PART I
THE ISLANDS
1
Noah
The second BeatriceWrong charges into the resort lobby like a storm in a sundress, I know this arranged marriage bullshit just got infinitely more complicated.
The woman from the dossier—the one with a prim smile and carefully arranged hair—has nothing on this live wire. My body reacts to her before my brain can shut it down, and I shift my stance against the pillar, grateful for my loose shorts.
The lobby ceiling fans have been spinning lazily overhead, doing nothing against the island’s damp heat that plasters my shirt to my back. The smell of salt and furniture polish hangs in the air while guests mill around the marble check-in counter. The concierge keeps glancing at my duffel like I’ve left roadkill on his pristine floor.
I’ve been waiting at least thirty minutes for Ezra who should have arrived by now. Typical—probably pacing some hallway with his phone glued to his ear, completely oblivious to the time. Without Martin shadowing him with reminders and schedules, my brother might as well be wandering in the wilderness. Andhere I am, the one who arrived in paradise on time to play babysitter for his soon-to-be-fiancé.
I glance at my phone again, swiping away three missed calls from the last assistant I fired this morning. Fourth one this season, which is not my fault; I keep getting these oddly incompetent people from the temp agency HR assigned to me. Apparently, I’m ‘too difficult to work with’ to keep someone on the company’s payroll.
I’ve got an email with a request for a minor design update on one of the buildings I wrapped up last month and tons of emails and messages from the office, but other than that, my phone screen remains stubbornly empty of brother-related notifications. Dinner with his future in-laws starts in an hour, and he’s still AWOL.
“I just need a few extra hours in New York,”he said.“Go now to smooth everything over, and I’ll be on the next flight after yours,”he promised.
I nudge my lone duffel with my foot—travel light, leave fast: family motto of the spare heir. The manila folder with Beatrice’s photo peeks out from the bag’s side pocket. Her soulless eyes stare up from the page, hands folded neatly in her lap. The perfect corporate wife for Ezra. The perfect business arrangement for King Developers.
When the woman storms through the lobby though, I have to shift my weight from one leg to another, trying to loosen the rapidly changing situation in my shorts. The photo of her? Understated. In person? She’s a knockout—wild blond hair cascading down her back, a pink sundress clinging to curves that demand every asshole’s attention, and giant baby-blue eyes flashing impatience. A far cry from the picture we were given.
My pulse hammers in my throat. Shit. I drag my gaze away while my jaw clenches. Ezra’s future wife. Off-limits.Down, boy.
Unaware of my internal battle, she spins suddenly, her sandal catching on my duffel, and then she stumbles forward with a colorful curse that ricochets off the teak floor.
“Who the hell leaves their crap in the middle of a lobby?” Her loud voice cuts through the air as she steadies herself against the pillar next to me. The sound cuts deep into my ears, high and sharp enough that I almost wince—I wasn’t prepared for a Valkyrie’s shriek this early in the day.
Up close, the woman is lethal—skin flushed from the sun, full lips parted in fury, and that scent, coconut sunscreen and sweet defiance, hitting me like a sucker punch right in the gut, causing another traitorous twitch beneath my shorts.
Damn this tropical heat and these thin fabrics. I angle my hips away from her so we don’t have an uncomfortable situation on our hands. Or in my pants, to be precise.
My brother’s initials are practically stamped across her forehead:property of Ezra King, don’t touch. Even though he agreed to the wedding only a couple days ago, it changes nothing. She is totally forbidden but absolutely fucking hypnotic.
I move away from the pillar, creating distance between us so I can get a clearer head.
“Careful, little mouse,” I drawl, dropping my voice an octave lower than necessary—something I do instinctively when my predator mode gets activated. I do love a good hunt. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Her pupils shrink to pinpoints while her nostrils flare. The blue of her irises darkens like the sky before a storm. My pulse quickens, a drumbeat in my throat that makes swallowing difficult. She steps forward—one deliberate step—and tilts her chin up, close enough that I can identify that specific scent of sunscreen warming on her skin.
“Little mouse?” The words slip between her teeth, barely audible above the lobby’s ambient chatter. “Call me that again, caveman, and I’ll show you exactly how sharp my teeth are.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my expression neutral while heat crawls up my neck.
“Interesting threat,” I murmur, my voice dropping even lower without permission. “But maybe watch where you’re walking instead of expecting the red-carpet treatment.”
She inches closer until I can count the individual freckles across her nose. The air between us seems to evaporate, and I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe again until she steps back.
“Me?” Her breath hits my collarbone. “You’re the one with designer luggage blocking the walkway. What’s wrong—your butler on vacation?”
I laugh, the sound scraping low in my throat as I try to hold my ground. “One bag, princess. Not a crime. No need to get your panties in a twist.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.Shit.Wrong word choice.
Her cheeks flush crimson as her fingers curl into fists at her sides. The air between us practically crackles. “Keep your junk out of my way, or I’ll kick it into the ocean.”
