The ferry looked smaller than Madaline expected.
Not unsafe.
Just… smaller.
In her head, anything taking people to a private family island should have looked grander somehow. Sleek white sides, polished railings, maybe someone in a little uniform handing out champagne because rich people seemed like the kind of people who would find a way to make even transportation feel smug.
Instead, the ferry waiting at the dock was sturdy and practical, painted white and navy, with wet ropes coiled along the side and a deckhand checking luggage against a clipboard while wind pushed at everyone’s clothes.
The morning air smelled like lake water, gasoline, and salt from someone’s breakfast sandwich nearby.
Madaline stood near the edge of the dock with one hand wrapped around the handle of her suitcase and the other tucked into the pocket of her jacket, fingers curled around the folded edge of Luca’s last letter.
She had not meant to bring it.
That was a lie.
She had absolutely meant to bring it.
She had just not meant to keep touching it like a nervous teenager before a first date.
“You okay?”
Madaline looked up.
Ethan stood a few feet away, dark green-tinted hair ruffled by the wind, a printed list in one hand and his phone in the other. He looked exactly like a man who had somehow become responsible for getting thirty people, twelve garment bags, four crates of wedding favors, and one emotionally delicate bride to an island without disaster.
“I’m fine,” Madaline said. “You look like you’re about to personally fight the ferry.”
“I might,” Ethan muttered, checking something off his list. “Depends if they loaded the flowers.”
“You’ve become a wedding dad.”
His eyes lifted.
Flat.
Unamused.
“Take that back.”
Madaline smiled. “Can’t. I already said it.”
Before Ethan could respond, Mira appeared beside him like she had been placed there by the wind.
She wore sunglasses pushed up into her auburn hair, loose waves catching around her cheeks, and a pale blue sundress under a cream cardigan that made her look soft and bright against the gray dock. Small. Pretty. Effortless in a way Madaline knew was probably not effortless at all.
Mira slid one arm around Ethan’s waist and leaned into his side. “Is he being dramatic?”
“Violently,” Madaline said.
Ethan sighed. “I’m organizing.”
“Dramatically organizing,” Mira corrected.
He looked down at her, and some of the tension in his face loosened immediately. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am.” Mira smiled up at him. “That’s why I’m telling you when you look scary with a clipboard.”
“It’s not a clipboard.”
“Emotionally, it is.”
Madaline laughed, and for a moment the wind, the water, the luggage, the nerves—all of it felt almost normal.
Then her fingers brushed the letter again.
Luca.
He was coming later.
Not on this ferry. Ethan had split the arrivals, and Luca was scheduled with the second group, which somehow made it worse. Madaline had time now. Time to imagine him stepping off the boat. Time to wonder if his voice would match his letters. Time to wonder whether she would recognize him by feeling alone, which was a ridiculous thought and one she had not admitted to anyone, not even herself properly.
Mira’s gaze flicked down to Madaline’s hand in her pocket.
Just once.
Then back to her face.
“He’ll be here soon,” she said softly.
Madaline blinked. “I didn’t say anything.”
Mira’s smile tilted. “You didn’t have to.”
Ethan looked between them. “Luca?”
Madaline felt heat crawl up her neck. “Can we not say his name like he’s a weather system?”
“He is kind of a weather system,” Mira said. “At least for you.”
“Traitor.”
Mira only smiled wider and squeezed Ethan’s waist. “I think it’s sweet.”
Ethan’s expression softened when he looked at Madaline. “Still feeling okay about him coming?”
Madaline looked past him toward the water.
The lake stretched wide and steel-blue beneath the morning sky, chopped into restless little waves by the wind. Far out, the horizon blurred where water met pale cloud, and somewhere beyond that was Calloway Island.
A whole weekend.
A wedding.
Mira and Ethan promising forever.
And Luca, becoming real.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”
Ethan nodded like he accepted that but would continue privately evaluating the situation because he was Ethan. “Good.”
Mira touched Madaline’s arm, light and reassuring. “It’s going to be nice.”
The words should have settled her.
They almost did.
A deckhand called for the first group to board, and the dock shifted into motion. Suitcases rolled over wooden planks. Someone laughed too loudly near the back of the group. Ethan immediately turned toward the luggage pile like a general watching troops scatter out of formation.
“Mira, your dress bag—”
“Already loaded,” she said.
“The welcome boxes?”
“Also loaded.”
“The rings?”
Mira lifted his hand, showing the ring box safely looped by its ribbon around his wrist.
Ethan looked down at it.
Then at her.
“When did you do that?”
“When you were accusing the ferry of being untrustworthy.”
Madaline bit back another laugh.
Mira stepped onto the ferry first, accepting the deckhand’s offered hand with a graceful little smile. Ethan followed, still checking his list even as Mira tugged him gently by the wrist. Madaline came after them, suitcase bumping lightly behind her.
The ferry rocked under her feet.
Not much.
Enough.
Her hand tightened around the railing before she could stop it.
Mira noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
“Yep,” Madaline said too quickly. “Love boats. Big fan. Very stable floor concept.”
Mira laughed and guided her toward a bench along the side. “Sit before you insult the ferry and it takes revenge.”
They settled near the rail while Ethan disappeared two steps away to argue politely with a staff member about crates. Mira sat close enough that their shoulders almost touched, her cardigan sleeve brushing Madaline’s jacket whenever the boat shifted.
For a few minutes, everything was movement and sound.
Engines rumbling awake beneath them.
Ropes being untied.
Water slapping against the ferry’s side.
Guests calling to one another across the deck.
Then the dock began to slide away.
Madaline watched the mainland recede slowly, buildings shrinking into a low line behind them. The air grew colder once they were moving, wind tugging loose strands of hair from her clip and whipping them across her cheek.
Mira leaned into the wind with her face turned toward the water.
She looked happy.
Not loudly. Not carelessly.
But there was something bright in her, something that made her seem younger for a second, almost unburdened. She took off her sunglasses and held them loosely in one hand, blue eyes fixed on the distance.
“You really love it there,” Madaline said.
Mira looked at her. “The island?”
“Yeah.”
Mira’s smile softened. “I love what it feels like.”
“Which is?”
She thought about it.
“Far away.”
The answer was quiet enough that the wind almost stole it.
Madaline looked at her for a moment.
Far away.
From the city.
From news segments.
From memorials.
From the lake house.
Maybe from herself.
“That sounds nice,” Madaline said.
“It is.” Mira turned back toward the water. “You’ll see.”
Madaline followed her gaze.
At first, there was nothing but water and a faint smudge of darker color near the horizon. Then, slowly, the shape sharpened.
Land.
A long, green rise cutting across the silver-blue lake.
Trees first.
Then cliffs.
Then the pale shape of a villa high above the shoreline, catching the light like something from a postcard or a dream.
Calloway Island.
Madaline’s stomach tightened.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Something closer to anticipation with teeth.
Mira smiled beside her, watching the island grow larger.
“There,” she said softly. “Beautiful, right?”
Madaline nodded.
Because it was.
Beautiful enough to make danger look impossible.
The thought stayed with Madaline as the ferry eased closer to the dock.
Calloway Island rose out of the water in layers: first the dark line of trees, then the pale stone of the cliffs, then the villa perched high above everything like it had been built by someone who wanted to be admired from a distance. The house was enormous, all white walls and tall windows and balconies that curled around the upper floors. Ivy climbed along one side, softening the stone just enough to make it look romantic instead of severe, and the sunlight caught on the glass until the whole place seemed to shimmer.
“That’s not a villa,” Madaline said quietly. “That’s a rich person castle pretending to be humble.”
Mira laughed beside her. “Wait until you see the library.”
“Is there a ladder?”
“Two.”
“Disgusting.”
Ethan appeared at Madaline’s other side just as the ferry bumped gently against the dock. “My family calls it charming.”
“Your family would.”
He gave her a look, but there was no real irritation in it. The wind had made a mess of his hair, and his list had been folded into his back pocket at some point, though Madaline was pretty sure he knew it was there by muscle memory alone.
The dock workers tied the ferry down, and movement rolled across the deck almost immediately. Guests began gathering bags, staff called out instructions, and someone near the front complained about their garment bag being bent before realizing it was not bent at all, just slightly resting against another suitcase.
Mira rose smoothly, brushing her dress into place.
She looked different here already.
Still soft. Still Mira. But more alive somehow, as if the island had pulled color into her cheeks before they had even stepped onto it. She took Ethan’s hand when he offered it, and he guided her off the ferry first, careful even though she didn’t need help.
Madaline followed with her suitcase.
The dock shifted under her feet when she stepped down, the wood damp and sun-warmed beneath the soles of her shoes. The air was cleaner here than on the mainland, touched with lake wind and pine and something faintly floral drifting from the gardens above. Behind her, water slapped quietly against the posts. Ahead of her, a stone path curved up from the dock toward the villa, winding through wild grass and low white flowers that leaned under the breeze.
It really was beautiful.
Annoyingly beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that made a person feel underdressed emotionally.
“Everyone stay together for room assignments,” Ethan called, his voice carrying with practiced calm over the small chaos of luggage. “Staff will bring bags to the villa. Please don’t wander off before you know where you’re sleeping.”
“That sounded very stern,” Mira murmured.
“Good.”
“Hot, but stern.”
Ethan’s ears turned faintly red.
Madaline coughed into her hand to hide a laugh.
Mira only smiled sweetly, like she had not just short-circuited her fiancé in front of a ferry full of people.
At the top of the dock, a man in a pale linen shirt waited with a clipboard hugged to his chest like a shield. He looked around thirty, maybe a little younger, with light brown hair that refused to stay neatly combed and eyes that moved too quickly over the arriving guests. He stood very straight, but not naturally. Like he had taught himself posture because panic needed somewhere to go.
Ethan saw him and lifted a hand. “Simon.”
The man jolted slightly, then smiled with visible effort. “Mr. Calloway. Good—good, you’re early.”
“Five minutes.”
“Early is early.” Simon looked down at his clipboard, then back at the group. “Welcome to Calloway Island. I’m Simon Vale—” He stopped, grimaced faintly, then corrected himself. “Sorry. Simon Voss. Wedding coordinator. Temporary. Assistant coordinator, technically, but if anything goes wrong, people will still blame me, so coordinator is fine.”
Madaline blinked.
Ethan sighed like he was already tired on Simon’s behalf. “You’re doing great.”
“I’m really not,” Simon said, then seemed to remember he was speaking out loud. “But thank you.”
Mira’s smile softened, the full force of her gentleness turning on him like a lamp. “It looks beautiful already.”
Simon stared at her for half a second.
Not rudely.
Just too long.
Then he looked down at the clipboard. “Thank you. The florist arrived yesterday. Mostly. One crate of white roses is missing, but we found extra hydrangeas, and apparently no one is allowed to say anything bad about those.”
Ethan muttered, “Family curse.”
Madaline leaned toward Mira. “I’m becoming obsessed with your hydrangea lore.”
“There’s a lot,” Mira whispered back.
Simon began directing the staff toward the luggage while Ethan checked names off beside him. Mira stayed close for a while, answering questions with quiet ease whenever someone asked where to go or what time the welcome dinner started. She made it look natural. Effortless. A bride greeting her guests.
But Madaline noticed how the mood shifted around her.
People calmed when Mira smiled.
Staff softened.
Guests lowered their voices.
Even Simon, who looked like he had been born two minutes away from a nervous breakdown, seemed steadier when Mira thanked him.
Madaline turned toward the path before she could think too long about that.
“Ready?” Ethan asked.
Mira slipped her hand into his. “Always.”
They started up the stone path.
The walk to the villa was steeper than it looked from the dock. Madaline’s suitcase had been taken by staff, thank God, but she still felt the climb in her calves by the time they reached the first terrace. The path cut through gardens that looked wild only because someone had spent a fortune making them seem that way. White flowers spilled over stone borders. Tall grass moved silver-green in the wind. Somewhere nearby, bees drifted lazily through lavender.
And beyond it all, the lake stretched out behind them, wide and bright and absolute.
The mainland already looked far away.
Too far away.
At the villa entrance, two tall doors stood open.
Inside, the foyer was cool and impossibly bright, with white stone floors, a sweeping staircase, and windows tall enough to make Madaline feel like she should whisper. Fresh flowers had been arranged on every available surface. The air smelled like lilies, sea wind, lemon polish, and money.
“This is…” Madaline trailed off, looking up at the chandelier.
“Too much?” Ethan offered.
“Deeply.”
Mira’s eyes moved over the foyer, and for a second, the excitement on her face looked almost real enough to hurt. “I know,” she said softly. “But isn’t it pretty?”
Madaline looked at her instead of the room.
“Yeah,” she said. “It is.”
Simon appeared at the entrance behind them, slightly breathless from the climb and clutching a stack of room cards. “Okay. Room assignments. Please don’t hate me. Some of these were decided by Mrs. Calloway, and legally I cannot be held responsible for mothers of grooms.”
Ethan took the top card before Simon dropped them all. “I’ll help.”
“Bless you.”
Mira moved to Madaline’s side while Ethan and Simon began passing out cards.
“You’re on the second floor,” Mira said. “West hallway.”
“Near you?”
“Close enough for emergencies.”
“Define emergencies.”
Mira smiled. “Dress panic. Crying. Murdering Ethan if he says one more thing about seating charts.”
Madaline laughed, but the word murdering landed oddly in the flower-heavy air.
Mira didn’t seem to notice.
Or she did and gave nothing away.
Ethan handed Madaline a card with a small brass key attached to it by a cream ribbon.
“West Hall. Room seven.”
Madaline turned the card over.
Her name was written in clean calligraphy.
Madaline — Room 7
Below it, in smaller letters:
Guest pending.
Her stomach gave a tiny, embarrassing flip.
Mira noticed.
Of course.
“He’ll be on the second ferry,” Mira said quietly.
Madaline looked up. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m enjoying you enjoying something.”
That made Madaline go quiet.
Mira’s face softened again, and she reached out, squeezing Madaline’s wrist lightly. “Let yourself have it.”
Madaline wanted to make a joke.
She couldn’t find one fast enough.
So she just nodded.
Outside, beyond the open doors, the ferry horn sounded faintly as it prepared to return to the mainland for the second group.
Madaline turned toward the sound.
Somewhere across the water, Luca was getting closer.
And the island, beautiful and bright around her, felt suddenly less like a place they had arrived at—
and more like a place waiting to close behind them.
The feeling didn’t last.
Or maybe Madaline simply didn’t let it.
There were too many people moving through the foyer now for unease to settle properly. Guests came in waves, shaking wind from their hair, admiring the villa, asking where to put garment bags, laughing too loudly in that first-arrival way people did when they were trying to shake off travel nerves. Staff moved between them with trays of sparkling water and small glasses of something pale and citrusy that Madaline refused to believe was necessary before noon, though three different people accepted them like hydration had become decorative.
Mira fit into it all effortlessly.
She moved through the foyer with Ethan at her side, greeting people, accepting hugs, letting older relatives hold her hands for too long while they said things like beautiful bride and after everything, you deserve this. Every time someone said that, Mira smiled in the exact right way.
Soft.
Grateful.
A little wounded, but not enough to make anyone uncomfortable.
Madaline watched her from near the base of the staircase, room key still looped around her finger by its cream ribbon.
Then someone beside her said, “I give it two hours before someone cries over flower placement.”
Madaline turned.
A woman stood a few feet away, leaning against the end of the banister like she had absolutely no intention of being impressed by anything around her. She was tall and lean, dressed in loose black trousers, heavy boots, and an oversized white button-up with the sleeves shoved carelessly to her elbows. Tattoos covered both forearms in dark, intricate patterns, disappearing beneath the fabric. Her long black hair was pulled into a low, messy ponytail, and her hazel eyes moved across the room with dry, serious assessment.
She looked like she had wandered into the wrong genre and decided to stay out of spite.
Madaline liked her immediately.
“Only two?” Madaline asked.
The woman’s mouth twitched. “I’m being optimistic.”
“Dangerous attitude.”
“For a wedding? Extremely.”
She straightened and held out one hand. “Ashlynn Pierce.”
“Madaline.”
Ashlynn shook her hand once, firm and brief. “You’re with the bride?”
“Best friend,” Madaline said.
Ashlynn glanced toward Mira, who was currently smiling up at an older woman with pearls and the posture of a disapproving queen. “Makes sense.”
Madaline looked at her. “Why?”
Ashlynn shrugged. “You keep watching her like you’re ready to catch her if she falls.”
That landed closer than Madaline expected.
She looked back toward Mira, suddenly aware of her own posture. “I don’t.”
Ashlynn gave her a look that said she had absolutely done exactly that. “Sure.”
Before Madaline could answer, a man’s voice cut brightly across the foyer.
“Okay, no offense to anyone’s dead ancestors, but this house is obscene.”
Madaline turned again.
A man about their age came through the front doors with two garment bags thrown over one shoulder and a duffel hanging from the other like he had been personally attacked by luggage and decided to survive through charm alone. He had warm brown skin, dark curls, and the kind of smile that showed up before the rest of him fully arrived.
Carlos Reyes.
Madaline knew it before he introduced himself because he looked exactly like the kind of person who would make sure everyone knew him within ten minutes.
Ashlynn sighed. “There he is.”
Carlos spotted her immediately. “Ash! You made it. I was worried the island would reject you on vibes.”
“It tried.”
“And yet, tragically, you remain.”
“Against my better judgment.”
Carlos dropped the duffel near the wall and swept a look around the foyer, eyes widening theatrically. “No, seriously. Is this where people get married or where they plot inheritance crimes?”
Madaline laughed before she could stop herself.
Carlos pointed at her immediately. “See? She gets it. New favorite.”
Ashlynn rolled her eyes. “You don’t know her.”
“I know enough. She laughed at my rich people slander. That’s foundational.”
Madaline smiled. “Madaline.”
Carlos took her hand with exaggerated solemnity. “Carlos Reyes. Guest, emotional support clown, and currently fighting for my life against hanger straps.”
“Are you with Ethan’s side?” Madaline asked.
“College friend. Mostly Ethan’s, technically, but I’ve known Mira long enough to be emotionally bullied by both.” He glanced toward the bride and groom, his expression warming in a way that made the jokes feel less careless. “They look good, though.”
Madaline followed his gaze.
Mira had one hand lightly tucked into Ethan’s arm now, her head tilted as she listened to Simon explain something with nervous hand gestures. Ethan looked stressed again. Mira looked serene.
“Yeah,” Madaline said softly. “They do.”
Ashlynn crossed her arms. “He looks like he’s about to develop a stress rash.”
“That’s his natural state,” Carlos said. “Ethan was born holding a checklist.”
“I heard that,” Ethan called from across the foyer without looking up.
Carlos grinned. “I said it with love.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“It helps me.”
Mira laughed from beside him, and the sound floated across the room, light and pretty enough that several people glanced over as if drawn by it.
Ashlynn noticed too.
Madaline saw the way her eyes sharpened briefly before easing again.
“You know them from college too?” Madaline asked.
Ashlynn looked back at her. “Sort of. I knew Ethan better. Mira was…” She paused, searching for a word.
Carlos supplied, “Popular.”
Ashlynn’s mouth pulled faintly to one side. “Liked.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Not always.”
Madaline looked between them.
Carlos either missed the edge in Ashlynn’s voice or chose to flatten it with cheer. “Mira was sweet to everyone. Ethan was the quiet guy everyone copied notes from because his were color-coded like a government file. Ashlynn pretended not to know any of us while mysteriously appearing at every party.”
“I had friends.”
“Debatable.”
“You are one insult away from swimming back.”
Carlos brightened. “So you admit the island is a trap.”
Madaline laughed again, but this time her eyes moved instinctively toward the open front doors.
Beyond them, the lake flashed in the sunlight.
Blue and endless.
Not a trap.
Just water.
A lot of it.
Simon hurried toward them then, clutching a few remaining room cards. “Carlos Reyes?”
Carlos lifted both hands. “Present and underappreciated.”
Simon stared at him for a second like he was not sure whether that needed to be marked down. Then he handed over a card. “East guest hall. Room four.”
Carlos squinted at the card. “Does east have better ghosts than west?”
Simon blinked. “I don’t—there are no ghosts listed.”
Ashlynn muttered, “Give it time.”
Simon looked mildly alarmed.
Madaline felt bad for him. “Ignore them. Mostly.”
“Mostly is not comforting,” Simon said.
“No,” Carlos agreed. “But it is honest.”
Simon gave a small, overwhelmed nod and turned to Ashlynn. “Pierce. You’re also east hall. Room six.”
Ashlynn took the card. “Is there cell service there?”
Simon’s expression became the expression of a man about to deliver bad news to someone with tattoos and no visible patience. “Near the windows.”
“That means no.”
“It means near the windows.”
“That’s worse.”
Carlos turned to Madaline. “She’s only like this because she cares deeply about communication infrastructure.”
Ashlynn slipped the room card into her pocket. “I’m like this because rich people keep buying isolated properties and pretending bad reception is charming.”
Madaline’s smile faltered just slightly.
Bad reception.
Isolated properties.
Carlos was still talking, but for a second Madaline’s mind snagged on the phrase and held there.
Then Mira appeared beside her, and the thought loosened.
“There you are,” Mira said, slipping one arm around Madaline’s waist with easy affection. “I was worried Simon had assigned you to a tower.”
Simon looked up sharply. “There is no tower.”
Carlos gasped. “But there should be.”
“There’s a roof terrace,” Ethan said, walking up behind Mira. “That’s enough.”
Carlos clutched his chest. “Spoken like a man afraid of architecture.”
Ethan ignored him and looked at Madaline. “You met everyone?”
“I met Ashlynn and Carlos,” Madaline said. “I’ve also learned your island may or may not have ghosts.”
“It does not.”
Ashlynn said, “That’s what the ghosts want you to think.”
Mira laughed softly, leaning her cheek briefly against Madaline’s shoulder. “I missed this.”
Madaline looked at her. “Ghost accusations?”
“People,” Mira said.
Her voice was quiet enough that only Madaline heard it.
“All of us being somewhere that isn’t…” She didn’t finish.
She didn’t have to.
Madaline’s chest softened.
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
Across the foyer, staff began carrying luggage up the stairs. Someone opened the terrace doors, letting in a rush of lake air that made the flowers shiver in their vases. Carlos immediately wandered toward the windows, narrating his emotional journey through wealth. Ashlynn followed at a slower pace, hands in her pockets, eyes moving over everything with suspicion she didn’t bother hiding.
Simon trailed after them, clearly deciding whether he needed to supervise or flee.
Mira stayed beside Madaline for another moment.
Warm.
Close.
Smiling at the room as if she had made it all happen by wanting it badly enough.
“See?” she said softly. “Better already.”
Madaline wanted to agree.
Then, outside, the ferry horn sounded again.
Low.
Distant.
Leaving for the mainland.
Madaline glanced toward the doors.
The second group would come later.
The rest of the afternoon passed in pieces.
Madaline unpacked because it gave her something to do with her hands. Her room was ridiculous in the way the whole villa was ridiculous—high ceilings, white curtains, polished wood floors, a bed too large for one person, and a balcony that overlooked the west side of the island where the trees sloped down toward the water. Someone had placed a small vase of flowers on the nightstand. White. Delicate. Probably chosen by Mira.
Her suitcase looked small and ordinary sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed.
She hung up her dress for the ceremony, folded her clothes into drawers she did not need, checked her reflection twice, then felt stupid for checking and walked away from the mirror.
Luca wouldn’t be here until later.
There was no reason to be nervous yet.
Except her body had apparently missed that memo.
By the time she went back downstairs, the villa had settled into a louder kind of life. Voices drifted from the terrace. Somewhere down the hall, Carlos was laughing about something, followed immediately by Ashlynn’s dry, unimpressed reply. The sound made Madaline smile before she even reached them.
The terrace doors stood open, and late afternoon light spilled across the floor in warm, slanted gold.
Outside, guests had gathered around small tables dressed in pale linen. Drinks glittered in sweating glasses. A few relatives Madaline didn’t know stood near the railing, gazing out over the water like they were in a perfume commercial. Mira stood near the center of it all, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass, auburn hair shining where the sun touched it. Ethan was beside her, talking to an older man who looked like he had opinions about inheritance law and boat maintenance.
Mira saw Madaline first.
She always did.
Her smile softened, and she lifted her hand in a tiny wave.
Madaline started toward her, but movement near the lower path caught her attention.
A small service cart had stopped near the side entrance below the terrace. Two staff members were unloading crates from the back, passing them carefully down onto the gravel. Flowers, maybe. Or bottles. The sort of things that appeared at weddings without anyone remembering the exact moment they arrived.
Then a man stepped around the cart.
Not one of the guests.
Madaline could tell that immediately.
He wore dark pants, a black shirt, and a light jacket with the collar turned slightly up against the wind. A cap pulled low over his forehead shadowed most of his face, but the side of his head was shaved close enough that she caught the dark edge of a tattoo curving above his ear before he turned away.
Something about him snagged her attention.
Not fear.
Recognition, almost.
But recognition of what, she couldn’t say.
He moved quietly, helping lift one of the crates from the cart. He didn’t speak much. The other staff member said something to him, and he answered with a short nod before carrying the crate toward the side door.
“Maddy?”
Mira’s voice pulled her back.
Madaline turned.
Mira was closer now, head tilted slightly. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Madaline glanced once more toward the path, but the man had already disappeared inside. “Just thought I recognized someone.”
Mira followed her gaze.
For the smallest second, her expression did not move at all.
Then she smiled.
“Probably staff,” she said lightly. “Ethan’s mother hired half the mainland to make sure no napkin was left emotionally unsupported.”
Madaline laughed, because it was easy to.
“That poor woman really has napkin trauma.”
“We all do now.”
Mira slipped her arm through Madaline’s and guided her toward the terrace. The motion was warm, familiar, effortless enough that Madaline let herself be led.
Behind them, somewhere inside the villa, a door clicked shut.
Soft.
Almost swallowed by the music beginning to play from the speakers near the terrace railing.
Madaline barely noticed it.
But from the shadowed side hallway below, Thorfinn Thorsson paused with one hand still on the crate.
He looked up toward the terrace.
Toward the bride.
Mira laughed at something Carlos said, small and bright and lovely in the fading light.
Thorfinn’s face stayed calm.
Only his fingers tightened against the wood.
Then he lowered his head and carried the crate inside.
By evening, Calloway Island looked less real.
The sun had started its slow fall toward the water, turning the villa’s white walls gold and softening every edge until the whole place looked like something painted instead of built. The terrace had filled with voices, clinking glasses, music low enough to sit beneath conversation, and the smell of dinner drifting from somewhere inside.
Madaline stood near the railing with Ashlynn and Carlos, watching the lake darken.
“I hate that this place is pretty,” Ashlynn said.
Carlos leaned beside her, one elbow on the stone. “Growth is admitting rich people sometimes have good views.”
“I said pretty, not morally acceptable.”
Madaline smiled, but her attention kept drifting toward the dock below.
Carlos noticed first. “Ah. Penpal watch.”
Her face warmed instantly. “Please don’t call it that.”
“Too late. It has a name now.”
Ashlynn glanced at Madaline. “You’ve never met him?”
“No.”
“And he’s coming to an island wedding?”
“Yes.”
Ashlynn stared at her for a second, then looked back toward the water. “Bold.”
Carlos pointed at her. “That’s Ashlynn for ‘romantic.’”
“No, it isn’t.”
Madaline laughed quietly, though the nerves stayed curled beneath her ribs. The second ferry wasn’t visible yet, but it was due soon. Luca was due soon. The thought made the whole evening feel tilted slightly forward, like the island itself was waiting with her.
Across the terrace, Mira stood with Ethan near a cluster of guests, glowing in the amber light. She looked peaceful. Perfectly placed. One hand rested lightly against Ethan’s arm while he spoke to Simon, and every so often she glanced toward Madaline with a knowing softness that made Madaline want to hide and smile at the same time.
Then the ferry horn sounded.
Low.
Distant.
Madaline turned before she could stop herself.
Down at the dock, beyond the curve of the path and the pale blur of flowers, the second ferry cut slowly across the water toward them. Its lights glimmered against the darkening lake, small and golden, growing closer with every second.
Carlos made a soft, dramatic gasp. “The penpal approaches.”
“Carlos.”
“What? I’m invested now.”
Ashlynn folded her arms. “For the record, if he’s weird, I’m judging everyone.”
“Fair,” Madaline said, but her voice came out softer than she meant it to.
Mira appeared at her side a moment later, quiet as ever, her blue eyes turned toward the ferry. “Ready?”
Madaline breathed out a nervous little laugh. “Not even slightly.”
Mira’s shoulder brushed hers. “Good. That means it matters.”
Below them, the ferry bumped gently against the dock.
Guests began stepping off.
One by one, they moved into the island light—relatives, friends, staff, strangers with bags and garment cases. Madaline watched each face, her heart beating faster with every person who was not him.
Then Ethan came over with a room card in hand.
He offered it to Madaline without saying anything.
She looked down.
The card had been updated.
Madaline — Room 7
Luca Armani — West Guest Hall
Her stomach flipped.
There it was.
Real ink.
Real name.
Real person.
Somewhere below, Luca Armani had stepped onto the island.
Madaline looked up toward the dock, but the crowd shifted just enough to block her view.
Mira squeezed her hand once.
“Soon,” she said.
And across the terrace, as the evening settled deeper around Calloway Island, Madaline held the room card like it was a promise.