Page 59 of Beauty and the Beach

But I can’t stay. I can’t listen to any more. So I push past him,out of the closet, and rush to my room. I lock the door behind me and cry myself to sleep while Maggie slumbers peacefully on.

Phoenix

Once upon a time,many, many years ago, I kissed Holland Blakely.

It’s not something I let myself think about, because it was an accident. If it wasn’t an accident, it would have been a bad idea anyway. She’s younger; she’s Trev’s sister. I’m self-aware enough to admit that I’ve never viewed her like a little sister, but I’ve never had feelings for her, either. I’ve never wanted to date her.

Right? I’m sure I haven’t.

She has an explosive personality, and when I’m with her, she brings out my explosive side, too. So how did I go from “kissing her was an accident” to “we’re married and we’ve kissed several more times”?

I thought she was Jewel that night—a girl in one of my classes who I’ve long since forgotten—but somehow when I realized it was Holland, the kiss made more sense.

Holland kissed me like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it; that’s not a feeling that’s easily replicated. She doesn’t do anything by halves—kissing included.

No more kissing,I tell myself firmly.She won’t kiss you, you won’t kiss her, and everything will stay neat and safe.

“Judging by the way you’re sighing, you’re thinking about your wife,” Wyatt says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I look up at him, surprised. “I am. How did you know? Do I sigh differently when I’m thinking about her?”

“You have a specific furrow in your brow,” Wyatt says, pointing to his own forehead. “Right here.”

It’s late on the evening of the Fourth of July, and I told Wyatt he didn’t need to come to the main house tonight, but he did anyway. Just to help me organize things for tomorrow, he said, but I think he gets lonely—and he knows I get lonely, too.

Work is good. Work is safe. Work distracts me from the tingling feeling in my lips and the phantom body I can still feel in my arms.

Why did she kiss me? And why did I kiss her back?

She’s asleep now, I think; the light under her door turned off hours ago, and the only sound coming from her room is the whirring of a fan. We came home together, but we didn’t say a word to each other; we didn’t even make eye contact.

Her eyes looked red, and it caused something horrible and heavy to shift in my stomach.

“Well, you’re right,” I say as that heavy feeling returns. “I’m thinking about her.”

“Mmm,” Wyatt says, keeping his eyes on the folder in his lap. The lamp in my home office casts a warm glow over the room, and my assistant’s glasses glint when he shifts in his chair. “Anything in particular?”

“We kissed,” I say dully. “I guess technically she kissed me. I tried not to kiss her back, but…”

I didn’t trythathard.

Wyatt hums again, but he doesn’t say anything. I watch him from behind my desk, waiting, but he remains silent; finally I speak again.

“You don’t have anything to say about that?” I find it hard to believe.

“I have several things to say, but I’m not certain you’re ready to hear them.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“I have several things to say,” he repeats, “but I’m not certain you’re ready to?—”

“I heard what you said,” I cut him off. “I was just surprised. Tell me.”

He shoots a skeptical look at me, his brow more lined than usual, and I let out a tired breath.

“I mean it,” I say. “Tell me.” Nothing he can say will make this situation any more confusing than it already is.

The indifferent shrug he offers is not comforting;If you say so,it says. “It is my belief,” he begins, “that you and Miss Blakely?—”

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