When we walk away from the lobby, I glance back and find Beatrice pointing her finger at Ezra’s outraged face. Good, serves him right.
When I’m done offering Maeve my wisdom and strong shoulder on the way to her room, I walk to my brother’s suite. I need to ask him the question that will change a lot of lives.
I’m bringing him up to speed on the Wrong family dynamics while I study his face for a readable reaction. He looks to be fine, way better than I expected him to be after a week of being on the missing persons list.
I came here to convince him to drop this archaic idea of marrying Beatrice to gain her father’s share of King Developers, but he’s dead set on it. He’s always seen the company as our legacy, and I’ve always seen it as our burden.
This company made our father hate our mother because her ideas were more interesting to our grandfather while he was still alive. And when he died, our father tried everything possible to shut down every single project our grandfather had started to let Mom know her worth, which was nothing in Father’s eyes.
The same went for us, his kids. So yeah, I hate the company. I can work anywhere else, but for Ezra, it has been his dream for as long as I can remember. When our father retired per our grandfather’s will, before his time, he made sure to pass the voting power to the board instead of his sons. And here we are, trying to get back the company which has been in our family for many generations just because our father is a waste of air.
I came here with hope and leave with nothing. He wants to go forward with the wedding, and I’ll have to see Beatrice Wrong at every family gathering, every corner I turn, every time I close my eyes.
After a few tries of convincing him, I throw a white flag. Beatrice Wrong is going to be my sister-in-law, and I’ll be fucked as soon as they sign the contract. Which is tomorrow, right before the wedding.
Well,the wedding didn’t go through. Or it did, but with the wrong sister. Ezra ended up marrying Maeve, and I ended up taking the first full breath in since Beatrice Wrong nearly fell into my arms. Him marrying Maeve means I’m not lusting after his fiancé. Those near-kisses with Bea—the balcony, the pool, the bar—no more guilt choking me.
For a moment, I want to go to her and ask her for a drink or a repeat of our balcony almost-kiss or stargazing or anything really. Now, we are both free, and maybe we can lean in to whatever we both were feeling.
But then I see her angry and hurt looking at Ezra. Truly hurt. And that makes me hurt. Does she have feelings for him? After she nearly kissed me on that balcony?
I can’t ask, and not knowing is driving me crazy, so I do all I can think of and I lash out at her. Every single chance I get. And she gives it back just as good.
By the end of the wedding, when Maeve is saved from the flames and ocean and Ezra is locked on his new wife, I seek Bea’s figure among the few people in the wedding.
But she is nowhere to be found.
8
Bea
I’m stompingaround the hotel room, wondering how my life has become such a mess, falling apart faster than I can blink.
Maeve is back, alive and happy. Really happy. And I should be happy for her too, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s taking my life away again. Just like she did five years ago. It’s pathetic to think that way, but my heart feels betrayed in every way possible.
Marrying Ezra King was supposed to be my ticket out of here, and now that ticket has been taken away. I’ve been dealing with this since yesterday when I found out that my supposed-to-be fiancé was going to marry my sister instead of me. My initial reaction was shock and hurt, but the more I pace my room, the more I understand that he was never mine—just a deal to escape my parents’ gilded cage and their endless schemes.
If he was ever meant for me, I wouldn’t have had jelly legs every time Noah King opened his damn mouth to throw a new challenge my way. And the more quips and jabs he threw atme yesterday and the more he called melittle mouse, the more interest I felt. Which doesn’t say a whole lot of good about me.
I’ve always been scared to go without my family’s money because I’ve never known another life, but I’ve come to realize over the past couple of days that no amount of money is worth the shit show I’m living in.
I’ve had this dream of running away one day, following Maeve’s footsteps. But when she called back asking for help, coming back with her tail between her legs, it made me second-guess myself. I don’t have any jewelry to sell because Mother keeps all the valuables in her room, including my valuables. The only money I’ve got is what I’ve saved from my secret online job as a virtual assistant I’ve had since I was seventeen. My grandmother’s Chanel bag is the most expensive thing in my possession, but I know I could never part with it.
Still, I can’t stay here anymore. I just can’t.
So I grab my suitcase and start shoving in whatever’s closest: the white sundress I was wearing when I fell into the pool with Noah, the pink sundress, all underwear and shirts, and everything else that fits.
My hands shake as I zip the suitcase with a loud rip in the empty room. I’m doing this alone—no pawns, no plans, just me.
I crack the door, peeking into the torchlit hall. Empty. I slip out with suitcase wheels hissing on the teak floor, my heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my ribcage. I take the stairs down into the dead lobby where the majority of the staff are gone.
I head for the side exit, my path away from the bungalows, away from Noah’s nosy ass, from Maeve and Ezra’s betrayal, from my parents’ suffocating control. My flip-flops click softly with each step, carrying me toward my freedom, but my chest aches leaving Maeve. I was mad at her yesterday, until I’d come to realize that she was actually doing me a favor. The more I sawEzra, the more I knew he was not for me, the one-year clause was meant to happen. But Maeve seems to feel deeply for him, so she doesn’t need the clause. It doesn’t matter how much they bicker and look broodily at each other, I see the fire behind their eyes. The longing they have when they think the other is not looking. They were meant to be, not us.
Heavy footsteps thud behind me, making me jump. My breath catches with a spiking pulse.
“Where you headed, little mouse?” Noah’s low voice cuts through my self-forgiving meditation.
I spin, making the suitcase smack the wall, and glare at his smug face. He is leaning against a pillar with arms crossed over his annoyingly wide chest, a linen shirt hugging his frame, stretching over his shoulders. His hair, mussed by the night breeze, makes him look like a pirate.
