Page 44 of Beauty and the Beach

One spidery brow lifts—daring me to protest further. “I insist,” she says with a creeping, curling smile. Then, from the table beside her hospital bed, she picks up a credit card, holding it out. I step closer.

No—not a credit card. Aroom key. My heart sinks down, down, down into the pit of my stomach.

“One night in the honeymoon suite at the Vida Grande,” Mavis says, and I know I’m not imagining the look of smug triumph in her smile. “For you and your beloved. You can check in today. Now, in fact. I even have your bags packed.” She gestures to her assistant, who bends down and pulls two small suitcases from under the bed.

I keep my expression neutral—cold, even—but my heart sinks even further when she rolls the suitcases around the bed and over to Holland and me.

This is bad.

I stare at the card and the bags, considering carefully. If I resist, she’s going to be even more suspicious than she clearly already is.

So, finally, I nod. “Thank you,” I say, taking the room key from her. “We’ll enjoy ourselves.”

“Make sure you do,” she says, her beady eyes narrowing into slits. “I have my doubts, you understand.”

“I do understand,” I say with a little bow. “But it’s nothing more than coincidental timing.”

“Mmm.Coincidental timing.” Her eyes somehow narrow even further. “You,” she barks, gesturing at Holland, who jumps.

“Yes,” Holland says.

“Come here.” The command rings imperiously throughout the room, and I force myself not to let my nerves show, even though I’m pretty sure this is how my nightmare started last night.

Holland releases my arm and rounds the bed with slow steps, approaching Mavis the same way she might approach a wounded bear in the wild.

“Come,” Mavis says impatiently, waving her vein-knotted hand. “Let me look at you, my darling new granddaughter.” But the words are full of cynical humor, not at all welcoming or loving, and the look on her face is just shy of overtly cruel.

To her credit, Holland remains poised with her head held high, her sheen of blonde hair falling perfectly over her squared shoulders. Something about her outfit emphasizes the innate elegance I didn’t realize she had; it’s not apearls-and-old-moneyelegance but rather awatch-me-land-on-my-feetgrace that has nothing to do with her appearance and everything to do with her character.

I swallow and give myself a little mental shake. I don’t need to be noticing these things.

When she reaches Mavis, she stands perfectly still, looking down at my insane old grandmother.

“Down,” Mavis says to her, waving her hand again. “Down here. Don’t make me stand up, Barbie. Haven’t you heard I’m almost dead?”

So Holland leans down, close enough to Mavis that the woman reaches up and takes my wife’s face in her hands. It startles me just as much as it clearly startles Holland, who jumps slightly. Mavis turns her face left and right, up and down, her eyes sharp, and I don’t think I can breathe; the oxygen in my lungs is suddenly too heavy to expel as I watch them.

Mavis’s inspection seems to last forever, though it’s probably not more than a minute. When she finally releases Holland, she does so with a little push. Then she speaks.

“Take that”—she gestures at the key card in my hand—“and have a proper honeymoon.” It’s not a well-wish; there’s a hint of a threat in there, like she’s tacked on the wordsI’ll know if you don’tat the end.

My eyes fall on Clarence, Lawrence, and Dot; the latter two just look disgruntled, maybe because Mavis hasn’t given them any gifts, but Clarence is looking at Holland with narrowed eyes.

I don’t want him looking at her. Ever.

So I stride quickly to Holland’s side and take her hand. I give her a little tug, and together we head toward the double doors.

“Wait!”

It isn’t Mavis this time; it’s Lawrence, and I’m notsurprised. I look over to see him hurrying around his father and Dot until he’s planted himself right in our path.

“I have to meet my new cousin,” he says, holding one hand out to Holland. His smile is pleasant, but his blue eyes are sharp. “I have to meet the woman whose name in Phoenix’s phone was so intriguing that I had to call her myself to?—”

“We’re leaving,” I say before he can blurt out anything else. I swat his hand away, and he just grins.

“Tsk, tsk,” he says as we move past him with the suitcases. “So rude.”

“Thank you for the suite,” I call, one hand already on the door handle. “And I hope I don’t see anyone lingering around the island who’s not supposed to be there.”

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