“When Dad bought the property, it was a small resort. Six separate beach shacks, which eventually became pieces of the house you see today. The turret was originally on the neighboring property, but Keatyn and I were obsessed with it, so Dad bought it too. It was all that remained of a really old castle—which was home to either a Danish governor or pirates, depending on who tells the story. It was the first thing to get restored.”

“The resort was named The Carib,” I keep going, loving that this conversation has morphed into one about the property. “Carib was a reference to the Native Indians who used to live on St. Croix. But Damian and I took the i out and dubbed it The Crab.” I smile at Damian, remembering all the fun we’ve had here over the years. Back when my life was easy and carefree.

“So, pretty much anytime we came, we invited Keatyn and A—, her mom,” he says, covering quickly. “Dad always said she kept me out of trouble. And she did. She was always making up plays and making me act them out.”

I laugh. “I was sort of obsessed with the story of the frog prince.”

“And Prince Eric and every other fairy tale.”

Peyton stands up suddenly and grabs my arm. “Keatyn, come with me to get some drinks.”

I’m about to tell her all she has to do is press the button on the digital screen sitting on the side table, but she whisks me inside before I can speak.

“Ohmigawd! I just figured it out!”

“Figured what out?” I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

What did she figure out? That he almost said Abby? Or that Matt and my mom have worked together on movies for years?

“That’s Damian Moran.”

I laugh with relief. “Um, yeah. I told you that.”

“No, you introduced him as Damian and then you said something about the Morans. That means his dad is the director, Matt Moran? And he’s Twisted Dreams’ Damian?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“But why didn’t you say that you knew him when we were watching his video?”

“I think I did. You probably don’t remember,” I lie. “You were busy lusting over him. I told you we’d get tickets to his concert, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, I do remember that. Anyway. Oh. My. Gosh. He is so dreamy. And even cuter in real life! Do you think he’ll sing for us?”

“Peyton, he just got off tour. I think he’s looking forward to some down time. No screaming fans.”

“Oh, of course he is. Shit.” She runs her hands nervously down her cover-up. “Do I look okay?” She peeks in a mirrored surface on the bar. “Oh, my hair is a mess. Why didn’t you tell me my hair’s a mess?”

“Damian loves windblown hair.” Shit. Why did I just say that? But it’s fine. Knowing Peyton, she’s probably just looking for a hookup.

“Did you see the way our eyes met? I swear, it was exactly how I pictured it would be with Mr. Dreamy. That instant connection. He’s amazing.”

Or not. Shit!

“Peyton, what do you mean? You don’t even know him.”

“So he’s not amazing?”

“He’s my best friend. Of course, he’s amazing. I just mean . . .”

“Fine. I don’t know him well enough yet to say, but seriously, I think I’m in love with him. He looked so sexy standing there . . .”

I tune out her gushing because they. Can. Not. Be. Together.

I picture it in my head. Vincent finding out Damian is dating some East Coast boarding school girl. He wonders how they met and immediately thinks of  Miami. Of how Riley and Dallas were dressed in total prep. And then he comes to Eastbrooke looking for me. None of them would be safe.

“I think this calls for champagne,” I say, grabbing a bottle out of the fridge, four flutes from the bar, and hitting a button on the wall.

Maybe the champagne will calm me down.

Sven comes out of the kitchen. “Yes, Miss Monroe?”

“We’re having champagne to celebrate Damian’s surprise arrival. Can we get a bucket of ice?”

“Of course. Would you like me to uncork it for you?”

“No, thanks. We’ll do it.”

“Very well. I’ll bring the champagne stand out to the deck. Would you like to eat dinner poolside or on the screened veranda?”

“The veranda,” I reply as he retreats to the butler’s pantry.

“We brought champagne,” Peyton coos as she ditches her former seat for one on the couch next to Damian. I notice Damian’s eyes lingering on her long legs.

I hand Aiden the bottle. “Would you like to do the honors? You did such a good job with it the last time we had champagne.”

“And when was that?” Damian asks.

“They went to Keatyn’s loft in New York City a few weeks ago,” Peyton says dreamily as Damian squints at me. I shake my head slightly, letting him know that now is not the time for him to ask about the loft.

Aiden pops the champagne and we all stand as he fills our glasses. Then he raises his own in a toast. “‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.’”

“That’s beautiful,” Peyton says as we clink glasses.

“And especially true, since we’re surrounded by nothing but beauty,” Damian says, holding Peyton’s gaze.

I grasp my chair and slowly sit. My mind replays B saying the same quote right before he kissed me. And how he recently texted me the rest of the quote. How I used it in my script.

I’m really starting to hate poetry.

“More Keats, huh?” I say to Aiden while Peyton and Damian flirt.

“I realize it’s risky, but it was one of the texts I sent you.”

“You mean one of the texts that you deleted.”

“Yes. I think I was somewhere between pathetic and desperate at that point.”

“What do you think it means?”

He takes a swig of his champagne, like it will give him confidence, as Sven returns with the champagne bucket.

“Dinner is served on the veranda,” he says. “Shall I move the champagne there?”

“Absolutely,” Damian replies excitedly. “I’m starved. What’s on the menu tonight?”

 “Miss Monroe requested Kobe burgers—”

“With your homemade jerk sauce?” Damian interrupts.

“Of course,” the butler replies, with mock indignation. “Inga wouldn’t dare use anything else.”

“And there’s homemade French fries with her secret seasoned dip,” I tell Damian. “Your favorite.”

Peyton and Damian gather up their glasses and head toward the veranda.

Aiden grabs my pinky with his. “I think it means that love is a thing of beauty. That it never fades away. I’m sorry I was a jerk. I just thought . . .”

“It’s okay. You reacted and walked away,” I say, suddenly feeling sad. Mostly because I know he’s going to do the same thing in a few days. Only this time, he’ll walk out of my life for good. “Why don’t you go on to dinner? I don’t want to leave my board outside. I’ll just be a minute, but don’t wait for me.”

I turn and walk down to the sand, leaving Aiden standing there alone.

I pick my board up and lovingly wipe the sand off it. I remember practically passing out when B surprised me with it on my sixteenth birthday. How he told me I’d outgrown my beginner’s board. I run my hand across the hot pink and orange graphics that he designed and notice something new. Running down one of the rails is a sticker in flowing script.

I close my eyes, fighting back tears for the hundredth time today, and wonder when he added it. It had to be after he knew he was leaving, but before my party. It’s exactly the kind of sweet thing he would’ve done. And I know exactly what I would’ve done once I’d seen it. I’d have taken my board out into the water and had a good cry; then I would’ve gotten my ass on a plane to wherever he was.

And, after hearing his side of the story, that’s probably exactly what he had hoped for.