It all started with a stupid text from Emily:
We had to kick some guests out, I hope you understand.
I wasn't "some guy." I was her older sister—her foster parent, her "benefactor," her emergency contact for the middle of her twenties. And she couldn't even pick up the phone and say I wasn't invited.
So instead of answering, I would run away to the Caribbean.
And now this.
As I tried to calm down, I saw a message from my mother—the one that turned the whole disaster upside down:
"They think you canceled the concert. Call me NOW."
I blinked at the screen, sure I'd misunderstood.
Me? Call off her wedding? I wasn't even invited.
I replied immediately: "I'm in Barbados. Explain."
But before she could answer, she called.
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