Right on cue, the car's Bluetooth chimed.
The incoming call popped up onscreen: Tonia, Tonia Hale.
Sean Wallace withdrew his hand, pressed the answer button: "Well, if it isn't Queen Hale herself! Calling me mid-honeymoon? Don't tell me your husband finally snapped and ran for it halfway?"
"Sean Wallace, you're such a pain in the ass." Tonia laughed and cursed from the other end. "Just wait till your wedding day, I'll give you hell."
"Then I'd better take my time choosing." Sean glanced toward Adrian and Serena. "My old man's not as generous as Uncle Hale—he didn't gift me an entire island. Why rush into the prison of marriage?"
"Don't you have a family trust you can claim?"
"That little bit isn't nearly enough to buy my freedom." Sean shrugged. "Right now is my prime, I just want to enjoy life. Why invite trouble?"
Portryn folk aren't as obsessed with age as those on the mainland. Thirty is still peak season for this bunch—golden years, really.
