Page 32 of Groomsman to Groom

“That’s amazing,” I keep my voice neutral despite the genuine happiness blooming in my chest. “When does he arrive?”

“Next Friday. The producers are planning a special challenge where the remaining women will have to connect with August.” Skye leans in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Between us, this was a brilliant strategy. If Hayes picks someone his son hates, the relationship is doomed anyway.”

“It wasn’t strategy,” I say, though part of me—the calculated screenwriter part—knows exactly how this will play out on TV.

Skye gives me a look that says she doesn’t buy my innocence for a second. “Listen carefully, Vulcan Babe. Until August arrives, this stays completely under wraps. No mentioning it to Hayes, no hinting to the other women. As far as anyone knows, you two never had that little schedule-changing rendezvous.”

“Of course.”

Skye stands, straightening her kimono. “The other women will skewer you.”

I nod, understanding the gravity. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good girl.” Skye heads for the door, then turns back. “By the way, that penguin stunt yesterday? Genius. The best way to handle sabotage is to own it.”

“Thanks.”

As she disappears in a cloud of expensive perfume, I can’t help but smile at the memory. Hayes’s face when I’dwaddled onstage still makes me smile. Not pity or secondhand embarrassment, but genuine delight. While the others had tried to seduce him with obvious talents—Gabby’s gymnastic contortions, Luna’s slinky dance—I’d given him something authentic. Something memorable.

And even though he’d picked Annabelle for the date, which she deserved, the penguin has become my unofficial mascot. A symbol of turning sabotage into strength.

Now, as I finish applying my makeup, I’m feeling good, and I’m almost sure I’m safe for tonight. I’ve selected a gown that brings out flecks of gold in my eyes—battle armor for what promises to be a tense evening. After Hayes canceled his date with Annabelle to call his son, he needs to spend more of tonight’s cocktail party making it up to her.

When I enter the main living room, the air feels charged with pre-elimination anxiety—that particular blend of competitive tension and barely concealed panic that has nineteen other grown women pretending to sip mimosas while mentally rehearsing their “pick me” speeches.

Serena catches my eye from across the room, giving me a subtle nod that says both “you look nice” and “shit’s about to go down.” She’s perched on the edge of the sofa, maintaining careful distance from Gabby’s corner coalition.

I walk toward the kitchen, hoping to down some coffee before the chaos begins. But as I pass the dining area, I catch Gabby’s voice, sharp.

“—absolutely ridiculous to suggest I would just misplace it. Someone took it, and I want it back.”

Annabelle stands across from her, blue eyes wide and hands twisting nervously in front of her. “I swear, I haven’t seen your bracelet, Gabby. Why would I take it?”

“Because it’s the exact one Hayes complimented on our group date,” Gabby says, stepping closer to Annabelle. “You’ve been eyeing it since I got back.”

Annabelle’s pale skin flushes crimson. “That’s not true! I wouldn’t—”

“Then explain why Kavita saw you coming out of my room yesterday when everyone was at the pool.” Gabby crosses her arms, triumph flashing in her eyes.

Some of the other women are gathering now, drawn to conflict. I notice Luna hanging back, her expression concerned.

“I was returning a book I borrowed.” Annabelle’s voice is small. “Your door was open.”

“A likely story.” Gabby turns to address their growing audience. “Someone here is a thief, and no one should trust anything in their rooms.”

“Maybe you just lost it,” Taylor says, ever the peacemaker.

Gabby’s eyes narrow. “A twenty-thousand-dollar sapphire tennis bracelet? Nope.”

The room erupts, women checking their own wrists and necks reflexively, muttering about security and locked doors. Annabelle looks on the verge of tears, her rosy cheeks now blotched with embarrassment.

“I didn’t take anything,” she insists, her Southern accent thickening with emotion. “I would never—”

“Then you won’t mind if we check your things,” Kavita suggests, materializing beside Gabby like an evil henchwoman in a designer jumpsuit.

Annabelle’s eyes pop. “That’s—you can’t just—”

“What’s going on here?” Serena steps forward, her profession evident in the way she surveys the scene, gathering data before forming a hypothesis.

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