Like now.

Which we do, falling into a rhythm with our paddles pretty fast. Is it a little risky? Maybe. But we're both strong swimmers and it's not like this boat is going to spring a leak.

Uncle Brogan has all the blow up rafts checked on the regular. What good is a failsafe if it fails, right?

It takes longer to reach the pleasure craft waiting for us with my friends onboard than we expect and my arms feel like rubber when we finally do.

A hundred yards of paddling with oars is about my limit, but my friends couldn't risk dropping anchor any closer.

Twenty yards offshore and another eighty southeast of the mansion, there's no clear line of site to our backyard from this spot. Which means it won't trigger Uncle Brogan's security measures.

Aleks, who looks like an action-adventure hero but who wants to write scripts, helps me and my cousin into the boat.

Two inches taller than me with her brown hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, Goodwin hands us a couple of towels to dry the sea spray from our faces.

"It worked," Traci crows, holding out two glasses of champagne. "You two are the bomb!"

I shake out my arms before taking my glass. "Rowing on these choppy waters is harder than I remember."

"Drunk Shakespeare will be worth it." Carrie's signature giggle accompanies her words.

She's always smiling and is too sweet for showbusiness, but she's determined to break into television.

Like Aleks, though, she wants to write scripts. Not get in front of the camera even though she embodies the girl next door with her blond hair, trim figure and sunny attitude.

Traci has enough snark to make up for it. She's an actor, like me, but I have no doubt we'll see her on the silver screen. Goodwin too. She's third generation theater with more talent in her little finger than I have in my whole body.

We formed a posse freshman year and we're still besties.

Traci raises her glass. "Happy birthday, Rosy!"

Everyone else joins in the toast and a chorus of happy birthdays fills the air around me. Happiness fizzes through me with more bubbles than the champagne.

After a single sip, Goodwin puts her glass down. She has to pilot the borrowed boat back to dock. Her mom's sorority sister lives in one of the shoreline properties before the barrier islands to the east.

Once we arrive, all of us use the boathouse to change our clothes. The bay is too choppy to avoid salt spray and none of us wanted to arrive in Midtown looking like we just ran through a rain shower.

There's a stretch limo waiting for us in the drive, and I squeal. "You got us a limo!"

Yes, my family is richer than all the newly minted billionaires, but I get driven to school in a town car or an SUV. We haven't used limos in our family since my grandfather passed.

Uncle Brogan says they're ostentatious and don't give the right impression. I don't know what impression a mob boss wants to give that a limo doesn't, but this one is perfect for my birthday.

The interior is wild. With white leather seats, a drinks cabinet topped by a basin filled with canned pre-mixed drinks and pink LED lights along the ceiling, it's perfect for the trip into the city.

I grab a can with palm trees and an orange background that says Sex on the Beach and grin at Goodwin. I know this is her doing.

She smiles and winks. "I found all the fun drinks in cans. It's taken me months to get them all, and some are probably super gross—"

"Which is half the fun," I interrupt with a laugh.

We try the drinks and Goodwin is right. Some are awful. Some are pretty good and we're all feeling the alcohol by the time the limo pulls to a stop to let us out.

We're laughing and joking around while Kara shows the tickets on her phone so we can get in. We all get carded, including Kara.

I nudge her with my elbow. "Not such an old lady after all."

She grins and shakes her head, then leans down to whisper. "It's a good thing your fake ID is so good."

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