“She can walk by herself.” Comes Ezra’s gruff voice, making me pause for a moment. Something happened here on this island. Something that has been happening on the island whereIjust came from.
I pull off my shirt and offer it to her—she’s half naked and shivering from the wind. “Put it on. There’re two guys on the boat, and you probably will be more comfortable.”
She accepts with a smile and puts it on while Ezra starts drilling holes into her with his eyes. But not before I catch his death stare on myself.
On the boat, silence chokes us with the engine’s hum as a backdrop. It should have been a happy reunion of people who were not dead, but judging by the looming cloud over my brother’s head, neither of us are going to enjoy the ride.
Maeve stares at the sea with a pale face, her eyes darting from side to side like she’s trying to piece herself together. Ezra watches her with an intense, fractured gaze that would make anyone uncomfortable.
On land, the car ride turns even more uncomfortable because this is where shit hits the fan; Maeve finds out that Ezra is about to marry the wrong Wrong. Her sister.
And I find out that Ezra has clearly slept with Maeve. And that thought makes my stomach turn. The asshole cheated on Beatrice even before their wedding. I realize that it’s very hypocritical of me, considering my naughty thoughts about his fiancé.
And judging by how crushed Maeve looks, she doesn’t understand why my brother is suddenly treating her like she is contagious. I have a very good idea why though.
I feel awful on her behalf. I feel awful on Bea’s behalf. And I feel bad on my behalf because if I knew the motherfucker wascheating on Beatrice, I wouldn’t have been dying with guilt all this time.
Despite my feelings, I probably shouldn’t have been the one to tell Maeve the truth.
“Well,” I start to Ezra, “I was able to make them hold off on that meeting. We agreed it happens when we find you, so we can attend it.” To add insult to injury, I snap my fingers. “Oh, right. You can’t because you’ll be busy with your wedding and honeymoon.”
“Noah!” Ezra barks.
“What do you want from me, asshole?” I snap back.
The following attempts of my brother to butter Maeve up are pathetic and make me want to jump out of the car from secondhand embarrassment. When she stops responding to him and shuts off completely, she asks to borrow some money from me, and I give her my credit card. It doesn’t escape me the look of promised death that Ezra sends my way.Tough luck, Brother.
Seeing Maeve’s crumpled figure makes my chest ache with sympathy. After what happened between her and my brother, now she has to face the two pieces of shits that are her parents.
When we park at the hotel, Maeve jumps out of the car. Right into the arms of her sister.Hot damn.Another shit show is about to follow.
They hug and mumble something to each other I can’t hear. When they pull away, I make an attempt to step toward them, but Bea shifts her attention to Ezra, and my breath hitches.
I want to—No, Imustknow what she thinks when she looks at him.
When Beatrice first lays eyes on Ezra, there’s no gasp, no tears, not even a glimmer of recognition. She just does a slow, unimpressed scan, like she’s reading the nutritional label on a box of stale crackers. Her gaze lands at his battered shoes, thenscrolls up to his face, which is still set in that classic King scowl no shipwreck can erase.
Then she crosses her arms and says, “And you must be the groom.” Her voice is as flat as the hotel tiles.
The lobby’s gone dead silent—the concierge, the bellman, even some old couple by the reception desk, all holding their breath for the next blow.
Ezra’s smile—if one could call it that—flashes like a switchblade. “I see your father has made a decision without me,” he says in a clipped tone.
Bea’s nostrils flare. She’s a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. “Would you be here if you didn’t agree with it?” She bites off the words, as if she’s been rehearsing them for weeks and yet they still taste rotten.
For a heartbeat, I think Ezra might actually answer, but he pulls the classic retreat—ignoring the person to show them how little they are worth. I’m usually fine with that. Usually.
“Maeve, you okay?” His voice turns gentle. Something my brother doesn’t do.
The air in the lobby drops ten degrees. Beatrice’s mouth snaps shut with a click, and those blue eyes of hers go murderously cold. She doesn’t just look at Ezra—she dissects him, then glues him back together with contempt just so she can murder him again.
Even Maeve feels it. She shrinks into my shirt with her arms wrapped around herself.
“I see,” Beatrice announces with a cold voice.
And that’s my cue. I step up, plant myself between Maeve and the rest of the drama, trying to play the gentleman. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you to your room. You need to catch your breath.” My voice comes out surprisingly soft, like I’m afraid a harsh word will cause her to shatter.
She gives me a grateful, hollow nod, and I herd her toward the bungalows while behind us Bea and Ezra start hurling accusations in low, hissed voices.
