“No,” Hud said, shaking his head. “My answer is no.”

When Jay lunged for Hud, it was not graceful. It was sloppy and scrappy and ugly. But it was effective. Before Hud even realized that his brother was aiming for him, his back was slammed down onto the lawn.

Jay swung with reckless abandon but Hud did not fight back. Hud’s upper-arm strength alone could have crushed his brother’s windpipe, shattered a rib. The lone joy of being the stocky one was that you were the stronger one. Jay on top of Hud—punching and elbowing and grabbing for whatever limbs he could—was like a whippet on a pit bull. But Hud would not further shame his brother.

Jay and Hud had borne witness to the full scope of each other’s lives. They had lived in the same rooms, wished on the same stars, breathed the same air, been taught and reared by the same mother and teachers. Been abandoned by the same father.

They had traveled the same beaches, trespassed in the same oceans, surfed the same waves, stood on the same boards. Made love to the same woman.

But they were not the same men. They were not haunted by the same demons, they were fighting for different things.

Ashley screamed as Jay’s fist made a crack against Hud’s nose.

“Fuuuuuuck!” someone screamed from the crowd that had gathered. Others gasped as the blood started to trickle down.

“Oh my God,” one of the women said over and over. “Someone do something!”

“Punch him again!” a man called from the back.

Some people started cheering for Jay. Others yelled at Hud to fight back. Ashley wept. And the two brothers—aching and bruised and bleeding—continued on.

Nina decided it was time to leave the pantry if only because the air was getting stale. But also because if this party wasn’t going to end anytime soon, she was at least going to try to enjoy it.

“All right,” she said, standing up. “Let’s go join the land of the living.”

“You do not have to,” Tarine said.

“I want to,” Nina said, holding her hand out for Tarine to lift herself up.

“I suppose I should check on Greg anyway,” Tarine said.

Nina opened the pantry door to see three girls standing by the breakfast nook, looking at her strangely. “It’s my pantry,” she said. “I can hide in it if I want to.”

She could hear a commotion out in the backyard but decided to ignore it. Instead, she walked toward the entryway and then stopped dead in place at what she saw.

Dad?

He was standing with his back to her but Nina recognized him instantly. His back was broad and sturdy and his shoulders were wide enough that, even with a jacket on, you could make out the perfect triangle they formed with his waist. His hair was grayer now, but the back of his head still looked exactly the way it had when she used to watch him watching television or running along the sand.

She felt both intense familiarity and staggering strangeness as she looked at him—this man she knew so well, this man she barely knew at all. The combination made Nina feel dizzy.

She pulled herself back behind the corner. “What the fuck is my dad doing here?” Nina asked. It was a rhetorical question, though she would have welcomed an answer.

“Your father?” Tarine said, truly shocked.

Tarine couldn’t help but peek around the corner to see for herself. “Wow,” she said, stunned. “Mick Riva. My God.”

Nina pulled her back. “Why on earth would he be here?”

“I assure you, I have no clue,” Tarine said, peeking again.

Nina searched for any reason that might explain it. “Maybe he needs a kidney or something.”

Tarine looked at Nina to see if she was kidding. Nina was dead serious. “I suppose that is possible,” Tarine said.

“Does he look sick?”

Tarine leaned over to get another look. Mick had turned around and Tarine could see his face. It was rugged and tan, all smiles. “No,” Tarine said. “Actually, he looks quite handsome.”

Nina was surprised at the pride she took in this fact. “Old?” she asked.

Tarine looked again. “He looks just like he does in the magazines.”

This Nina found to be the most helpful piece of information. If her father looked like he did in the magazines, then, in some way, Nina did know her father. Even if it was barely more than most Americans.

When she could hear her father’s voice booming around the corner, Nina decided that she did not want to see him or talk to him or find out what he wanted. At least not at the moment.

“OK,” Nina said. “I don’t have to deal with this right now if I don’t want to.”

“Yes, that is exactly right,” Tarine said.

Nina spotted a plate of cheese on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to eat this,” she said. She threw a hunk of cheddar into her mouth. Hello, old friend. Then she set her sights on the Brie.

Nina breathed in deep and then picked up the entire tray of cheese, ready to carry it with her. She set out to alert her siblings that their father was there, like she was a surfer girl Paul Revere. Mick is coming.

She did not immediately spot her brothers or her sister. And so, her first stop would be upstairs, to talk to the only person at this party who had actually been looking for Mick Riva.

2:00 A.M.

Vaughn Donovan walked in the front door already quite drunk. He was accompanied by an entourage that included his agent, his business manager, and four of his friends. As had become common for him, the women in the room all took note within a few minutes of his entrance. He threw an upward nod to say hi to a few of them, and then flashed his million-dollar smile. It felt good to be a movie star.

Back in high school in Dayton, Ohio, Robert Vaughn Donovan III did not make the football or the baseball team. But the moment he stepped into the school auditorium, he had found a home. With his quick wit and charmingly exasperated delivery of almost every line, he had the drama kids in stitches.

His dad’s college roommate was a Hollywood agent and by the time he was twenty, Robby had booked his second audition, started going by Vaughn, and swiftly made a career of starring in movies as the cute and nonthreatening boy next door who finally gets the girl.

Vaughn was now twenty-five years old and a bona fide star. But, while he would never admit it to anyone, he still sometimes felt like he needed to sleep with as many beautiful women as possible, go to as many Hollywood parties as possible, make as many movies as possible, as if someone was going to hit a buzzer and send him back to Dayton at any moment.

Vaughn rolled up the sleeves of his blazer and stepped farther into the foyer just as Nina rounded the corner and started up the stairs.

“Whoa,” he said as he saw her. “The actual Nina Riva is here in front of me this very second. Everyone’s dream girl.”

“Vaughn,” Nina said, holding the cheese plate with one hand and putting the other out to shake. “Hi.”

He was even more handsome up close. His boyish blue eyes were bright and clear. His shaggy brown hair was perfectly contained under his porkpie hat. His jawline was sharp but his skin was soft and pristine. Most people, Nina knew, lost some of their luster when you met them in the flesh. But Vaughn Donovan was gorgeous.