I Found the Ring in Her Purse

She spent nineteen years being the most gracious woman in the room. It's going to take her one dinner to stop.

Sandrine Moir-Kenny found the ring in March. In a purse, in her own house — the wrong size, the wrong taste, chosen for a completely different woman. She zipped the pocket shut, put it back on the shelf, and went downstairs to host a dinner for eleven.

She has been extraordinarily good at not knowing for eleven months. She is going to keep being good at it for one more week, aboard a chartered superyacht off the coast of Croatia, because her husband booked this holiday and her seventeen-year-old twins are aboard and the whole point of the last year has been to protect them from exactly the sentence she is carrying.

Then the girl reaches for the coffee pot at breakfast, and the ring is on her hand.

Now Sandy has seven days, one boat, and nowhere to put any of it. Her daughter has started to watch her too closely. The wine steward — the only man aboard who looks at her and doesn't look away — has decided he can taste the difference between the version of her that's true and the version she gives everyone else, and he refuses to be handed the pretty one. And her husband keeps apologizing, beautifully, with real tears, in a voice she has never once been able to argue with.

The performance is starting to crack. And on the last night, hosting the farewell dinner in the warmest voice she owns, Sandy is going to say every true thing at that table — and discover that the only revenge worth having is the one where she finally, gloriously, stops being lovely.

A standalone revenge rom-com with the recurring crew readers love, a hero who wants the woman underneath the manners, and a reckoning delivered entirely in a hostess's smile. Open door. Book 3 of Yachting for Revenge — but you can start here.