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“Thanks so much for offering to help me,” Eden said, “but if you just tell me where it is, I think I can find it on my own.”
Olivia kept tugging her through the crowd. “Of course you can. But I needed the excuse to get away from Deacon. I adore the man, but sometimes he can be a little overbearing.” She shot a glance at Eden. “So tell me how you and Nash met.”
Eden searched through her mind for a half-truth. “We’re training for the Bay City Marathon together.”
“Really? I didn’t realize Nash was running in the marathon.”
“I think it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
Olivia pulled Eden around a group of partygoers. “That doesn’t sound like Nash. As much as he tries to make people think he’s this laid-back, fun-loving guy, he likes things to be scheduled and planned. Deacon said that Nash used to plan meals a good month in advance.”
“I heard that Nash cooked for his brothers after his mother died.”
Olivia stopped and turned to Eden, her eyes direct. “Nash told you about his mother?” Before Eden could answer, she was enveloped in a hug. “That’s wonderful news. I’ve been as worried about Nash as I’ve been about Samuel.” She pulled back. “Both of them keep all their emotions bottled up inside. I’m glad Nash has found someone he can open up to.”
Eden wished that were the case. But Nash still kept all his emotions bottled inside. And now Eden understood why. He blamed himself for Melissa’s death, and she had to wonder if what happened that night was the real reason behind Melissa’s suicide. It was certainly something Eden wanted to investigate further. Not that Nash would believe her even if she found evidence to the contrary. Nothing short of shock therapy would get him out of his mind-set. Her gaze landed on the man standing behind Olivia in the leather boy shorts and bra that looked identical to the ones Nash had sent her.
Olivia followed her gaze and laughed. “There are some characters here tonight.” The man turned to say something to the guy next to him and showed off a nasty black eye that had Olivia gasping. “Doug?”
Doug turned to them. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Beaumont.”
Olivia moved closer. “What happened to your eye?”
He touched it tentatively. “Just a little misunderstanding with Mr. Beaumont.”
“Deacon hit you?”
“No, his brother.” He sighed. “I guess he’s not gay.”
Eden was having a hard time keeping up, but Olivia seemed to know what was going on. “Of course Nash isn’t gay. It’s Samuel. Samuel is the one who likes you.”
“Samuel?” Doug looked confused. “Samuel in the design department? But that guy’s not gay.”
“Yes, he is.” Olivia stood on her tiptoes and scanned the crowd. “And if we can find him, I’ll prove it to you. He’s supposed to be wearing a Hugh Hefner costume.”
“No, he’s not,” Doug said. “I just talked with the guy, and he’s wearing a really uncomfortable-looking suit of armor.”
Olivia looked totally confused. “So he did come as Lancelot?”
“Yeah, he and Queen Guinevere were giggling like schoolgirls on the way to the sultan tents.”
Olivia laughed. “You must need glasses. Those two don’t get along at all. Which means that I better intervene before they kill each other.” She pointed a finger at Doug. “Don’t go anywhere. I want you and Samuel to get a chance to talk.” She turned and headed for the tents, and Eden followed on her heels.
“Why don’t you let me find them?” Eden asked. “You should go back to your husband. I’m sure he’ll get worried if you don’t show up soon.”
“Probably. But this shouldn’t take long. I just need to make sure that Samuel doesn’t kill my—” She paused just outside the opening to the sultan’s tent. “Mother?”
A woman stepped out. If she had been a queen, she now looked like the court strumpet. Her wig was askew, the laces of her gown loose, and her lipstick smudged. When she saw Olivia, she did giggle like a schoolgirl. Or like she’d eaten a magic brownie.
“Livy,” she announced in a loud voice. “Lancelot just ravished the queen!”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was a beautiful day. The brilliant sun beamed, the blue sky stretched on forever, and the tranquil ocean gently rocked the sixty-foot yacht that Nash and Grayson had chartered for the day. And yet, Nash couldn’t enjoy any of it. Not when he felt like he’d been rolled through the wringers of Grandma Beaumont’s old washing machine… repeatedly.
“I’ve found a model for the swimsuit catalog.”
Nash turned to his little brother, who sat in the other plush leather chair at the back of the yacht. As always when they went fishing, Grayson didn’t fish as much as sketch. His fishing rod and bare feet rested on the edge of the boat while his sketchpad rested on his knees. The choppy ocean waves must’ve given him some inspiration, because his pencil was flying over the paper.
