Page 87 of Scandalous Lover

“Anyway,” she says, smoothing her dress and shaking off the same fluster that I’m feeling. “That’s not why I came up here.”

“Oh, something more pressing than the perfect pair of red pants?”

She narrows her eyes good naturedly at my teasing. “Yes. Fran sent me up to see if you could help with getting the long tables out of storage. She said some of them were better than others and you would be the one to ask?”

I am, indeed, the one to ask about which of the identical folding tables in storage are the best.

I nod. “Let me just drop my stuff off in my office.”

The day careens down the track from there. I help with the tables, then get pulled away to assign tasks at the wedding team meeting, and then I’m back up in my office, on the phone with the local transport company, trying to get our trucks to roll into the resort driveway on time.

The wedding starts at two p.m., the hottest part of the day, but also the exact time that coordinates with some kind of astrological event that’s very important to the bride and groom, so we’ve constructed large shade sails over the rows of chairs set up on the beach. I walk the whole wedding set up with my clipboard, noting places where I think Fran could take a moment and double check some of the crew’s work.

It’s nearly eleven before I finally run into Avery, who’s looking a bit more flustered than usual. I brace myself for whatever could have finally gotten under the skin of my notoriously even-keeled friend.

“Sam, these people are nuts. I’ve been running up and down stairs all morning trying to help housekeeping and Reef answer all the calls. Everyone needs lattes in their rooms and their beds made by the staff first thing in the morning. I’m not going to be sad when this one’s over.”

I grimace in solidarity with him. I guess having an easy to work with wedding couple did not translate to their friends and family being equally easygoing. Poor Ave is always on guest relations at these big events, while his partner in business and in life, Fran, runs the whole rest of the show.

“Let me know if it gets out of hand, and I’ll see if there is any staff I can free up elsewhere to help run stairs.”

“Nah, now that they’ve all had their beds made while theydrank coffee and watched, they’re starting to head downstairs. You’re going to need all the staff down there you can get.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

I turn to hurry back down to the pool deck adjacent to Reef, our casual fare café, to make sure they’re ready for the guests but Avery stops me.

“We’re all flying to Honduras, to Pristine Bay, after this shindig wraps up, if you want to join.”

He tosses the invite out casually enough, but I can almost picture him and Dom roshamboing to decide who would talk to me about the vacation. It’s not like I get upset about the guys taking these little trips, but I never join them. For whatever reason, they have made it a priority to always invite me, no matter how often I beg off.

“It’s going to be fun. Fran and Reina are coming, and I’m sure we’ll talk Naomi into it.”

I search his tone for any kind of implication but come up empty. He’s just reporting information.

My mind, however, is reeling.

If Naomi’s going on the trip, I want to go.

On the other hand…it would be really, really difficult to get any time alone with her if all my nosy friends have nothing to do but lay around all day and watch us. Right now, the only thing our secret relationship is hinging on is the fact that my best friends are complete workaholics. Oh, and this insane wedding.

How’s it going to be when the craziness passes and it’s back to smooth sailing at The White Sands? Back to intimate dinner parties, bonfires, and trips to town for lunch and football games?

This might be the last real weekend of privacy we have together. I want it. Even if we have to give up this thing between us soon, I want this.

“I’ll probably just stick around here, make sure things get back to normal smoothly. You know, the resort doesn’t stop running when these weddings end, Ave.”

Avery just smiles his knowing smile, not buying a second of my bullshit. “Whatever, man. Just think about it, okay? We booked you a room just in case.”

I turn and head toward the stairs without answering. I don’t know how often they book a room for me and let it sit empty when I don’t join them on a spontaneous trip around the globe, but I have a feeling it’s most of the time. It would be pretty bad if I finally agreed to hop on the helicopter one of these times and found myself sleeping on someone’s pullout sofa when the exclusive, high-end resort was booked when we arrived.

And it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture. The guys have always worked to include me in everything from holidays to vacations to meals in five-star restaurants. They’ve been doing it since I lucked my way into the exclusive private school they all attended.

My mother and I lived in the next town over, sharing a one-bedroom apartment she could only afford by working two jobs. Avery, Dominic, and Ben adopted me on my first day of school, swooping in as I sat alone in the cafeteria, trying to eat my bagged lunch in peace, bringing with them a loud, rambunctious, whirlwind of arguing, teasing, scheming, and money. So, so much money.

That first month of fourth grade at Simonson Prep was my introduction to the fact that I was poor. Prior to boarding the half-hour long bus ride to the academy and being adopted by the guys, I’d been surrounded by kids and families in similar situations to my own. I played with the children of the people my mom found to watch me while she worked, and every one of them lived in an apartment.

I can distinctly remember the first time I went to Ben’s house, where we spent a lot of our time because his parent’s estate was bordered by acres and acres of wild woods, the dream of any nine year old boy. We were picked up at school by a man I assumed was Ben’s dad, even though it was strange how he called the guy Fred and Fred didn’t talk to us at all, not even to ask about our day.

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