Page 13 of Stuck With the Best Man

“Are you looking forward to the summer season?”

Ruby’s gaze trails over me. Not in an appreciative way. It’s more calculating, like she’s looking for weaknesses—looking for the best place to stick a knife.

I glance down at my clothing. It’s simple enough. June wedding appropriate. Linen and cotton. When I look back at her, she’s frowning deeply.

Weird. Maybe she doesn’t like Thom Browne.

“Yes,” she says. It takes me a second to realize she’s answering my previous question.

I nod and take a sip of champagne. It’s rare, but I think I might be at a loss for words.

While Ruby looks around rather obviously for an excuse to get away from me, I shove my free hand into my pocket in an attempt to look more casual and non-threatening. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe she thinks I’m a stiff, big-city snob. If she knows who my family is, she has good reason to make those assumptions.

I can prove her wrong. That should be easy enough. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m nothing like my siblings or my father.

With my hand in my pocket, my fingertips brush against something small and smooth. Except, these pants are brand new. Temporarily distracted, I pull out the foreign object, only to discover there are actuallytwo.

A pinkish stone rests in the palm of my hand, polished and gleaming in the sun. Beside it is a tiny, rougher stone colored a deep purplish-red.

“That’s weird,” I murmur.

Ruby takes a step back from me as if she’s been struck. “Where did you get those?”

I shrug, confused by her alarm. “They were in my pocket.”

Ruby stares at the stones, her eyes wide but unreadable.

“I need more champagne,” she sighs. Then, as she walks away, I swear I hear her mutter something along the lines of, “Leave it to thenosywoman of the beach.”

I have no idea what’s just happened. I also have no idea how I ended up with random rocks in my pocket.

“Wow! Did you just find those in the sand?”

I glance over at Olenka, whose red hair looks like it’s on fire in the sunshine.

“Uh, no. They were in my pocket.”

“Really? That’s so funny. A few other people have been finding little trinkets in their clothes. There’s a reverse pickpocket running around or something.” Olenka giggles, clearly already four or five glasses of champagne deep. She leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Actually, I heard there’s a village witch.”

“Oh?”

“And I know what that is,” Olenka continues, jabbing her manicured finger at the smooth pink stone. “It’s rose quartz. I once had a friend who wasreallyinto crystals and stuff like that.”

I can’t stop myself from glancing away in search of Ruby again, but she’s long gone.

“What is rose quartz supposed to do?” I ask Olenka.

“No idea.” She shrugs, then leans in closer to look at the other stone. “Ooo!”

“What?”

“That’s a raw gemstone! I shot an ad campaign for a whole jewelry line made of stones like that. I think that’s a ruby!”

“A ruby?”

“Yeah! So pretty! Anyway, I need another drink.”

Olenka flounces away.

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