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Country Club
Greer
Chelsea was wrong. This place is absolutely perfect. Opulent elegance is the expression that comes to mind as I follow my parents through the dining room, ballroom, music room, library, and veranda.
If it were up to me, I’d totally skip the tea and just spend my afternoon checking out the library’s selection, but Dad is so excited about us trying the snacks prepared by the resort’s chef that I don’t have the heart to keep him waiting.
“He’s young, but I think he’s going to go very far,” Dad says, pulling out a chair for me at the table with the best view and taking a seat by my side.
“I personally think he’s too young and you’re taking an unnecessary risk by not hiring someone with more experience,” Mom chimes in and then explains, “The chef who used to work under the previous owners quit when we bought this place. The guy your father is talking about used to be the newly hired sous-chef.”
Dad doesn’t seem irked by Mom’s disgusted tone. “You’re right, he’s young, but he’s talented, and where would I be if no one had ever given me a chance when I was fresh out of college? Plus, don’t forget that I promised old Mr. Etherington I’d try to keep as many of the local staff who were willing to stay on when we bought the resort. This place gives employment to a lot of people on Coral Cove,” he explains for our benefit.
Mom smiles softly, but I know that look. She’s just pretending to concede, she isn’t really agreeing with Dad. “Sure, Jerry. We’ll see what Travis says if you two close the deal.”
My parents’ conversation is interrupted by three waiters who bring tea, a cake stand laden with petit fours, several platters with dainty sandwiches, and the prettiest and best smelling finger food I’ve ever seen.
Once the food is all served and the tea is poured, a tall, lean-looking guy in a chef’s coat approaches the table. He has raven black hair and mesmerizing gray eyes that shine when he greets us. Okay, so I’m starting to agree with Chelsea. If all the guys look like the two I have seen so far, then they are in fact “the shit.” Holy crap. I find myself smoothing out my hair a bit nervously, worried that I didn’t freshen up beforehand.
“Sir, ladies. Tonight we have a selection of sandwiches—cucumber, egg and cress, ham, and cheese and pickles. The amuse-bouche you see on your far right features locally grown artichokes. It’s a much smaller and tender type that grows only on our island. The plate next to that has shrimp tempura with a nori weed foam. The cakes, cookies, and mousses are all homemade with local berries and Belgian chocolate. All the flowers you see on the plates have been picked on the island and are edible as well. I hope you enjoy your tea.”
Dad nods with a smile. “Thank you. It all looks delicious and absolutely stunning. Drew, these are my daughters, Greer and Chelsea. Girls, this is the young and talented chef I was telling you about, Drew Evers.”
I notice that the man’s eyes scan past my sister with a polite nod before resting on me. I can’t help but feel heat rush to my face when his lips open in a charming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I think I respond, but honestly, I can’t guarantee that any sound actually comes out when I open my mouth awkwardly and nod. Not that anyone notices, because my sister and Mom are talking about the lowest calorie options, definitely worried about the shrimp being fried, and my father is looking out at the view. With a wink, Drew recedes back into the house, leaving me feeling a bit shaky. Clearly, wherever “boys” are concerned, I’m out of my element.
I should stick to the library, that’s more my speed.
My hand shoots out as I grab a sandwich and take a bite, keeping my eyes on the table, still confused about the butterflies in the pit of my stomach that seem to have appeared the second the chef winked at me.
Maybe some carbs will help me settle down. As the flavor hits my mouth, I let out an audible moan. My sister glares at me with a scowl of distaste that almost makes me laugh. Like I was saying, I enjoy my food, so I’ll worry about my waistline later.
The longer we’re alone without any distracting staff nearby, the more comfortable I become. I’ve really missed Daddy, and so far I’m impressed with what I’ve seen of the resort. My father really has a keen eye for this stuff because the island is beautiful. As he begins asking me questions about what I think about the place, I offer him some information I recently discovered.
“The island itself mainly survives off tourism,” I explain, thinking back to the brief research I did when I learned we’d spend the summer here. Chelsea wasn’t wrong. I guess I’m a bit of a nerd. “I think if you really want to capitalize on the tourism aspect, you totally could. There’s so much potential here. Almost half of the island is underdeveloped. I mean, you could buy out most of the island and keep the smaller businesses, and then maybe support them and create more jobs for the locals. You know?”
My father nods, deep in thought. “I love that idea. My business partner, who arrives tonight, will definitely be impressed with your business sense, Greer. If he decides to invest, I’m planning on buying all the available land. Think about it—a new hotel, more shops, and lots of jobs for the locals, without counting the construction side of it. If possible, we’ll hire a local company…”
My mother scoffs. “Can you two please stop talking about work? We’re here to relax, and Greer doesn’t need to be thinking about stuff like that.”
Man stuff. She means man stuff, as in anything business related. I’m being serious here. My mother believes that my and Chelsea’s futures revolve around being married to a suitable, well-bred suitor and having babies, lots of babies, to continue our family legacy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m cool with that as long as I’m in love with the guy, and truth be told, I could never marry anyone my parents, especially Daddy, didn’t like or approve of, but I also need something for me. Something that will make me happy. Something I’m passionate about. I just haven’t found what that is yet.
“This is relaxing to me,” my father muses, and I nearly laugh at that. He isn’t lying, he really enjoys talking business, but my father is an investor and an innovator. He enjoys building new things from the ground up and having new projects. How can I blame him for that?
As my mother and sister talk animatedly about Chelsea’s year at university, I continue to eat, feeling happier on a full stomach, as I realize I literally haven’t eaten since the transatlantic plane trip… sometime last night? Or was that this morning? Honestly, it was such a long journey that I might have been asleep when the crew served breakfast.
“Alright, now that we’ve had tea…” Mom’s gaze lands on my plate, which is still laden with food, and I don’t miss the hint of reproach in her tone. “Let’s go see your rooms and talk about tonight. Dad and I expect you girls to do your part to help us show the Aldridges a good time. They have a son your age. Jerry, how old is Tristan?”
Daddy thinks about it for a second. “I think twenty or twenty-one. He’s going to graduate from Yale next year, and he’s already interning with Travis for the summer.”
“Ihave to admit that looks semi-decent on you, Greer,” Chelsea concedes, examining the red dress Mom selected from her wardrobe. It has a halter neck and leaves most of my back exposed. It’s tight on my chest and waist and flares out in a wide, A-line skirt. “Although you should really do something with your hair,” she adds critically, looking at my waist-length, slightly wavy dark blonde hair. “Either straighten it or curl it. This half-assed thing you’ve got going on doesn’t really work. Also, for the love of God, wear some fucking makeup. You aren’t fifteen anymore.”
I shake my head, grab a tube of light pink lip gloss, and swipe a little mascara on my lashes.
“Is that your idea of makeup?” she taunts. “Look, I’m even willing to help you,” she says, opening her makeup bag and setting some powders on the marble counter of our shared bathroom.
That’s another reason Chelsea threw a mini tantrum when we were shown to our rooms.
We have two huge bedrooms on the top floor of the main building, with a stunning view of the ocean and a wide balcony with a little private breakfast area, but Chelsea didn’t see any of that, nor the gorgeous moldings on the walls, the oak hardwood floors, or the fireplaces. She was pissed that we have to share the huge bathroom adjoining our rooms.
I look at my sister with her skintight, leopard print mini dress and the thick layer of makeup on her face. Chelsea is convinced that her nose is too big—a total lie if you ask me—and uses contouring to make it look smaller. She’s a beautiful woman, but I think she looks much prettier when she’s natural. Not that I’ll ever tell her any of that, because I know she’d never listen to anything I have to say about fashion.
A knock on the door saves me from her appraising look.
“Mom was adamant about us not being late for an aperitif with the Aldridges. My makeup will have to do for tonight.”
“Suck up,” Chelsea says with an eye roll, but she follows me out of our suite because she knows better than to piss off our parents so early on in our vacation.
