Page 11 of Return to the Island

I looked up to Colton for his reaction, ignoring Juliet’s stare. He and I had come to an agreement of friendship when I learned our family’s history with each other.

“The Juliet,” I enunciated. Colton’s dark brows rose in surprise.

See asshole, I wanted to say, she is real.

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” the stunned Colton shook her hand, holding on a bit too long for my comfort. He was doing it on purpose, sensing my displeasure. I eventually reached out and pressed at his arm to release her.

“I’m sorry. I seem to be at a disadvantage. Do I know you?” she addressed Colton. I spoke for him.

“Colton Edwin was on my restoration team,” I offered. We hadn’t even said hello yet, and this was the first address I’d given her. This wasn’t going how I’d envisioned.

She finally looked directly at me, those violet eyes piercing me to my soul and making my palms sweat.

“Don’t you mean your sabbatical team?” There was a nip to her question—an insinuation. Her remark prompted me to introduce myself, as if we’d never met. In some ways, I wasn’t certain I recognized the woman before me.

“Terrence Jackson Corbin the fourth,” I offered, extending a hand to shake hers. “But you can call me Tack.” The k-sound snapped as I returned her glare and winked.

“That’s because he can be a prick,” Colton hissed under his breath, but smiled at Juliet.

“Juliet Monte. I no longer go by Montmore. That name doesn’t exist for me.” The edge in her voice took on new meaning, and we stared at one another, our hands still holding tight, but the distance between us was longer than the miles between the islands and the mainland.

Dinner was called to service and I sat at the head of the table. Juliet was escorted to sit to my right, and I made certain her friend Miller was at the opposite end of the table near Abby. As the salad was served, introductions returned anew, each organization sharing tales of their adventures in not-for-profit work.

“So,” Miller spoke up from his end of the table. “Have you met my beautiful Juliet before? You seem familiar with one another.” I cringed at him calling her his. She was mine.

“We haven’t met before,” Juliet spoke up immediately. “I’ve never met Terrence Jackson Corbin the fourth.” I noticed her clutching her butter knife, holding it upward as her wrist braced against the table. She slowly reached up and scratched at her neck, eying Miller with a death glare.

“I see you still aren’t afraid to wield a knife.” I murmured in a voice low enough for only her to hear. Her head whipped to face me, her eyes flaming. I’d seen that look before—the same night she pulled a knife on me. Ignoring me, she turned back to her plate. A strange tension surrounded us and I didn’t like it. This wasn’t the reunion I wanted.

“Mouse Trap, right?” Tom Cross asked. “That’s an unusual name for a jewelry company.” Juliet seemed to be waiting for her partner to speak, who appeared a bit star-struck with the bearded business man across the table from him. She finally answered herself.

“Well, it is a bit unconventional sounding, but it has personal meaning. It’s based on the fact that many women are trapped in a situation they can’t get out of or don’t seem to know other options exist out there for them. Our hope is that jewelry design and sales will give them some income and the ability to discover avenues outside their difficult situations.”

I’d already extensively researched her organization. Her website explained the details of her personal struggle being a woman without much means. She found education to be her avenue toward success. When a difficult situation propelled her off course, she had limited choices without money. She felt trapped. A thought struck me, and the long list of questions I wanted to ask her grew.

When dinner arrived, I put up my hand to her plate before it was set on the table.

“She doesn’t like rice. Take it back and remove it from the plate.” The table fell silent at my demand, and I looked up to find several eyes staring at me, one set of which was Juliet. Her brows pinched and her eyes softened.

“You remember...” Her voice drifted off in question.

“Everything,” I whispered. Her eyes shifted away from me again. Each time she looked away, I felt the loss and my irritation grew.

Dinner conversation resumed as plates were passed, but my concentration was scattered. She seemed so distant from me, even sitting a foot away. I wanted to clear the table of dishes and feast between her thighs despite the other guests, reminding her who I was to her. I wanted to do anything that would break this cold war happening between us.

“You own this resort,” Gordon stated, stuffing green beans in his mouth. Somehow the discussion had shifted to me. “Redemption Resort seems a bit ominous for a vacation spot.”

I sat back in my seat, tapping a finger over my lips as I looked at him, eying his greased-back, gray hair.

“I sought redemption once. I ran out of time to prove myself, so this resort became the first of many promises to rebuild things.” I paused. The weight of Juliet’s stare pressed on me, but I didn’t look at her. “I repaired many of the buildings on this very island after the last hurricane.”

“Calliope? I remember that one. Two years ago, correct?” Gordon added. He glanced at me by lifting his head to look through his glasses.

“The very one,” I smugly answered, proud of my accomplishments. Three resorts repaired. This one built. The village market restored.

“Calliope Industries? You named your company after a hurricane?” Juliet’s softened tone startled me. Her eyes were caught briefly by mine before she shifted them down to her plate, where her fork pushed around her food.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Her head shot up to look directly at me.

“Because the night of that hurricane changed everything for me.” The tension between us grew heavier, pressing down like the wind and the rain we raced to escape that night. The night the two of us sought refuge in a cave, and she made love to me.

I love you, rang through my head, only her current voice didn’t match the desperate tone of that night.

Gordon guffawed. “I’ve heard of your adventures during that hurricane season. Camping on the beach. Hiding in a cave. Traipsing the jungle.”

“Something like that,” I replied, knowing the rumors of my months in hiding made it sound like an adventure instead of banishment. My lips curled slowly as I nodded. In many ways, it had been an adventure, one I wish I could get back. My finger traced my lips as I glanced over at Juliet. Her eyes caught sight of something at my wrist. Without removing my eyes from her, I slipped the green band tucked against my watch upward. Her eyes widened before her brows pinched. She returned to pushing her food around on her plate. The chasm between us deepened.

“Do you not like your dinner?” I asked, harsher than I intended, leaning forward. Why the fuck wasn’t she eating? She looked too thin.

Liquid-filled eyes met mine.

“I think I might have had too much sun and heat today. I find I’m suddenly not feeling well.” She swiped at her cheek, holding her hand against her pinked skin for emphasis. “If you’ll please excuse me.”

She stood abruptly, and I stood as well.

“Mouse,” I whispered, but she’d already turned away from me. She swiped at her cheek a second time. Holding up a hand to prevent Miller from following her, she exited the private dining room.