“Well I hope your friend Bethany feels better soon,” Marguerite said with a sympathetic smile.

“So do I,” Carolyn assured her. They were seated at one of the tables on the edge of the lower deck, the sandy beach close enough to touch if she just slid her foot over the slightest bit, which she’d done several times already, digging her bare toes into the cool sand and allowing it to slide around and between her toes. “And I’m sure she will.”

Marguerite nodded. “Well, we’re here to keep you company tonight, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to recuperate.”

Carolyn smiled, but shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You two are on your honeymoon. You don’t need me hanging around. Besides, I have Genie. As soon as she gets here we’ll move to another table so you two can be alone.”

“Cara,” Marguerite said with amusement. “We like having you here, dear.”

Carolyn smiled wryly, finding it odd that Marguerite always managed to make her feel like a child when she was probably twenty years older than the woman. It was quite bizarre, really, she thought. Her gaze slid to Julius then, to note the solemn expression on his face as he eyed her, and Carolyn found herself wondering if he or Christian were older. The brothers looked like they could be about the same age, but her instincts told her Julius was probably the older one, though she couldn’t say why for sure except that it was something about the eyes.

“Oh, here they are,” Marguerite said happily, and Carolyn followed her gaze to the stage, where drums and a keyboard had been set up. Genie was now leading the band members onto the low stage and taking up the microphone to introduce them as they moved to their spots. Santo settled behind the drums, Raffaele stepped behind the keyboards and began to check things, Zanipolo and Giacinta both carried guitars and Christian was holding a . . .

“Violin?” Carolyn said with surprise.

“Yes!” Marguerite beamed. “Isn’t he clever?”

“Er . . .” Carolyn stared blankly. The men all wore black T-shirts and either black jeans or leather pants, making Gia stand out in her red and white. And their hairstyles were all kind of rock punky. Gia’s hair was now gelled and wild around her head, while Raffaele’s hair stood up in shiny spikes all over like a porcupine. Then there was Santo’s bald head, and Zanipolo and Christian’s long hair, although Zanipolo had let his out of its ponytail while Christian had pulled his back into one. All in all they looked like a rock band . . . except for the violin.

“Christian was trained in classical violin, but he prefers hard rock,” Marguerite said, sounding more like a proud momma than a new sister-in-law.