Page 87 of Beauty and the Beach

Not just a copy, either; she has the original hard copy that was supposed to be in my file cabinet at home. The one in my work office was still in place—I checked after I got her message—but when we got home, the one at the house was gone.

Something simmering and hot rises in my chest, anger like lava, but I keep a check on it. We finish the drive in silence, and it’s only once we’ve boarded the ferry that Holland speaks again.

“Okay, so walk me through this,” she says, turning in her chair to look at me. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the wind and the persistent drizzle, a sheen of humidity on her skin. “What’s the worst that could happen here?”

“There’s nothing that could happen that I haven’t made provisions for,” I say truthfully. “But Mavis will likely object to our marriage and refuse to recognize it. I guess she could also disown me.”

Holland gapes at me, her eyes wide. “Would she actually?”

“What, disown me?” I say, pulling my phone out of my suit pocket. “Not likely. I’m the best candidate to inherit and she knows it. More than that, though, she likes having all of us under her thumb.” I shoot off a message to Wyatt, hoping it goes through, and then I tuck my phone away again.

When I look back at Holland—mywife, who’s so much more than I ever expected or hoped—her eyes are on me, a little grimace on her lips.

“What?” I say blankly.

She clears her throat and scoots closer to me. “So listen,” she says in a low voice that I can barely hear over the sound of the ferry’s horn. “You’re not going to like—offyour grandmother or anything, right?”

“Of course not,” I say calmly. When she continues to look skeptically at me, I roll my eyes. “Would I do that?”

“Absolutely,” she says without missing a beat. “Under the right circumstances, you absolutely would.”

“Anybody could kill under the right circumstances,” I say. “You could too. But that’s not the point—I’m not going tooffmy grandmother.”

“You’re just really, really chill about this. So I’m concerned.”

“Maybe instead of being concerned, you couldalsotry to be really, really chill,” I point out. “Not one week ago you were waxing poetic about how much you trust me?—”

“Shut up.”

I point at her. “And I remember something about my moral compass as well?—”

But I break off as she raises one hand toward my face as though to clamp it over my mouth.

“Try it and see what happens,” I say, a jolt of heat flashing through my veins as I remember doing the same thing the night of the storm.

She freezes in place as her eyes fly up to mine; then a slow, amused smile unfurls over her lips. “You can dish it, but you can’t take it?” she says softly, her eyes sparkling with laughter. Her hand shifts and comes to rest on my cheek, her thumb stroking my skin, and it’s bliss—it’s bliss feeling her touch without trying to convince myself I don’t enjoy every second or long for more.

Because I do. I do enjoy every second, and I long for more. She sets my blood on fire, in so many ways and withso many emotions. So when she tugs my face down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, I don’t fight, even though we’re in public.

“Doesn’t it feel weird, though?” she says, leaning back. “We never used to kiss, and now suddenly we’re doing it all the time?—”

“‘We never used to kiss’?” I say with a snort. I cover her hand with mine and then pull it away from my face, interlacing our fingers and resting them on my leg instead. “I would say we kissed an abnormal amount for two people who didn’t get along. In fact—” I break off, thinking.

How much we kissed each other should have been a clue.

I shake my head and sigh. “Anyway—you should be prepared. I don’t know what Mavis is going to say or do or threaten, but I might be making a lot of changes very soon.Verysoon.”

“Do those changes involve sucker-punching your cousin in the gut?”

My lips twitch. “That could be arranged if you really insist.”

“I’m going to rest my head on your shoulder,” she says, scooting closer. “I want to see what it feels like.”

“I—” It’s all I can get out before she’s there, her hand still in mine, her head dropping gently on my shoulder.

“Oh—I like it,” she says, making herself more comfortable. “And I won’t insist on punching your cousin,” she goes on. “But he deserves it. They all do.”

I look down at her, at the blonde hair now spilling over my arm. “Are you not going to ask what my plans are?” I say with a little frown.

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