Page 92 of The Plus One Contract

Grace beams at me, standing up to give me a quick hug. She smells like coconuts and sunscreen. “I’m so glad you’re finally here,” she says softly in my ear. “We missed you. I hardly got to see you since you’ve been back.”

“Yeah,” I manage, pulling away and forcing a small smile. I don’t dare look Daniel’s way, but I can feel him, the weight of his stare.

I wonder if in all our years together, he actually learned something about me. If he can see my tells. If he knows this is fake and I’m a liar.

Focus, Sienna, he’s not important.

My father gestures to the beach path. “We were just about to head down for some volleyball before the rehearsal dinner. Want to join us?”

Volleyball? My gut clenches. “Oh, I— I’m not really dressed for it,” I start.

“I have extra stuff if you need something,” Grace chimes in. “Come on, Sienna. I want to spend time with you before everything gets crazy. You’re leaving again so soon, and this might be my only chance to hang out with my future sister-in-law without wedding madness.”

Before I can muster an excuse, Nathan interjects, “We’d love to join you after we check in.”

I whip around to stare at him. “We…would?”

He lifts a brow, ignoring the glare I’m shooting him. “We’ll drop our bags and get changed.”

Grace claps her hands, delighted. “Perfect! We’re on the north side of the beach, behind that big tiki bar. You can’t miss it.”

The group starts to wander off, Daniel leading them with a lingering, half-curious, half-sour glance at me and Nathan.

What the hell is his problem?

My father calls back something about “hurry or we’ll start without you,” and they’re gone.

The knot in my stomach tightens, but at least the confrontation is postponed.

I know I’m going to have to speak to Daniel sooner or later, but I’m choosing later.

Nathan slings the last bag over his shoulder. “Volleyball,” he says, casting me a sidelong glance. “You okay?”

I huff, rubbing my temples. “Not in the slightest.”

“It’s a beach day. We’re playing the happy couple, remember?”

I grit my teeth. “Right. That. I’m still holding you responsible if I get pegged in the face with a volleyball.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, stepping forward to guide me inside. “Face-protection duty. Now do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Smile. It won’t kill you.”

I force my lips upward, my cheeks sore.

“Ah, there she is, but maybe less. You’ll scare the children.”

Instead of responding with something coherent, I curse under my breath as we head inside.

There’s a wide, airy lobby with polished floors, palm fronds, and a whiff of citrus in the air. We pass a group of guests in swim trunks, balancing trays of cocktails, reminding me that normal people come here to relax.

I want to be like them. I want to be carefree, sipping margaritas, not dealing with the horror about to unfold at check-in because the second I step up to the desk and hand over my reservation details, something horrifying dawns on me.

Something I absolutely should have planned for.

The room.

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