Poppy Astalis in the flesh, wearing an A-line, navy blue dress and a maroon cardigan. They’d coordinated, I realized, and that made me want to throw up. My stomach churned, dipped, and shot an arrow of nausea to my throat. It didn’t matter that Lenny, her sister, was standing right next to them, yawning provocatively in a simple black dress. Or that Hunter Fitzpatrick was standing next to Lenny, trying to strike up a conversation, his confident smirk collapsing with each passing second it became apparent she wasn’t going to give him the time of day.

It was still obvious Knight and Poppy were together.

“I’m going to ask,” Daria announced.

“Skull Eyes,” Penn warned, his fingers curling around her elbow.

He’d nicknamed her Skull Eyes for reasons none of us could fathom. It was their secret, I supposed, and I loved that they had that—something that belonged just to them.

“What? I’m out of the loop. There’s always drama in Todos Santos. I want to know. I deserve to know. It’s my home field. Are you coming, Luna?”

I shook my head, but Daria being Daria, my consent was low on her care list. She grabbed me by the hand and dragged me through the Coles’ garden, talking my ear off about honeymoon destinations.

She stopped abruptly, frowning. “Oh, one more thing. What’d you do to him?”

My eyes widened in question.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy. He’s obviously playing a game. What happened between you guys?”

I shook my head, shocked.

“Whatever. Don’t say; that’s fine. But don’t you dare show Knight that you care about this bitch. That’s exactly what he wants—a reaction out of you.”

Was this him getting even? Did he still want to hurt me? I liked it better back when Knight would have chopped his own leg off before inflicting pain on me. I swallowed, willing her comment to roll off my back. By the time we got to them, a mist of cold sweat decorated my forehead.

“Howdy, guys. We’ve arrived. Hence, the party can start.” Daria flipped her blonde mane, smiling big at Knight and Poppy, waiting for introductions. Instead of meeting his gaze, I directed a salute to Poppy and Lenny, smiling. They were safer to look at. Knight made the introductions, and maybe he looked at me, but I was too proud to glance and check.

Hunter squeezed my shoulder and whistled low. “I have to say—every girl at this party is wearing a gown more expensive than the other, but you, Rexroth, look like an enchanting Lolita, even in your pajamas.”

I wasn’t wearing pajamas, but I wasn’t going to correct him, either. It wasn’t worth taking my phone out and typing a comeback. I flipped him the finger, instead.

“It’s not pajamas, you wasted pile of scum. Don’t you dare patronize her,” Knight hissed through gritted teeth, heat radiating from his body.

Hunter’s confidence melted. Daria’s playful grin widened as Hunter threw Knight a dispassionate grin.

“Down, boy. You’ll pop an artery and ruin your precious Burberry suit.”

“I think my knuckles are the ones going to get messed up, and they’ve seen worse than your ugly face.”

“Righto, time to calm down. Hunter was just taking the piss.” Poppy rubbed Knight’s back, slipping under his arm into an embrace.

Daria stared at them like they were a game she was still figuring out the rules to. Her smile screamed trouble.

“So, Poppy,” Daria purred.

“Hmm?” Poppy batted her lashes.

They were two alpha females sharpening their claws in front of a thirsty audience. Poppy’s message was clear: she was not intimidated. Daria’s intentions were showcased perfectly, too: she didn’t like the British invasion.

“Knight here is like my baby brother, but he doesn’t tell me anything. Are you guys an item?”

Poppy giggled in a way that made her so much less lovable to me than I’d remembered. My stomach clenched. Whatever Daria was getting at, I knew she was team Luna. I just wished she wouldn’t probe. The sheer horror of being here next to them filled my annual quota for angst, and I didn’t care for a second serving.

“I reckon we are.” Poppy looked up to Knight, touching her blemished cheek. “Are we not, darling?”

I looked away just as Vaughn appeared, saving—or ruining—the day. It really depended how you looked at it. I focused on breathing through my nose and staring at the back of a waitress’ head. Vaughn gave me a peck on the cheek, throwing me off balance. He was not one for affection.

“Look what the pussy dragged in.” Daria bowed down, tugging at the hem of her gown theatrically. “Question is—which pussy was it that made you wear something you didn’t steal from Salvation Army? Care to shed some light on the matter?”

“Daria, I see you are still putting that sharp mind of yours to good use,” Vaughn drawled sarcastically. “If you must know, I lost a bet to my father.”