Page 7 of One Night in Hawaii

“I am.”

We started walking across the sand toward the entrance of the hotel we were staying at for the night. Since we had arrived a day early, the vacation rental I reserved for what was supposed to be our honeymoon wasn’t ready until tomorrow. The hotel was packed, as was the beach. I was looking forward to the beautiful, secluded home on the North Shore. I wanted the solitude. I didn’t like the touristy thing. It was loud and crowded and people annoyed me.

As we walked, my mind kept drifting back to the marine biologist with the secret research. There was something about her that made me want to know more. The last thing I needed to do was have a fling while I was on my honeymoon. Although it might help put Ashley in my past for good.

“Hey,” Penelope said, nudging me with her elbow. “Are you even listening to me?”

I snapped out of my reverie and focused on my sister. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, what do you want to do tonight? The hotel has a luau and fireworks show.”

I shook my head. “Not really my thing. I was thinking of just grabbing dinner and trying to get some sleep.”

We reached the hotel and walked inside. The lobby was bustling with people checking in and out, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the air. As we made our way to the elevator, I couldn’t help but notice a woman standing by the front desk. She was tall, with long, dark hair and deep brown eyes that seemed to stare right through me. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and her high heels clicked against the marble floor as she walked toward us.

“Excuse me,” she said with a sultry smile. “Aren’t you Archer Ryatt?”

I was used to people knowing who I was in New York, but I wasn’t exactly famous. “I am.”

She looked at Penelope. “Congratulations.”

“On?” Penelope asked.

“Didn’t you guys get married?”

Penelope shot me a look, but I stepped forward and smiled at the woman. “This is my sister. Excuse us.”

We stepped into the elevator and let the doors close on the woman that seemed very confused.

“That was awkward,” Penelope muttered.

“I’m purposely not looking at the news back home. I don’t want to know.”

We went to our rooms, setting a time to meet in the lobby to go to dinner. I was tempted to check social media, but I didn’t dare. I could only imagine what people were saying about me. I had been left at the altar. Me. Archer Ryatt, billionaire extraordinaire with thousands of women willing to marry me. I was left looking like a damn fool.

I flopped on the bed, hoping to catch a nap before dinner. Unfortunately, my mind refused to be quiet. I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and replayed the events of the failed wedding in my mind. I thought I had found someone who would be a good match for me, but I was wrong. Dead wrong. I had let my guard down and let myself believe Ashley would marry me. It was humiliating, to say the least.

At dinner, I noticed Penelope seemed to be very interested in her phone. She’d barely said two words to me. Her sole focus was on whoever she was talking to.

“I could have ordered room service and watched TV,” I said.

She looked up like she’d just realized I was at the table. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on?”

“Matthew,” she said, sighing. “I hate him sometimes.”

“You’re engaged to be married to him. You’re supposed to love him, which is the exact opposite.”

“I know,” she pouted.

I knew my sister. She did tend to be a little dramatic. She had mastered the art of the pout as well as the temper tantrum, done in the classiest of ways. But I didn’t like Matthew either. The guy was a pain in the ass. He was obnoxious and rude. He was also very possessive of Penelope. I had been rooting for them to break up for a long time. Unfortunately, our parents and Matthew’s parents were pushing for the marriage. Just like they pushed me to marry Ashley. Maybe my humiliation could work to Penelope’s advantage. They would see the error of their ways and back off.

Unfortunately, I knew that would never happen. We were pawns to be played. Our parents wanted us to marry people of equal or greater wealth or better social standing. Love wasn’t really all that important. Neither was finding a good spouse. My parents believed in the idea oftolerating. If we could tolerate our spouse, it was the perfect marriage.

“Tell him to fuck off,” I said. “You’re on vacation.”

“I can’t tell him that.”

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