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“Thomas,” Guy greets my father, opening his arms when we reach the summit of the staircase, “Nora, welcome. So good to see you again.”
“You, too.” My father grasps the hand of his longtime friend and kindly pats him on the shoulder. “We wouldn’t have missed it.”
“Nora.” Guy leans in and kisses my mother on both cheeks while my father makes his salutations with Sophia. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Neither have you,” she replies with delight in her voice. “But we just saw you a month ago, so I should hope not.”
They all laugh, polite and clearly happy to be in each other’s presence.
“Evelyn,” Sophia greets me, placing her manicured hands on my shoulders, “you are more beautiful every time we see you. And I just adore this color on you.”
I steal a glance at my mother, who appears more than gratified by the compliment.
Sophia kisses me on both cheeks and then asks, “Gerard, doesn’t Evelyn look stunning?”
“Like a goddess in the moonlight,” he states, stepping toward me, his hazel eyes more alive than I remember. “Merry Christmas, Evelyn.” He kisses me on my cheek.
“Merry Christmas,” I respond, polite. Then, I kiss his newly shaven face.
“Shall we head in?” Sophia states as more of a suggestion than a question, opening her stance toward the entrance. “Drinks are waiting on the veranda.”
“Absolutely,” my father responds for the group.
“May I escort you?” Guy asks my mother, offering her an arm.
She takes his gesture, looping her elbow with his, and my father follows suit, asking for Sophia’s arm in his. With Guy and my mother leading the way, my father and Sophia walk toward the grand entrance, shrouded in golden light.
“May I?” Gerard asks me, holding out his arm.
“Of course.”
I circle my arm through his, and we enter the hotel, about fifteen feet behind our parents. We’ve been coming here for the past five years since Gerard’s family bought the place. The hallway is grand, accented in greens and yellows with opulence at every turn. Fine woods line the walls displaying local art, luxurious white-and-cream marble stone make up the floors, plush furnishings fill the space, and sculptures of glass hang from the ceiling, bringing a mystical twinkle to the overall ambiance. This place is almost like a dream.
We turn a corner toward the back of the building, showcasing my favorite view of all—the ocean. The sun has set, and framed by the white-trimmed doors, the ebony waters cascade splinters of silver under the oyster-colored moon.
My feet slow, and I stand in awe at the stunning view before us.
“You always were a sucker for the ocean at night,” Gerard murmurs into my ear. “Like a goddess in the moonlight.”
I laugh. “I still can’t believe you said that.” I elbow him. “You likely gave both of our mothers an orgasm with those words.”
“They might have quivered with pleasure.”
“How could you tell through all the Botox?”
“I have a keen sense about women.”
“Ew. That’s just gross. These are the women who gave birth to us.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
The relationship between Gerard and me is definitely a friendly one.
When we were kids, I hated everything about him—what he stood for and the fact that he was my parents’ choice for me. The concrete detail, that he was a part of the overbearing control of my family’s plans, irked me to no end.
Then, when I was about fifteen, all of that changed.
We were out at sea together, and our parents docked for the evening, going to dinner and leaving the children aboard the boat to fend for themselves. It was my fault that we had been told to stay on board.
