Page 60 of More With You

“What?” he splutters.

“Made the mistake of falling in love with their only son,” I continue, with a weary shrug. “I should’ve known something like this was coming.”

Harry shakes his head. “Fucking hell, Summer. How many guys come through this casino every week? Couldn’t you have gone for one of them?”

“I love who I love, Harry.” I get up and unpin my name badge, sliding it across the desk toward him. “Tell the head office they can shove their job up their ass. If that means I’m fired, then so be it. I’m not bowing to the pressure of the DuCates. I’m not playing their stupid game.”

I turn to leave and get as far as the door before Harry calls out. “I’ll tell them you’re thinking about it. Give you some time to cool off. Just… consider it, Summer, for your grandma.”

“Do what you want,” I reply, battling the choke of a sob that wants to crawl up my throat.

Harry nods. “Like I say, I’ll tell them you’re thinking it over. I can buy you a week, maybe.”

“Don’t bother.” I make to storm out, but I turn on the door’s threshold. “Thank you for everything, Harry. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

He smiles, and his eyes do crinkle up. “Same goes for you.”

With that, I leave, pausing only to clear out my locker, shoving everything into an old duffel bag that’s deflated into the very back. It seems, even here, I’m not allowed to break my six-month rule. Only, this time, I’m not the one running. This time, I’m desperate to stay.

* * *

I pull onto the side of the road, radio blaring to stop my mind from thinking too hard and kill the engine. Grabbing my duffel bag, I clamber out and cut down along the side fence of my paradise. I go straight through the gate at the bottom and walk across the overgrown grass to the lip of reeds and spongy mangroves that teeter over the water. There, I drink in a deep breath of salty air, and watch the blue heron in the reeds opposite, still hunting for that evasive fish.

That’s when it hits me. A cold sweat beads down the back of my neck, though it’s humid as heck out here, and my legs turn as heavy as stone, though they’re as weak as corn stalks bending in a hurricane. But there aren’t any tears. I can’t squeeze them out. I feel too… hollow for that.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” I spit, collapsing into a folding chair that also looks like it’s on the brink of collapse. Still, it holds my weight. “You throw money at a problem, and it goes away.”

I contemplate driving over to the DuCate mansion to give them a piece of my mind, but they’ve probably changed the gate code by now. There’s no way they’d let me in, not even Mae. She’s got her job to think about, after all, and years and years of diligent service won’t be enough to stop her getting fired if they think she’s in cahoots with me. Rich people don’t care about things like that. They don’t care about the effort that someone without a 401k or an investment account has put into building their life. They don’t care about me. Remember, these are the kind of people who’ve looked at my history, or heard about it, at least, and saw an opportunity instead of a cause for admiration or pity.

Just then, I hear the bang of my screen door.

Jumping up with a jolt, I turn around, fully expecting to see Ben or Grace. Someone who can file the sharp edges off my pain with their warmth and affection. Instead, my heart stops. Vasily is walking down the porch steps with a stern expression on his usually cheerful face, and he’s coming right for me. Surely, this can’t be what I think it is? I can’t take two hits in one day.

“Morning, Summer,” he says, coming to a standstill.

I fix a fake smile to my face. “Morning, Vas.” We don’t interact much, but he’s always insisted on me speaking to him like we’re friends. Sometimes, he drops by to deliver something his wife has made, or something they’ve got too much of, or just to chat and ask if everything is alright with the cottage. He is the kind of man who takes pity on someone, but it seems that pity has run out. He’s not even looking me in the eyes.

“Sorry to swing by unannounced,” he goes on, with only a hint of his homeland in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be home, but, as you’re here, I guess you don’t need to read the letter I left for you.”

“Letter?” I manage to squeak out.

He nods, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry, Summer, but… you’ve broken the terms of our agreement. You’re not supposed to redecorate without permission, and I’ve recently come into the knowledge that you’ve had other occupants in the house.” I can feel his unease in his body language. Like Harry, he doesn’t want to be doing this. “You have two weeks to move out.”

“Don’t do this, Vas,” I plead, about ready to beg on my knees if I have to. This house is everything to me. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever had to call my own, in the material sense. I want to keep reading on that back porch, watching the wildlife of the Gulf. I want to drink coffee in this very spot, with Ben’s arm around me. I want to stay. I want…

Vasily sighs. “I really am sorry, but my wife has been wanting to turn this into a guest house for years. You were always going to be the last tenant, but… this can’t be helped.” He purses his lips. “Two weeks, Summer, or I’ll have to force you out. I really don’t want to do that.”

“What do they have on you, huh?” I challenge, gazing up at my beautiful cottage and picturing the soulless guest house it’ll become. This is my happy place. This is home. He can’t take it away from me. I mean, he can, but I can’t let him.

Vasily flinches. “Pardon?”

“The DuCates. What do they have on you? You’re at least as wealthy as they are. You don’t have to do what they tell you to do,” I urge, half-wondering where Ben and Grace are. They should be here, but they’re not.

Vasily sweeps a hand through his fine, silvery-blonde hair—the color of birch bark. “I don’t have to tell you this, but… Mr. DuCate is a business associate, Summer. He is the majority stakeholder in one of my biggest industries.” He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t need to. If Vasily doesn’t do this, Mr. DuCate will either sell his shares or withdraw altogether. I’m not entirely sure what that means in business, but I guess it’s bad enough to manipulate Vasily into taking this precious place from me.

“This is my home, Vas,” I say quietly: my voice croaky. “We’ve been buddies, haven’t we? You don’t do this to your friends.”

Vasily still can’t look me in the eyes. “In business, there are no friends. I’m sorry, Summer. The decision has been made, and if you don’t comply, you might be arrested for trespassing.” He pauses, stealing a sorrowful glance in my direction. “I’m giving you two weeks to move out because we’re friends.”

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