25. Paisley
Dread has an acidic flavor.
For the final five minutes of my bike ride with Klein it is all I can taste, overpowering the lingering sweetness of my breakfast. My stomach swirls, apprehension cloaks my thoughts. All the good feelings from being here with only Klein and my grandma are muted, colored over by the reality of why we’re here.
“Are you good?” Klein asks when we ride under the house and leave our bikes leaning on a wall.
I nod. I’m not good, but the only way out of all this is through the middle of it.
Pointing to the additional golf carts in the driveway, I say, “They’re here.”
My mom and Ben. My aunt and uncle. My little brother and younger cousins. Sienna and Shane.
Ugh. Shane.
I start for the house, but a grip on my arm pulls me back.
“Paisley,” Klein says, gently bringing me in closer. “Our relationship might be for show, but my friendship is genuine. You’re not alone this week.”
His declaration mollifies me, bringing comfort to my heart, easing my worry. I like the way his eyes search mine, how they drop lower and take in the rest of my face, lingering on my lips.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He releases me, and walks with me up the stairs. Stepping in front of me to get to the door first, he opens it at the same time his hand finds the small of my back.
And... curtain.
My sister is the first to spot us. She sits on a counter height stool, one knee tucked up into her chest, while the other leg keeps her steady on the chair rung. Her eyes light up when we walk into the room. She bounds from her seat, clapping her hands twice.
“Big sister is here!” Exuberance presses into the sides of her tone, filling out her words. She releases me from her hug and turns to Klein. “And her boyfriend, too. Thanks for making the long trip.”
“It was nothing,” Klein says. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Sienna presses her lips together. “About that. I’d like to apologize. I wasn’t myself that night.”
Klein waves away her apology. “I’ve seen plenty of drunk brides-to-be. You fell in the harmless category.”
“Right.” Sienna looks relieved. “Since I was harmless, there’s no need to mention it to Shane.”
My eyebrows cinch. Why does Sienna feel the need to keep something so innocent from her fiancé?
“No problem,” Klein assures her.
“Yes, problem,” I say with a low volume. The suspicion I’m feeling has my tone coming out more forceful than I mean it to be. “You didn’t do anything wrong that night. Why can’t Shane know? What is there to keep him from knowing? You were inebriated and ate fries at two a.m. Some people call that a normal Friday night.”
Sienna clears her throat and smoothes her hair. “That’s not how I typically conduct myself.”
“We are crystal clear on that,” I mutter, and then, because I dislike how stiff she’s acting, I add, “It was the penises, wasn’t it? Or is it peni when it’s plural?” I look to my fake boyfriend/real wordsmith for guidance.
He shrugs. “I’ll have to look into it and get back to you.”
Sienna narrows her eyes. “Leave that detail out of the stories.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Can you please provide me with a script for what to say if your fiancé asks for additional details about the bachelorette party I threw for you?” I hold up a palm. “Wait. Let me give it a shot. First, we drank a glass of champagne while we discussed your flight and lamented the status of air travel these days. Next, we moved on to dinner, where we dined on salad and the collective air of superiority around the table.” I know I should stop talking, but I’m offended and worried. Why doesn’t Sienna feel comfortable telling her future husband the truth?
She sniffs. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re being really mean to the bride.”
I know what my problem is from a high-level, but I also don’t know what it is in this precise moment. Overwhelm, I think, and indignation. Repressed feelings. Suspicion toward Sienna’s editing of her bachelorette party. Not a great combination.
Unsurprisingly, Shane chooses the worst time to stride into the room. Sienna swipes under her eyes quickly, blinking twice and plastering on her face a smile faker than my relationship.
“Pais,” Shane calls, frat boy style, like I’m his bro. We haven’t seen each other in three years, and this is how he chooses to greet me?
Crooking one arm around my shoulders, he pulls me in for an awkward side hug while also shaking me. “Hey, Shane,” I say quickly, stepping out of his embrace.
Klein reaches for my hand, pulling me until my back meets his chest. Shane looks over my shoulder at Klein, recognition lighting up his eyes.
“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing at Klein. His finger taps the air like he’s hitting a piano key.
Klein puts us all out of our misery by saying, “We were in the same creative writing class in college.” His arm snakes around me possessively. “Paisley, too.”
Shane’s eyes dart from Klein to me, then he snaps his fingers. “That’s right. You made Paisley cry. Not an easy task.” He pretends to punch my arm. “There might as well be a force field around this one.”
I stiffen.
Klein chuckles, but the sound is less that was funny and more keep saying things like that and see what happens. “Interesting thing about force fields is that they’re effective at keeping out the bad. But the good? That penetrates.”
Shane’s forehead wrinkles with his struggle to make sense of Klein’s words. “Right,” he says slowly. “Anyway, thanks for coming to our wedding. Wasn’t sure Paisley had it in her.”
My foot lifts, and I have every intention of stomping on his toes, but Klein hauls me in closer. He nuzzles my hair. The stream of air across my skin as he breathes, his nearness, his damn scent, it combines to distract me. Soothe me.
Then he says, “Paisley and I debated about coming this week, but she reminded me the beach is still on our list of places we want to have sex. So”—I feel his shrug—“here we are.”
Normally a comment like that would mortify me, but the look on Shane’s face? The mortification is worth it.
Shane’s head rears back. It actually, measurably moves. He recovers by grabbing my sister by the waist and kissing her temple. “Did you hear that, babe? They’re in that new relationship infatuation stage. It took us forever to finally get through that, remember?”
“Mm hmm,” Sienna says, nodding along.
“I think you put us back into it with this ‘no sex the week leading up to the wedding’ nonsense.”
Irritation flickers over Sienna’s expression, but she quickly stows it. “I just thought it would be fun and romantic.”
Shane frowns. “It is neither.”
Silence settles over us. Somewhere else in the house are the sounds of a television, a low buzz of conversation, but here in this kitchen it’s only awkward air, thick and sliceable.
“Oh!” Sienna throws up her hands. She looks grateful to have remembered something, to have a reason to rush to her oversized bag slung on a kitchen chair. “I have your itinerary for the week.”
She presses an ivory sheet of textured 8.5 x 11 paper into my hand. It matches the stationary her wedding invitation was printed on.
Wedding Week Itinerary:
Sunday - Travel Beach/Bonfire
Monday - Dad arrives; Dinner
Tuesday - Assemble ‘thank you’ gifts; Mixer at Shane’s house.
Wednesday - Sunset cruise
Thursday - Spa day for girls, chartered fishing boat for boys
Friday - Rehearsal dinner
Saturday - Wedding
“This looks”—I find my sister’s eyes, lit up like a Christmas tree—“fun.”
I’m not lying. It looks like a week of laughter, of hair that smells like smoke and sunscreen and salt. Sun-kissed skin and sandy toes.
“That’s good to hear,” Sienna says, “because I’ve already booked everything. And Klein—” She glances above my head. I can’t see the man, but every part of me knows he’s there, feels it with a heightened awareness I’m not sure I’m comfortable with. “I know you’re not a part of the bridal party, but I’ve included you in everything. I hope that’s alright.”
“Thanks for including me,” Klein responds politely, the deepened voice tumbling down around me. “That was kind of you.”
“Are you kidding?” Sienna’s eyes widen, happy and excited. “It was my pleasure. Paisley hasn’t dated anyone in a long time.” She looks at me accusingly. “That I know of, anyway. You being here is a big deal. She must be serious about you.”
It’s like there’s an alarm in my limbs. Everything is on high alert.
But then there are warm hands on my upper arms, long fingers wrapping around my skin, squeezing me softly, reassuringly. “That’s good to hear,” Klein says, voice warm and spicy like cinnamon. “I’m serious about her, too.”
The wailing siren stops. Later, I’ll have to thank Klein for that perfect response.
“Whoa,” a voice says from the entrance. “Is this awkward, or what?”
Swallowing my groan, I rip my gaze from Klein and to the voice.
“Spencer,” I greet my little brother. “Hey, dude.”
Spencer grins, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and staring at the four of us. He loves poking at people, their pain points and weak spots. Triggering people is a favorite pastime.
His hair is dark, like our dad’s, and messy on purpose. He wears linen khakis I’d call too short, but I know is the style for boys his age. At seventeen, I was nothing like Spencer. I was serious about school, focused and ready to follow in my dad’s footsteps. I was going to major in business finance and be his right-hand woman.
I envy Spencer, the carefree way he behaves. The carefree way he lives. What a gift it is, to be young and unsaddled with the secrets your parents keep.
Klein holds out a hand to Spencer, introducing himself. They make conversation about the player changes in the English Premier League. From listening, I gather they’re talking about soccer. Shane has nothing to add to the conversation because he was never interested in the sport, but he hangs on the periphery of their conversation.
“You ready to see Dad tomorrow?” Sienna asks.
I shrug. “As ready as I ever am.”
He’s not cold to me, per se, but he’s standoffish. He cannot get over how I forged my own path. I can’t get over how swiftly he blocked me from his life once I did it. I wonder if he realizes he set it all in motion? If I’d never seen him cheating, if he’d never asked me to keep it from my mother, I would have stayed on the path he laid out for me. His lying, his duplicitous behavior, was like a tree falling in the path. It was the roadblock I needed to see there was another way for me. It went against the person I’d been until then, the girl who bent over backward to make sure everyone in the Royce family was happy.
At the end of the day, I am his biggest regret. And he is the cause of it.
Spencer grabs a soccer ball from the room he’s staying in, returning with our triplet fifteen-year-old cousins. He makes quick introductions, which includes them grunting a hello. Spencer asks Klein to go outside and kick the ball around. Klein agrees, and Shane joins. That should make for an interesting sight.
Shane turns back on his way out the door, pausing to say, “Hey, Pais. My mom said she’s looking forward to seeing you.” Then he’s gone, no response needed from me.
His mom, Rebecca, was always kind to me. It will be nice to see her.
Before Sienna has a chance to say a word about her soon-to-be mother-in-law, our mom breezes in wearing a Lilly Pulitzer maxi skirt and fuchsia tank top, Ben in tow. When is he not attached to her side?
“Paisley, I didn’t realize you’d returned from your bike ride.” She offers a perfunctory hug in greeting, stepping back and looking into the kitchen behind me. “Where’s Klein?”
“Downstairs playing soccer with Spencer and the triplets.”
“And Shane,” Sienna adds.
“That’s nice,” Mom says. Ben kisses her cheek and tells us he’s going to join them. With a wave to me that is a hello and a goodbye, he exits.
Mom stares, heart-eyed, at his retreating back. “He is so handsome.”
Sienna and I share a look, silently warning Gird your loins.
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“And a real man in bed, you know?”
“Gross, Mother.” Oops. That was out loud. What is with me today?
She frowns at me. “You’re grown now, Paisley. I’d like to be able to talk to you like we’re girlfriends.”
I want to tell her how dysfunctional that is, but the fear of losing her keeps me from speaking up. I already have one parent who can barely stand me. I’m not going for two out of two.
“Sorry, Mom. Please, detail how he rings your bell.”
“We’ll save that for later when we’ve had wine.”
Please, no. Any filter she has disintegrates when alcohol is involved.
She sidesteps me and Sienna and walks all the way into the kitchen. “I’ll get started on lunch.”
Spencerand the triplets have set the table with bone-colored soup bowls and shiny silver spoons. A bottle of red and a bottle of white sits in the center of the table, to the left of the enameled stockpot and ladle.
My mom, hips pressed to the edge of the table for leverage, lifts the lid off the pot. The fragrance of tomatoes and spices, the briny scent of crab permeates the room.
She breathes deeply, audibly, and sighs a happy, “Mmm.”
Ben rubs a hand absentmindedly over her backside. My brother sees this happen and looks away.
A stab of sympathy assails me. Does their behavior upset him? Likely.
Mom ladles soup into everyone’s bowls. Grandma pours wine. To Klein, Mom says, “I hope you like it. I made this at least once a week every summer when my kids were growing up.”
Klein looks down at the mixture, his eyebrows tugging.
I fill my spoon halfway, lifting it midair and pretending I’m going to feed him. “You’ve probably never heard of it before, I know I haven’t seen it on restaurant menus in Scottsdale, but?—”
Klein leans away from my spoon. “What is that?”
I freeze. “Crab soup.”
Klein shakes his head. “I’m allergic to shellfish.”
Oh shit.
I drop my spoon in my bowl. The entire table sends me one long, accusatory look. “You didn’t think to mention your boyfriend’s shellfish allergy to me, Paisley?” my mother huffs.
“I... I?—”
“She must’ve forgot.” Klein relaxes his posture, pressing back into his chair. “We don’t go to seafood restaurants on our dates. Landlocked state, and all. Not a lot of opportunities for my allergy to come up.”
Mom nods slowly, regarding me with shrewd eyes. “Well Paisley, you’ll have to miss out on your favorite soup. Can’t have you eating it and then kissing Klein.”
I grab two dinner rolls, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “More carbs for me.”
“Hah,” Spencer snorts. “Paisley tried to kill her boyfriend.”
Shane laughs.
My face flames.
My grandmother, bless her heart, asks Sienna a question about the wedding ceremony. Klein brushes the outside of my thigh with one hand. He looks at me with apology and I attempt an imperceptible nod.
Sienna and the wedding dominate conversation for the remainder of the meal. She details for my grandma the bridesmaids dresses. Goes on and on about the centerpieces (vases with pampas grass and dried fronds). Laments she wasn’t able to get the arch she wanted (a custom made piece done by a man in a small town in northern Arizona who wasn’t taking new clients because his wife was having a baby). I tune her out when she discusses how she and Shane chose their first dance song.
Klein and I retreat to our room after the late lunch is over to get ready for the bonfire listed on our itinerary.
I head for the bathroom, and Klein follows. He closes the door, and I whirl around, glaring. “You came to an island and forgot to tell me you’re allergic to shellfish? How? Did you see the way they all looked at me?” The moment was my current worst fear, nearly realized. “That could’ve ruined everything. Now at least one of them is probably suspicious. Spencer can be smart at the most inconvenient times.” Hot tears prick at my eyes.
Klein’s jaw tenses. “Yeah, that wasn’t great.”
“To put it mildly.”
“Are you mad?”
I shift, uncomfortable. Am I mad? That’s not the right word. I’m... I’m... oh. “I’m embarrassed. What kind of girlfriend doesn’t remember their boyfriend’s shellfish allergy? What if I’d eaten crab some other time and kissed you? I could’ve put you in danger. And”—maybe I am a little mad—“how could you not give me pertinent information? We spent all that time getting to know each other and you forgot to tell me about something that big? Is there a part of you that wants me to be found out?”
I know Klein wouldn’t do that, but I feel like a supreme fool right now.
Bracing my hands against the edge of the bathroom counter, I haul myself up onto it. Staring down at the tiled floor, at the tightly looped bath mat, I try to stop the fear from taking hold. That was close. Too close. Maybe it wasn’t enough to make them think this relationship is fake, but it was certainly enough to make them wonder why I tried to spoon-feed my boyfriend something he’s allergic to.
“It was an oversight, Paisley. Or have you never had one of those?” One eyebrow quirks in an infuriatingly endearing way. “You’re just perfect all the time, perfect Paisley walking around doing everything perfectly?”
My arms cross. “What are you talking about? That’s nonsense. You know I’m not perfect. Or do you not remember the terrible story I wrote in college?”
“How many times do I need to say I’m sorry? I’m sorry.” Klein drags his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up in some places, and my indignation melts away. He makes frustration look good.
He continues. “The way I see it, you have two options. The first, you forgive me and move on.”
He really does have Peter Facinelli lips.
“Second, you harbor all that anger, and let it affect the way you act this week.”
Can a throat be strong? Masculine? Why is his throat attractive?
“Or, I guess there’s a third option where?—”
“Klein.”
“Yeah?”
“What will it take to make you shut up and kiss me?”
He’s on me before I can have another thought.
“Paisley,” he growls, fitting his big body between my legs. Two hands cup my cheeks, my jawbone slicing through the middle of his palms.
A fire, so big and bright, burns in his eyes. If I could place a single word in those irises, it would be devour.
That’s what I think he’s about to do to me, but then he pulls back. He keeps his hands on me, but he studies my face, his eyes roaming over me.
“What are you thinking about?” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “Please don’t change your mind.”
I’m embarrassed to admit how much I want this. How much I want him to give me my best kiss. I already know it will be.
He shakes his head. “I was thinking about how I’d describe you on the page.”
“Tell me.”
Klein’s eyes darken. His gaze roves over my shoulders and up again.
“Paisley’s honeyed hair tips down her back. Her chin tilts, exposing her thrumming pulse.”
His words tumble over me, spurring my heart to beat faster.
He comes closer. His hands leave me, settling on my hip creases. He drags me forward in one rough motion. His head dips, and then his lips meet my neck. Back and forth they swipe, only an inch of ground covered, and his tongue darts out over the rush of blood beneath my skin. “Her skin is sweet, like sugar, a taste so delicious he could lose himself in it. In her.”
I gulp. The tip of his nose runs up my neck. Over my jaw where his hands had been. I reach for him, his waist, my touch winding around to his back.
His lips travel across my skin, the corners of our lips meeting. “Her mouth is one he’s kissed before, yet somehow it feels like a first. The time before was a joke, a game, a trick played by fate.” His words vibrate against my cheek. I squirm against him, trying to get closer, to make all parts of us touch.
His left hand journeys around my rib cage, flattening against my back. His right hand lifts, snaking through my hair, coming to rest on the back of my head. He leans me back slightly, tipping up my face, pulling me in closer so the want between my legs meets his lower stomach.
A cry slips between my teeth at the friction I’d been desperate for. It’s temporary though, a momentary salve, and now I’m wanting more more more.
Klein’s lips brush over mine—finally!—and he hovers there. “What am I going to do with you, Ace?”
Everything. His hands, his mouth, I want him all over me.
“Kiss me, Klein,” I manage to say, in a voice too breathy, too wanton to be me. And yet, that’s me. Wanting Klein. Practically mewling, rubbing myself against him.
There’s a groaning sound low in his throat, almost feral, and then he lowers his mouth to mine.
I don’t respond gently. I don’t have it in me. I’m filled with need for this man, a desire that has me rolling my hips, seeking relief deliverable in only one way.
His tongue dips into my mouth, tasting me, and my hands traverse his back, working their way into his hair.
We kiss like we’re needy.
We kiss like we’re desperate.
We kiss like people who’ve been dancing around their attraction for weeks, who’ve been coming to the thought of one another.
Our frenzied kisses slow, and Klein nips at the side of my lower lip. My grinding against his stomach ceases. Our chests rise and fall as our breath comes back to us.
His forehead falls against mine. “Damn, Paisley. That didn’t only put our first kiss to shame. That put all first kisses to shame.”
My sense returns. Klein straightens, bringing me upright. “Yeah,” I manage. “That, um, more than made up for it.”
My gaze finds the front of his pants, the massive outline pushing against the fabric, and a fresh round of blood flow sends an ache to my lady part. His hands go into his pockets and he shifts, making room in the front of his shorts.
I laugh, meeting his eyes. He shrugs, but he’s blushing, and why do I like that so much?
“I guess I should let you have some privacy so you can get changed for the beach.”
I nod. “I guess so.”
He strides out, closing the bathroom door behind him. I rush over to lock it, and reach into my toiletries bag.
If it weren’t for this facial cleansing device, I might melt into a puddle right here.