Page 45 of Beauty and the Beach

Mavis, Clarence, and Lawrence are all the kinds of people who would send someone to spy on Holland and me. My mother would too, for that matter.

I can only assume she’s not here because she’s protesting my marriage to someone she didn’t approve first, but she’ll have to meet Holland at some point. I dread the day.

We step through the double doors and out of the hospital suite, and even though I can tell Holland is bursting to speak, I hold up one finger.

“If you’re going to yell, wait until we’ve gone further,” I mutter.

“What makes you think I’m going to yell?” she says, looking affronted.

“It’s hard to tell with you,” I say. “You pulled out a perfect smile in there with apparent ease.” A smile of the sort she never aims at me—one that made my stomach flip. Worrisome.

“Slow down,” she says, ignoring my jibe. “Your legs might be a million miles long, but I’m in heels, Dodo Bird.”

Great. Now I’m extinct.

“I just think your entire family needs a lesson in boundaries. And also they need to get off their high horse,” she continues in a low voice as we travel the short halls of the VIP ward. “Your freaky grandma can’t actually force us to go to this hotel—you know that, right? And what was that that your cousin said? Is that why he called me that one time? What’s my name in your phone?”

Crap. “Holland, obviously,” I say. Then I move quickly on before she can question the lie. “And when dealing with Mavis, it’s best to choose your battles. She holds my future in her bony, veiny hands. So you and I”—I grimace—“can go to this hotel tonight. We don’t even have to talk to each other. Fine?”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

I don’t answer; I can’t make that commitment.

Because Mavis only gave me one key card, which means there could be another one floating around somewhere. I can’t run the risk of someone barging in—I don’t want to believe Mavis would do that, but in my gut I know she would—and finding us sleeping separately.

So even though she doesn’t know it yet…I’m going to have to share the bed with my wife.

The only wordfor our room at the Vida Grande isopulent.

It’s the same hotel where we took our photos in the gardens out back, but the suite we used then was not a honeymoon suite. This room has carpet so thick and soft my feet sink in, a heart-shaped jacuzzi, anda massive king-sized bed covered in rose petals—there’s even a champagne bottle on ice next to the jacuzzi.

Mavis Butterfield is cruel, and she’s clearly not trying to hide her suspicion.

“Are those…matching robes?” Holland says, her voice dazed as she drifts toward the completely glass shower in one corner of the room. There are no walls for privacy, and my gaze darts around to make sure the toilet isn’t out in the open too; I relax slightly when I see the open bathroom door off to one side.

“Maybe,” I say as I continue looking around the room. A large sliding door leads out to a private patio with a small pool; I’d be tempted by that, but Holland doesn’t swim—ever. Not since she and I and Trev crashed over the edge of that bridge and into the river below. She’s never said it explicitly, but I’ve seen her avoid the ocean and pool enough to know.

There’s no couch in here, I notice, just a chaise lounge that looks like something you’d lie back in while a beautiful woman fed you grapes from a gold platter.

It’s not someplace I could sleep. Even Holland wouldn’t fit.

“We need to talk about the bed situation,” I say firmly, turning to her. I watch as she holds a short, cream-colored robe up to her body, looking down at it; it’s silk, judging by the way the light hits, and the twin of the one hanging on a hook by the jacuzzi.

I swallow, clear my throat, and then go on. “There’s no couch for me to sleep on, and Mavis only gave me one room key.”

“Mmm,” Holland says, distracted. “I noticed that. So she could barge in here any time, theoretically.” She looks up at me. “Right?”

I give a reluctant jerk of my head.

“But she’s in a hospital bed.”

I nod again. “She’s allowed to leave for short stretches as long as a nurse accompanies her. The doctors just want her to stay for monitoring and observation; she’s on hospice, more or less.”

She hangs the robe back on its hook and then turns to me again. “You realize the only reason she gets away with things so invasive is that you all let her. Everyone in your family must bow to her wishes if she’s doing stuff like barging into hotel rooms uninvited.”

“Yes,” I say slowly, “and no. It’s more complicated than that.” How do I explain the grip this matriarchy has on my life? “Our family is so intertwined with the company, and Mavis has always been a boss first and a grandmother second. Fighting against her doesn’t just affect my family; it affects my career. And while she’s unpredictable as a matriarch, she’s ruthless as a CEO.”

“I don’t get it,” Holland says, her brow furrowing, “but okay.” She eyes the giant bed with its flower petals and red velvet comforter. “I’m still not sharing the bed with you.”

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