Page 3 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“I don’t bail. We just hit some traffic.”

“That’s what I told him.” She looked at the bottle of wine. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Yes, I did.” I handed her the bottle. “Good wine is a must.”

“That’s incredibly sweet. Thank you.”

Sweet. There’s a word I’ve never been called. Calculated, maybe. Strategic. Efficient. Never sweet.

“Come on,” Melody said, already heading inside. “Let me show you to your room. Then you can join us outside. Everyone’s here already.”

I followed her through a house that was exactly as stunning inside as it appeared from the outside. Open floor plan, white walls, ocean visible through every window. The kind of place designed for Instagram photos and lifestyle magazines, which made sense given Melody’s profession as an influencer.

We climbed the stairs, bypassing the second floor and heading up to the third. It was basically a master suite that had been repurposed as a guest room. It was huge and felt like it was a bit much for me. Was I being given preferential treatment? Doubtful. Maybe they felt bad for me because they knew I was getting my ass handed to me.

“There’s no guest house, I guess?” I asked with a wry smile.

Melody laughed. “You could pitch a tent on the beach. I’m sure sandfleas aren’t as bad as they say.”

I surveyed the room. King bed, private balcony, ensuite bathroom, and a large sitting area. It was objectively nicer than ninety percent of hotel rooms I’d stayed in, and I’d stayed in a lot of hotel rooms.

“This will work,” I told her.

She snorted. “Sorry you have to lower your standards.”

“I suppose I’ll survive.”

“Good. Come down when you’re ready. We’re on the back deck.”

She left me alone. I unpacked my essentials. Toiletries in the bathroom, clothes hung in the closet, laptop and phone chargers plugged in. Then I changed out of my suit into something more appropriate for a beach weekend. My khaki pants, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and blessedly, no tie.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Gray eyes stared back. Almost all of my brothers had hazel eyes. Mine were gray like metal. Maybe that was why I always felt like a man made of steel. Not like Superman, but damn close. I looked away and headed downstairs to join everyone.

The kitchen was the heart of the house. A massive island stretched down the center, loaded with appetizers that looked professionally catered. Melody was there with Austin, who was grinning like he’d won the lottery just by existing in the same room as his fiancée.

He winked at me like he had a secret I wasn’t privy to. God knew what that could be.

Kent, one of my many brothers, and his wife, Sylvie, occupied one corner. Sylvie cradled their newborn daughter, Tiana.

“Wanna hold your niece?” Kent asked.

“Nope. Cute kid, but no thanks.”

Rodney was there too, unfortunately.

“Hey, you made it,” Rodney said. “I figured you’d be looking for another fake fiancée for another brother.”

Rodney was not a Bancroft. He was a dipshit that my brother called his best friend. I didn’t get the appeal, but whatever. He wasn’t my friend.

I didn’t acknowledge his comment and went straight for the fridge, suddenly needing a drink more than I needed air. Austin had told me the weekend was strictly no work. No talking about work. No doing work.

Apparently, the stick up my ass had reached toxic levels and he was demanding I come out here for what I assumed was some kind of intervention.

I’m going to pretend I’m the kind of person who knows how to relax. I should be in my office, doing damage control and figuring out how to stop the bleeding before Dad notices just how badly I screwed up.

But I’m here.

I twisted the cap off the beer and felt that shift in the air that usually preceded a hurricane. I didn’t have to guess what the cause of that atmospheric change was. I turned and there she was.