Oh, I’d like that very much, little mouse.
I stalk to my suite in the damned Lovers’ Wing and slam the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. My lips still tingle wherehers almost touched. Three strides to the window, three back. Again.
My fist connects with the wall before I can stop myself, leaving a dent in the plaster. Something I’ve been wanting to do the whole damn day. The pain from the impact is familiar and welcome. I check my phone: no messages.
Outside, palm trees bend with a gust of wind, the same wind that’s keeping my brother somewhere out there on dark waters. I press my forehead against the cool glass, breath fogging the surface. The scent of her perfume clings to my shirt collar where she leaned close. I rip it off, toss it across the room, but can still smell her on my skin.
Ezra, where are you?
5
Bea
I prymy eyes open and immediately slam them shut again.Fuck.My skull throbs like someone’s taken a jackhammer to it, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
‘Stay out of trouble, little mouse.’
The memory of Noah’s breath still tickles my ear; his voice dripped ice even as his large body radiated comforting heat on that balcony.
I press my palms against my temples, trying to squeeze out the image of him pulling back just when I leaned in. The man stood up for me at dinner, practically carried me to my room, and then looked at me like I was dirt under his shoe.
Daggers of sunlight pierce through the gap in the curtains, making me wince. I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, knocking over an empty water glass.
The screen shows nothing—no texts, no missed calls from Maeve. All the messages I sent yesterday still show“Undelivered.”Outside my window, palm leaves litter the resortgrounds, but the sky shines clear blue. The storm came and went quickly, so why such a delay on her arrival?
My phone drops onto the sheets. Maeve should be here by now. Maeve, who escaped our parents’ suffocating grip years ago. Who’s living a life that I can only begin to hope for. She’s the oldest of us two, and she should have been the first to be married off. But she ran, leaving me to fulfill all of her duties on top of mine. What would she say if she knew that my stomach does a triple flip when I see Noah King, days before my scheduled wedding to his brother?
The door rattles with three signature sharp knocks.
“Beatrice? Breakfast. Our room. Now.” Mother’s voice could freeze hellfire, and it usually does.
I drag myself to the bathroom mirror.Oh god.Purple half-moons hang beneath my bloodshot eyes, and yesterday’s humiliation has left unwashable blotchy patches across my cheeks.
Cold water on my face does nothing to help, so I jump into the shower and run water on the coldest setting. Mother is already mad, and a few extra minutes can’t make it much worse.
I yank a white sundress over my head, the soft cotton falling just below my knees—nothing like the designer cocktail dresses Mother keeps pushing into my suitcase. This is my little rebellion against her reign. Then I slide my feet into flat sandals because I can’t handle heels today and take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders like a soldier heading into battle.
Mother’s lips pinch together. “Twenty-seven minutes late. And in that dress. With that hair!”
I slide past her into the suite, pulling my still wet, loose hair over my shoulder. The overwhelming scent of fresh orchids mixed with buttered toast and eggs makes me gag, and I barely hold it inside. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the ocean, sunlight bouncing off silver serving trays.
Father’s thumb scrolls his phone screen, not bothering to look up. Which is not surprising since I never was a person worthy of his interest.
And then I notice someone who doesn’t belong here. Sprawled in a chair in the breakfast nook, with one ankle crossed over his knee and a steaming mug between his hands. His dark and unreadable eyes catch mine, and I instantly realize that it’s too soon to see him after last night.
My stomach flips as I halt in the doorway. “Why is he here?” Because he is sure not part of the family. At least not yet. And breakfast is considered to be a private affair.
Father’s thumb stops mid-scroll, and he moves to the table, followed by Mother. “Arrangements. Sit.”
The only empty chair is next to Noah. Our knees bump as I sit. I yank mine back, but not before feeling the heat of him through my thin dress. His mouth twitches at one corner as the muscle in his jaw flexes.Good.I’m not the only one affected.
Father slams his phone onto the table, making the poor orchids tremble. “Two days until the ceremony. Your sister’s ferry should have arrived hours ago. Your dress fitting is at two.”
More like two days ago but who’s counting.
“Hard to have a wedding without a groom,” I say, not realizing I’m speaking my thoughts out loud.
Mother’s fingers fly to her neck, twisting her three-strand pearl necklace. “Lower your voice. The staff will hear you.”
