I look down at myself and shake my head. My skinny jeans—well, as skinny as a woman with my kind of curves ever gets—and white camisole top were crisp and clean when I started. My navy, tan, and white duster-cardigan was perfect for the autumn evening air when I left home, but it’s way too hot for Hawaii in the afternoon. The only reason I leave it on is so I don’t have to fuss with carrying it.
I straighten when I see the crowd of elderly folks begin to cluster up with tour or hotel staff who are finally herding them into smaller groups. Opal is with a few others in the far corner, and she looks right at home with her cronies.
I smile, remembering her advice. Find myself a handsome man and get myself in his bed? I hadn’t been thinking in that direction, but maybe it’s good advice. I could use some.
At least the check-in desk has opened up somewhat. There are still three or four people in line ahead of me, but I can almost see an end to my misery.
Dragging my suitcase and garment bag behind me, I take my place at the end of the line. Thank you, God, I pray, for anything you can do to get me through this line and into a room with a shower and a bed. Immediately.
The line inches forward far more slowly than my little prayer hoped for, but I force myself to swallow back my irritation. This day has been difficult enough; I’m not going to make it worse by having a useless temper tantrum.
I’m still two people away from the front when I hear a squeal and a familiar voice.
“Arden!”
I turn in time to spot my cousin Maya racing toward me. The bride. She’s wearing a shocking red bikini with a floral coverup and looks adorable, like always. Dark-haired, beautiful, thin, and statuesque—she’s stunning. The best thing about Maya, though—at least in my opinion—is her wicked sense of humor. It’s just enough like mine to make us totally compatible.
We should be sisters, we decided long ago. Each of us has a biological sibling who is far better suited to, if not hell, then at least sisterhood with each other.
“But,” Maya has always said, “it would never work. One family couldn’t stand to have two bitches in the same house like that.”
It’s probably true, but it still makes a nice fantasy from time to time. There are more days than I like to admit when I wish I’d wake up to find we’ve all switched. Kind of like the movie Freaky Friday, except with sisters.
Maya and I meet in an enthusiastic hug. It’s been months since we last saw each other in person. We text and stay close through social media, but it isn’t the same at all. Her new home in Atlanta is just too far away.
“You made it!” It feels so good when Maya throws her arms around me. I’m not so alone when she’s there to cover my back.
“Finally,” I grumble, sounding a little more disgruntled than I actually am.
She laughs as she pulls back. “I know. It’s like a freaking marathon to get here, isn’t it?”
I give her a quick nod. “I get why you came earlier,” I agree.
We share another quick hug before Maya turns to look behind her. “Sorry, baby,” she calls. “I couldn’t wait.”
I see two men approaching and recognize one. Matt, Maya’s fiancé and the groom. The guys are dressed in shorts and T-shirts, looking heavenly and relaxed as I stand here in my too-heavy cardigan.
“Hey, dude,” I call and wave.
I love Matt. He’s dark like Maya, and they make the perfect-looking couple. Not only that, he’s also got the perfect personality for her. They just fit, like opposite sides of the same coin. If they didn’t share the same naughty sense of humor, so much perfection between them would be totally sickening.
But it isn’t. It’s . . . perfect.
It’s one of the reasons I call them the M&Ms. It reminds me they aren’t just sweet, they’re crunchy, too. Like with an edge that’s unexpected. It’s okay if most people think it only means Matt and Maya. The three of us know better, share a good laugh over it, and that’s all that counts.
“Thank God, you’re here.” Matt gives me a big bear hug. “I know Bet’s the maid of honor, but can’t you do her stuff?”
Bet—the nickname Maya’s sister Elizabeth insists that we call her—is a dark-haired and black-hearted version of my sister Susan. Matt calls them evil incarnate, and, separately, they’re a force to be reckoned with.
Together? It’s like Satan sent two of his top sycophants to invade earth and pretty much ruin everybody else’s good time.
“Sorry, bud.” I shake my head sadly. “That isn’t how it works.”
“Dammit.” He frowns and shoots an accusing look in Maya’s direction. “I don’t care if she is your sister. I told you to pick Arden as the maid of honor!”
“I know, baby.” She smiles sweetly and rubs a hand over his bicep. “If it’d been up to me, I would have. But, you know. It’s my—”
“Mother,” we all finish with a laugh.
“Speaking of family, I want you to meet my brother.” Matt turns to the man next to him. “True, this is Maya’s cousin, Arden. Arden, meet True.”
He steps forward with a wide smile. “Nice to meet you.”
I offer my hand and take a few seconds to look. They don’t look alike, but I don’t expect them to. They’re actually stepbrothers, but they’re as close as if they were biologically related.
True is tall, at least as tall as Matt, who I know is 6’1”, lean, and wiry. His hair is dark, curly, and messy. Long enough to reach just above his shoulders. His eyes are brown, his features fine and almost pretty, but his mouth is full and . . . damn.
For the first time since Eddie’s betrayal, I’m face to face with a man I’d actually like to kiss!
I smile inside as Opal’s advice returns one more time but manage to keep it to myself. I don’t want to have to explain.
“Nice to meet you, too, True.”
He lets go of my hand a little too quickly for my taste, and I find myself rubbing my fingers against my palm, remembering his touch. His skin was warm, the feel of him electric.
Helloooo, True! So, there is some awareness for the opposite sex left in this old body. I’d begun to wonder.
Interesting that Matt’s brother brought it instantly and brightly awake.
“True came all the way from New York.” Maya draws my attention with a smile. “So, he had it even worse than we did for travel time.”
“New York!” It hits me then. “Wait! You’re the brother who—”
I cut off the words and blink as I look at him. What is he again? An artist? A photographer? A model? Something like that.
The warm smile in his dark eyes dies a quick and sudden death, and he frowns. “Yeah. I’m the family fag.”
I stare wide-eyed—I can literally feel the drop in my expression—and I stiffen. I shoot a stricken gaze at Matt and Maya, both of whom look much like I feel.
Shocked. Anxious. Regretful.
“Uh, well, okay.” I don’t really know what to say, but somehow I manage to find my voice. Even if the words sound stupid. “And I’m the family fat girl. But I was really trying to remember if you’re a photographer or an artist.”
His expression holds for just a second but then slowly eases. The M&Ms seem to relax, and I do, too, though not entirely. I mean, how did that get out of hand?