CHAPTER 30
CASSIE
Last time I was in this ballroom, it was a year after the hurricane and my grandparents were giving me a walk-through of the damage. By then, the sea had done its worst, leaving behind a gaping space that could’ve doubled as the setting of a ghost ship in a horror movie. Everything needed to be ripped out. The drywall, the flooring. Gutted right to the studs.
Now, after all of Mackenzie’s hard work, the ballroom has been completely restored. The old wallpaper and gilded wall ornaments are gone, replaced by cream paint and white panels with intricate detailing. Brand-new hardwood flooring gleams beneath our feet. The most impressive change, however, is the ceiling. It still soars impossibly high, only now there are skylights, glass panels that open up the room and provide a dazzling view of the inky sky streaked with a dusting of stars.
On the stage, a ten-piece jazz band performs an up-tempo number that makes me feel like I’ve stepped into another time. Everything about this ballroom feels both modern and vintage at the same time, and I watch Grandma’s face as she takes it all in.
“Incredible,” she says under her breath, and I see the relief in Mackenzie’s green eyes.
“You did an amazing job,” I tell Mac.
“It was a team effort.” She links her arm with Cooper, who looks gorgeous in his tux. With his tattoos covered and his face clean-shaven, he resembles a preppy boy from Garnet College. I would never tell him that, though. I feel like it would ruin his entire night.
Mac introduces my grandmother to Cooper. As Grandma shakes his hand, she’s still gazing around the room, marveling over it. Her attention lands on the chandelier. “Is that the same—”
“No, it’s a replica,” Mac cuts in. Her smile is hopeful. “It looks the same, though, right? I asked the designer to copy it from a photograph.”
“It’s breathtaking,” Grandma assures her. “All of it.”
The two of them wander off, Mac pointing out other updates to the ballroom. Meanwhile, I notice several familiar faces entering through the arched doorway. It’s only eight o’clock, so people are still trickling in. The hotel itself isn’t open for business until tomorrow morning, when guests from near and far will be checking in at the newly christened Beacon Hotel. Mackenzie says they’re booked to capacity, and Genevieve has been stressing about it all week, grumbling about how she’d been promised a soft opening. I guess Mac’s original plan was to only book half capacity for opening weekend, just to “dip her toe in,” but Cooper talked her out of it, convincing her to make a big splash instead.
“Cass!” My cousin Liv breaks away from the crowd and hurries over to hug me.
“Hey! You look incredible.”
Liv is eighteen and about to start her freshman year at Yale. She’s Uncle Will’s daughter, and the only cousin close to my age. The others are all thirteen or under, with Aunt Jacqueline’s late-in-life baby Mariah being the youngest at five. My aunt had her at forty-four.
“Hi, squirt,” I greet the little girl who waddles up beside Liv. Mariah looks adorable in a white tutu dress and shiny silver barrettes. She reminds me of my sisters, which makes me wish they were here tonight. But Dad and Co. weren’t invited, and even if they had been, I’m sure Nia would rather be caught dead than interact with my mother. Not that I blame her.
I greet my aunt and uncles, who flew in last night from Massachusetts and Connecticut.
“It’s a family reunion!” Uncle Max gives me a kiss on the cheek and then ruffles Mariah’s hair. “Where’s Victoria?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. She arrived with us but then disappeared. I think she went to the ladies’ room.” I scan the ballroom, which isn’t super crowded yet. Still, there’s a fair number of people milling around, in an array of beautiful gowns and tailored suits and tuxedos. “Oh, there she is.”
Mom saunters over. I can’t deny she looks stunning in her form-fitting black gown, red-soled Louboutins, and elegant updo. She’s forty-five and honestly looks ten years younger. Genetically, that bodes well for me.
I’m quite pleased with my own dress too. It’s emerald green, with a halter-style bodice that covers my boobs nicely and a pleated skirt that swirls around my ankles. Picked for me courtesy of Joy, who’s looking gorgeous herself in a white minidress and impossibly high stilettos. Isaiah is her plus-one, but from the way they’ve been bickering since they got here, I have a feeling this latest reconciliation won’t stick.
Mom’s gaze sweeps around the room, resting on the lively band, before she turns back and grudgingly admits, “This is lovely.”
“Isn’t it?” Aunt Jacqueline says. “Almost makes me wish we held on to this place.”
Mom is quick with a reprimand. “Don’t you say that, Jacqueline. We had to sell.”
Uncle Will chimes in agreement. “It was time to say goodbye. Remember Mom and Dad with this place? It was their entire life. They didn’t have any time for themselves.”
“The world revolved around the Beacon,” Uncle Max concurs.
“I know,” my aunt says sullenly. “I guess I’m just sad to see it go.”
Mackenzie returns to give us a private tour. Just the family, and everyone is suitably impressed by what she’s done with the hotel. The tour ends on the top floor, where Mac strides down the carpeted hallway looking like a supermodel in her black satin gown and silver heels. She leads us to a pair of double doors at the very end of the hall.
“The presidential suite,” she says. Eyes twinkling, she steps aside to show us the plaque on the wall.
THE TANNER SUITE.
Grandma looks like she might cry. “Oh, Mackenzie, dear. You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, I did.” Mac’s expression becomes serious, her voice thick with emotion. “If it wasn’t for you, the Beacon wouldn’t have stood on this boardwalk for fifty years. It’s your legacy, Lydia.”
The suite is as posh as you would expect. Even has a grand piano. Afterward, we return to the ballroom, and I’m surprised to witness some genuine nostalgia swimming in Mom’s eyes.
“Aww, you’re sad to see it go too,” I accuse, my smile telling her I’m teasing. “After all the grumbling about how you didn’t want it…”
“Oh stop,” she says, patting me good-naturedly. She looks around the ballroom that’s slowly filling up. The band is now playing a jazzy rendition of a Taylor Swift song, which is sort of cool. “Where is your boyfriend tonight?”
“Um…” I pull my phone out of my clutch and check the screen. Tate was supposed to let me know when he was coming inside. Last time we texted, he was in the parking lot waiting for his parents. “Oh, perfect. His parents just got here. They’re walking in now.”
A server appears brandishing an array of champagne flutes, and Mom plucks two of them off the tray. With a broad smile, she hands me one.
I eye her in amusement.
“What?” she says. “We’re celebrating. Let’s make a toast.” She raises the delicate flute. “To our family.”
“To our family.” We tap our glasses. I don’t know why her spirits are suddenly so high, but hey, I’ll take it.
We weave our way through the ballroom, stopping to say hello to several people Mom knows. Then I turn my head and see Tate entering.
My throat instantly turns into an arid wasteland. I thought Tate in a suit was nice. Tate in a tux? It’s a sight to behold. Although of course, Tate in nothing at all would be my ultimate preference. Any time we’re naked together, I forget my own name. And it’s not just the sex that turns my mind to mush. It’s everything. His laughter. The way his blue eyes become so animated when he talks about something he’s passionate about. How he’s far more sensitive than he lets on. He tries to hide that under the guise of surfer-boy man-whore, but he’s not fooling me. Not anymore.
I’m still floored by what happened last week. Tate shedding real tears when I spoke of my fragile relationship with my father. I plan on sticking to my end of the deal—I’m going to talk to both my parents about our relationships. But I think I’m adding Tate to that list, because it’s getting harder and harder to deny my feelings for him.
I tried not to get attached and I failed.
My heart is officially engaged.
It was supposed to be a summer fling, but I don’t want it to end. I don’t think he wants it to end either. I wish he’d be the one to bring it up, to suggest we continue seeing other, but so far he hasn’t. A part of me wonders if he’s waiting for me to take the lead. I was the one who wanted the fling. I insisted I didn’t want a relationship to come of it. And Tate’s the kind of guy who isn’t going to push the issue. If I want more, I need to ask for it. Vocalize my needs and all that fun stuff.
I take another sip, then touch Mom’s arm. “Tate’s here. Let’s say hi.”
“Of course.” She sips her own champagne as she follows me toward the tuxedo-clad golden god who stole my virginity and my heart.
“Who invited you?” I mock glare when we reach him.
“I know, right?” Tate’s appreciative gaze eats me up. “You look incredible.”
“You clean up nice too.” I smile and rise on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
His parents are standing nearby, talking to Cooper’s uncle Levi, but Gemma breaks away when she notices me.
“Cassie. You look beautiful.” Gemma gives me a warm hug.
“Thank you. So do you.” She’s wearing a yellow dress, her fair hair arranged in an updo with wavy strands framing her face. A small diamond pendant is nestled in her cleavage.
I greet Tate’s dad, who’s less boisterous than usual as he leans in to kiss my cheek. Maybe he’s toning himself down because this is such a classy event, but when he speaks, his demeanor feels more polite than lively. “Cassie. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too. This is my mom, Victoria. Mom, this is Gemma, and this is—”
“Gavin,” Mom finishes, greeting him with a tight smile. She barely acknowledges Tate’s mother, offering a brisk nod in lieu of hello. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has.” Gavin looks ill at ease, fidgeting with his bowtie. “Nice to see you again, Tori.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh, you two know each other?”
“Oh yes, we’re well acquainted.” Mom takes another sip of champagne.
I wait for her to continue, perhaps even, you know, explain.
But she doesn’t, and neither does Gavin.
Tate appears as befuddled as I am. We exchange a mystified look, as if to say, what are we missing?
Grandma chooses that moment to approach, and I try to transmit to her with my eyes that maybe now is not the time. Something’s brewing here. Like the way I know whenever a storm is coming. I can smell it, feel it in the air.
“How long has it been, Gavin?” Mom asks, studying him over the top of her glass. She sips again. “Eleven years?”
“About that,” he says, not quite meeting her eyes.
I notice Tate’s mom shooting him a questioning look. Okay. At least Tate and I aren’t the only ones who are out of the loop. And whatever this loop is, it’s beginning to trigger all my internal alarms.
Grandma reaches us, her expression one of concern. “Is everything all right?” she murmurs to me.
“I have no idea,” I murmur back. Then I slather on a bright smile and make a last-ditch attempt to ward off the impending storm. “Hey, Mom, I think Aunt Jacqueline is waving us over—”
“The last time I saw you…” she muses to Gavin, effectively ignoring me. “It was the month of August, I remember that much. And I believe we met … here, actually. At this bar.” She absently waves her arm toward the ballroom doors. “Before it was that café out there. It was the lobby bar, remember?”
Tate’s dad doesn’t answer. Either I’m imagining it, or his forehead has taken on a sheen of sweat.
“Refresh my memory? I can’t recall exactly when we last saw each other…” With a smile that’s more a baring of teeth than anything resembling amity, Mom locks eyes with Gavin Bartlett. “Oh, silly me! I remember now. It was the night you ordered me to abort our baby.”