Page 36 of Sunburned

“Five,” Cody said, pulling his brother back.

Ian spat blood on the beige carpet. “Fifteen.”

“Why are you fucking negotiating with him?” Tyson demanded of his brother.

“It’s my job on the line,” Cody said gruffly. “Not yours.” He turned to Ian. “Ten. For the length of the summer only. When Tyson goes back to school, this is over.”

“Deal,” Ian said.

“Let him go,” Cody said to Tyson.

Tyson swiped the blade of the spatula along Ian’s neck as he released him, leaving a line of blood across his pale skin. Ian covered it with his hand, glaring at him.

“Now get the fuck out,” Cody said, pointing at the door.

“And if you ever step foot inside this house again, I will kill you,” Tyson added.

In that moment, I believed him.

Chapter 10

I must have miraculously fallen asleep again at some point, because I awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing and sun streaming through the sheer curtains. I smelled pastries and heard voices. I was desperate for caffeine, but remembering Gisèle and Samira’s conversation last night, I pulled my computer into my lap and googled “Samira Maies + William.”

My jaw dropped as the screen populated with articles, mostly in French, from publications in Luxembourg, Belgium, and France.

William Nicolaus, Count von Turenberg. Dead in Hunting Accident

Samira Maies Questioned in Husband’s Death

Murder or Mishap?

Scanning through the articles, I discovered that William was the handsome fifty-year-old Luxembourgish count Samira had wedded at the age of twenty-two, a marriage that had lasted only four months before he was tragically killed in a hunting accident on his estate.

So my hunch had been right: Tyson had indeed manipulated the search results of his wife’s name not to include any mention of her first marriage. But he couldn’t scrub the internet of every article written about her, which meant that if you knew what to google, all the information was still there. And it was a lot.

Not only had Samira been in the hunting party on the day her first husband met his end, she’d been the one to discover his body, slumped over a fallen log in the dense woods, the back of his head blown clean off. Although she denied any part in William’s death, accidental or otherwise, and had been cleared thanks to the testimony of none other than Gisèle, who had been by her side the entire day, his grown children and ex-wife had been so sure Samira was responsible that they’d managed to cut her entirely out of any inheritance.

William’s death had eventually been declared accidental, with a close friend of the family asserting that whoever had mistakenly shot him might never know they’d been the one to end his life, but media speculation about Samira’s involvement was so rampant that she’d fled to New York, which was where she met Tyson.

Jesus. Samira had been a suspect in a murder—seemingly cleared only because of Gisèle, who plainly would do anything for her.

So why hadn’t Tyson mentioned any of this to me?

Once again feeling backfooted, I quickly pulled myself together and changed into a sundress, taking a moment to tone down my annoyance before sliding open the glass door and stepping onto the front deck. The day was balmy and blue-skied, the sea at the bottom of the jagged hills sparkling in the morning sun.

Allison sat at the oak dining table eating fruit and scrambled egg whites, while Jennifer and Cody lounged on the low white couch facing the view, and Samira and Gisèle sipped espressos at the sleek island they’d desecrated the night before. It was hard not to stare, considering what I’d just read—not to mention what I’d overheard last night.

Samira muttered something, and Gisèle looked at her with such tenderness that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Had theybeen lovers when Samira’s first husband was killed? And was Tyson aware that their romantic involvement wasn’t purely for his benefit?

“Good morning.” Laurent’s voice vibrated pleasantly in my ear.

“Good morning.” I turned, my fingers brushing his as he deposited a cup of coffee in my hand, made just the way I liked it. “Merci.”

“There are pastries, eggs, and fruit if you’re hungry.” His blue eyes held a hint of mischief. “Did you sleep well?”

I nodded, desperate to tell him Gisèle had spotted us. But that would have to wait. “The bed is comfortable.”

“The rooster didn’t wake you? I should have told you, there are earplugs in the drawer by the bed, and the clock is also a sound machine.”

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