Page 70 of Play Fake
Guilt prickles in my stomach. “Oh—uh, actually, no. I’m leaving in like an hour.”
His brows lift slightly. “Leaving?”
“For my sister’s bachelorette weekend,” I explain. “We’re heading up to Napa for a few days. I won’t be back until late Sunday night.”
For half a second, something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe—before he nods. “Got it. That sounds…fun.”
“It’ll be a lot,” I say with a laugh. “Claire doesn’t do ‘low-key.’”
“I can imagine.” His mouth tips up into a small grin. “So, you’ll miss the game tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I make a face. “I already told Ava to scream extra loud for me. I’ll be checking my phone for updates the whole time, though.”
He chuckles softly, the sound low and easy. “I’ll try to give you something worth checking for.”
The words catch me off guard, heat blooming in my cheeks before I can stop it. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my pulse suddenly skips.
“I don’t doubt you will,” I say, aiming for casual but probably failing.
He pushes off the desk, shouldering his backpack. “Well, we can figure out a time next week to get started. Travel safe, Soph.”
The way he says it—soft, sincere—makes my stomach do that fluttery thing again.
“Thanks, Beck,” I manage, offering him a quick smile before heading toward the door, feeling his gaze linger just a second longer than usual.
By the time the party bus pulls into the long, winding driveway of the villa, I’m convinced Claire missed her calling as a cruise director.
“Okay, ladies!” she announces from the front row, already on her feet before the bus comes to a full stop. “This weekend is all about celebrating love, laughter, and my last days as a Prescott.”
The girls erupt into cheers, champagne glasses clinking even though it’s barely past noon. I press my forehead to the cool window, taking in the stretch of vineyards rolling toward the horizon. The sun is warm, the sky an endless sweep of California blue, and the villa is…well, ridiculous.
Three stories of pale stone and terracotta roofs, framed by manicured hedges and white roses climbing trellises. A fountain gurgles in the circular driveway, because of course it does.
“Holy crap,” one of Claire’s college friends breathes as the doors open. “Are we in a movie right now?”
I laugh under my breath. “Nope. Just my sister’s idea of a ‘low-key’ weekend.”
Claire turns and shoots me a look over her shoulder, hearing me. “You only get one bachelorette party, Soph! We’re doing this right.”
I follow everyone off the shuttle, the warm breeze carrying the scent of lavender and citrus. A staff member in a crisp white shirt hands us each a glass of sparkling rosé the moment we step onto the gravel. Claire’s fiancé’s family owns the place—or at least one of their friends does—and it shows.
“Remind me again,” one of the bridesmaids asks as we trail behind Claire toward the massive front doors, “your parents are rich, right?”
I snort softly. “Yeah. But her fiancé is rich, rich.”
“Got it. Like ‘private jet for a wine weekend’ rich.”
“Exactly.”
The doors swing open to reveal an airy interior that smells faintly of lemon and fresh flowers. There’s a grand staircase curving up either side of the entryway, and beyond that, floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the vineyard like a painting.
Claire is in her element—handing out personalized welcome bags, ushering everyone to their rooms, rattling off the itinerary she’s clearly been fine-tuning for months. And I can’t help but smile, even as I trail behind the pack, sipping my drink.
This is her world. The flawless, glittering, champagne-fueled kind of world. Mine’s a little messier. Louder. More grounded.
But she’s my sister, and if there’s ever a weekend to let her be the star, it’s this one.
By late afternoon, the villa is buzzing with activity. Luggage is unpacked, dresses hung, and someone’s already opened the fourth bottle of champagne. Claire has us all gather on the back patio as the sun starts dipping toward the vineyards, painting everything in that soft, golden light that makes Napa look like a postcard.
