But still no Ezra. No explanation. He landed yesterday on the main island—I confirmed it.
The plan was for us to meet here today. When I landed in Bora Bora yesterday morning, I stayed in a hotel not far from the airport because I didn’t want to face the Wrongs by myself.This morning, I took a ferry from the main island to Maupiti, like everyone does around here, and I expected him to be here already. His phone has been off since he landed yesterday, but I didn’t pay attention to it because it’s not unknown for him to forget a charger if his assistant doesn’t push it into his hands.
He’s supposed to be here by now.
So where the hell is he? Half the wedding party—the whole damn groom—is missing. The only ones here are the bride and groom’s brother—me, the damn bodyguard. So I text Ezra again.
Where the hell are you? Your wedding is around the corner.
The message sits undelivered.
The massive lobby fan suddenly stops working, and humidity and heat hit me all at once. Sweat instantly beads at my hairline as I squint against the glare coming off the windows of the entryway. My shirt sticks to my back within seconds. I check my phone again—nothing from Ezra, nothing from Martin.
The air gets heavier.
The doors clack against a wall behind me. I whip around, but it’s just a family with giant suitcases and very loud voices. My head starts pounding.
‘You’re a dick.’Her voice plays on repeat in my mind, each syllable precise and cutting.
I pull on my collar, but it doesn’t help. The cold marble suddenly burns hot against my palms as I grip it, watching the scattered waves of people move around me. I grab the contract, and it feels heavier than it should. I’ve held hundreds of them. Why does this one feel different?
My phone buzzes. For a second, hope surges that it’s my missing brother. Or even Martin. Anything to put me back on track of the mission I came here with.
But it’s just a calendar reminder for tonight’s dinner with the Wrongs where we are supposed to talk business.
I close my eyes in hopes of erasing the pain, but it intensifies tenfold because all I see is blue. The same shade as her damn eyes.
Ezra had better show—fast—or I’m fucked.
2
Bea
I stabthe close door button on the elevator, imagining that it’s Noah King’s smug face while my blood still boils from that lobby disaster. Who does he think he is, calling melittle mouselike I’m somethingfor him? I’ve met plenty of people worse than him in my life. It’s why I learned Krav Maga, because of something that happened when I was seventeen. I promised myself that I’d never be scared of anyone ever again. I can stand my ground against a bully, no matter what sort of power he holds in his hands. And Noah King has some pretty enticing hands.
Groaning into the void, I hang my head low, deflating a little from my righteous rampage while the agonizingly slow elevator creeps up to the second floor. I’ve always played the role of the obedient, mellow girl because I was trained to, so I should be happy that I haven’t blown my cover.
But him calling me that? It rattled some deep feathers I didn’t know I had. I know I’m just a pawn in this archaic alliance, and my worth according to my family is measured by how richmy future husband will be, but he could have been more graceful about it.
The doors finally slide open, and I head directly to my room, sliding the keycard in and out as quickly as possible so as not to linger and potentially run into my parents before absolutely necessary. I enter the teak floored bathroom and stop at the sink to splash some cold water onto my face before it ignites from anger.
My battered reflection stares back—cheeks burning crimson, hair frizzed into a halo, pink sundress plastered against hips I suddenly wish were hidden. I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles whitening.
Each inhale brings phantom traces of cedar, citrus, and male sweat I suddenly don’t find so disgusting. Each exhale fails to steady my jerky pulse. I squeeze my eyes shut but it’s worse. My mind brings up the way his gaze dropped to my collarbone and how a ghost-brush of his breath felt on my heated skin when he leaned closer.
My body’s betrayal is absolute. I’m supposed to marry Ezra King, not fantasize about his smug brother pressing me against marble pillars and giving in to the fire burning under my skin. Yet here I am, trembling over a man who called me a brat not five minutes ago.
And I think I liked it.
My parents booked our rooms in the same wing as usual, so they can monitor my whereabouts. They can’t risk their prized horse behaving badly right before the wedding. Their room is so close and their voices so loud that I can hear what they’re talking about. I hear my name and something about how awful my hair looked at breakfast. And how red my cheeks were. And how they don’t know where they went wrong with me. I’ve heard all of it so many times that it has become my nightly lullaby.
They’ve never liked my sister or me. Especially not me. And especially not the real me on those rare occasions I’ve had enough courage to show her to the world—too defiant, totally unrefined, and absolutely problematic.
I should have left years ago like Maeve did, but the fear of being on my own was too great. I was never allowed to make any decisions in my life, so I couldn’t decide on something so big as leaving my abusive family and trying to find my own path. This marriage is my way out.
I turn away from my reflection and cross into the main area of the suite, air from the AC blasting into my face like a cold slap. Which is exactly what I need because my face is still burning from the outside heat and King’s scorching stare.
Collapsing onto the mattress, I kick off my sandals and grab my phone. Nothing from Maeve. She was supposed to be in the lobby an hour ago according to the ticket that Mother bought for her.
