Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 73462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for June’s prying questions or whatever other mess awaits me as I leave the bedroom.
But June is no longer in my suite when I venture out.
I haven’t eaten much today at all, and it’s nearing dinner time. I haven’t spoken to anyone other than June and Jake today, so I have no idea when or where this bachelorette thing is. They’d probably all rather I not show up anyhow.
Can’t say that I blame them. I’ve been a bitch in heels. The only one who’s tried to be civil to me is Emily. Probably only because I was treating my precious designer gowns like garbage, and she felt sorry for me when I told her the woes of my mother showing her love through expensive things rather than affection.
Poor little rich girl.
What if I’d grown up in that small town with Jake? I want to know what our mother was like, but I didn’t get the chance to ask him much.
Now he’s off somewhere with Brett. But that was a while ago now. At least an hour has passed. Maybe they’re done, and I can get some alone time with Jake.
I walk out of my suite and down the stairs to the second floor, where the men are staying. Evangeline assigned Jake a suite, but I have no idea which one it is. No problem. I knock on all of them.
And I get no response.
It was a long shot anyway. Why would anyone be inside on this gorgeous day?
I walk down to the first floor and run into Darby the doctor.
“Misty, you’re up,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks. I thought I’d get some fruit and water from the kitchen.”
“Good idea,” she says. “I’ll come with you. I want you to get your electrolytes up. Maybe there’s some Gatorade or something in the fridge.”
“Ugh. I detest Gatorade.”
She laughs. “Yeah, it does suck. But we’ll find you something.”
Together, we make our way to the kitchen. Staffers are milling about, preparing food for tonight’s festivities, I assume.
A young woman nods toward us. “Dr. Sullivan, Ms. Holmes, do you need anything?”
“Don’t mind us,” Darby says. She opens the door to the huge refrigerator, roots around, and produces a bottle. She hands it to me. “Try this. It's good for rehydration."
I take a sip. It tastes watered down and weirdly warm, even though it’s cold. There's a hint of tropical promise, like maybe it should be refreshing, but instead it coats my tongue with a flat aftertaste that reminds me of sunscreen. Still, I keep sipping. It's not as syrupy or fake as Gatorade, at least. No neon colors. No chemical tang that makes my throat burn. Just...coconut water. Bland, strange, but tolerable. Sort of like making peace with something you’ll never love but can live with.
Kind of a metaphor for my life, come to think of it.
I take another sip anyway, as Darby hums under her breath as she rummages through the pantry for dried mango, her doctor-mode never truly switching off. I appreciate the distraction, even if it’s a weird one. I feel a little more solid on my feet, a little less like I’m floating through a headache.
That is, until Evangeline walks in.
The air changes when she does. It always does.
She’s tense. Too tense for someone who’s supposed to be organizing sexy cocktails and penis-shaped appetizers for Ariel’s bachelorette night.
She’s holding a phone in her hand, thumb frozen over the screen.
Special dispensation for the event planner, apparently. After all, she needs to get things delivered for us…and she’s planning two parties tonight and a wedding tomorrow.
Darby looks up. “Everything okay?”
Evangeline doesn’t respond.
Her expression is unreadable, but something about it—tight lips, the faint twitch at the corner of her eye—snaps my attention away from the vile taste in my mouth. I’ve known Evangeline for years, and our relationship hasn’t always been pleasant. In fact, I kind of blackmailed my way onto this island telling her she owed me.
She does.
I know who the father of her baby is.
I know she was fucking my father.
And I also know that if my father knew? He’d be hunting her down and taking custody of that child before it takes its first breath of air.
I feel kind of bad about the whole thing now.
I feel kind of bad about a lot of things.
“Ev?” I say quietly.
She blinks and gives one of those tight smiles. “All good.”
Liar.
Darby glances between us. “Okay,” she says. “Well. I’ve got to prep Ariel’s banana IV bags for tomorrow morning. Hangover protocol just in case.” She’s out of the kitchen with barely a backward glance.
Evangeline is still staring at the screen.
Then, shockingly, she turns it toward me.
One message.
From an unknown number.
I know your secret.
My stomach knots.
I look at her.
She’s pale. Not Evangeline gothic pale.
But real pale. Raw. Rattled.