Page 38 of Beauty and the Beach

But something slips into my mind then, a suspicion, and my lips tug into a frown. “You don’t—” I break off and then go on. “Do you still have nightmares?”

She folds her arms across her chest. “None of your business,” she says stiffly, turning away from me and starting up the steps to Town Hall.

That’s a resoundingyes,then.

I climb quickly after her, reaching out and grabbing the soft sleeve of her shirt. I turn her to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I say.

What an idiotic thing to ask.

She thinks so too. “Why would I tell you?” she says, yanking her arm out of my grasp. “What are you going to do? Ride in on your white horse and save me?” She turns away and climbs faster, hurrying ahead of me, favoring her sore knee just slightly.

“This was your choice, Amsterdam,” I call. I take the steps two at a time to catch up. “I offered you work in my office.”

“I needed your insurance,” she says once we reach the top of the stairs.

“I would’ve given you employee benefits.” Ironically enough, if she’d come to me and asked for money to get health care, I would have given it to her.

But she would never. She’s too proud, and she would never accept something for nothing.

Her gaze darts away from mine, and that muscle in her jaw is twitching. “You should inherit Butterfield,” she finally says, her words short, terse.

I stare at her. “What?”

“Butterfield,” she says impatiently, and she still won’t look at me. “You should inherit. You’d be a good—” She breaks off and starts again. “Your cousin is a jerk. You should inherit.”

Something stirs in my chest, warm and surprisingly gentle.

But she pours icy water on that feeling the second she opens her mouth again. “Now stop talking to me, and let’s just do this.”

I sigh and nod, and together we make our way into Town Hall. The clerk’s office is on the second floor; we climb the stairs in our funeral clothes, attracting stares from the few people we see, until we reach the little door with the clerk’s sign.

“I need to get a drink,” Holland says under her breath. “I’ll be back.”

“What—now?”

“I said I’ll beback!Just stop talking to me.” She doesn’t wait for my answer; she just storms away.

So I step inside without her.

The man at the counter is short and balding with a pleasant-but-harried smile on his face; I give him a little nod and try not to picture how his expression will change when Holland comes in looking like the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

“You’re the nine-thirty civil ceremony?” he says.

“Correct,” I say. I gesture to Wyatt, who’s been following us silently this whole time. “And I brought a witness.”

“Good, good,” the man says, shuffling around behind the counter. “Well, take a seat. You’re a bit early.”

I sit down in one of the nondescript brown chairs, and Wyatt sits next to me. He passes me a water bottle, opening one for himself as well, and together the two of us drink filtered water in what might be the most boring bachelor party known to man. Then I look at the clock on the wall.

It ticks…

…and tocks…

…and ticks…

…and tocks…

…and fifteen minutes later, Holland still hasn’t returned.

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