31. Paisley
Followinga late afternoon spent playing board games with my family, Sienna and I broke off from the group to get ready. Klein stayed with Ben, my mom, and grandma, locked into a serious game of Catan.
When Sienna and I were younger, we’d be in the same bathroom getting dolled up for an event. Now the ever-widening chasm between us had us going our separate ways to get ready.
Sienna was stiff all afternoon, smiling perfunctorily but not really a part of the action. I hadn’t worried because I’d been too busy laughing, too busy smiling, too busy enjoying Klein’s presence around my family. Everybody likes him, it’s easy to see. Who wouldn’t?
So much for that tiny step Sienna and I took while we were assembling favors earlier. Was it Wren’s story about Klein and Shane? I’d purposely kept my attention from her after Wren told us, it’s possible I missed an important non-verbal reaction.
I’m pressing a mascara wand to my lashes when Sienna slips into my bathroom.
“You look pretty,” she says, fingering the fabric of my ruffled mini-dress. Her voice is hesitant, but soft, like she’s silently amending this afternoon’s behavior. “I love the deep neckline.” She mimics the cut on her own chest. “And the color.”
Hot pink and bright orange floral is a color combo that can’t be pulled off just anywhere, but here it works.
“I like your dress, too,” I say, leaning into the mirror and applying a second coat of mascara before the first coat dries.
Through the mirror Sienna sends me a dismayed frown. “Don’t tell anybody, but I’m getting sick of wearing white.”
“Just because you’re the bride doesn’t mean you have to wear white all week.” I finish applying mascara to the corners of my eyelashes and secure the wand in the tube.
“I thought it would be fun.” She looks longingly at my outfit. “But I miss color.”
Grabbing her wrist, I say, “We could trade. You wear mine, and I’ll wear yours.” It’s not me being a pleaser, it’s me being kind, and it makes my offer feel good instead of many other negative emotions.
Sienna considers it, then shakes her head, her red-beaded chandelier earrings swinging. “You can’t show up in white, Paisley.”
She’s right, but only kind of. Technically, I can show up in anything I want. But convention says white is verboten.
“But I’ll take it with me on my honeymoon, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll give it to you when we leave.”
“Thanks.” Sienna leans into the mirror, running a fingertip along her lower lip that’s already perfectly lined and lipsticked.
“I asked Shane about what Wren said. His comment,” she clarifies, not that a clarification is needed. “He said it was a joke Klein took the wrong way.”
She looks like she needs me to believe it, or at least say I believe it. I could make a fuss, state my opinion, but for what? I know I’m trying to be more assertive with my family, but this doesn’t feel like a hill I need to die on.
“Sure,” I say agreeably.
“I just don’t want you to feel like Shane is being weird or anything,” Sienna adds, her words at 1.5x speed.
“No weirdness perceived,” I assure.
Together we walk to the living room. Early evening sun streams through the large window. The Beach Boys plays from a speaker on the side table.
Klein places the last of the game pieces in the box. His eyes zero in on me. “Your grandma won. She has no mercy.”
“No fucks given,” she sings out from the far side of the couch.
“Grandma,” I admonish, but it’s playful. She’s wearing her happy smile.
Through the living room window I spy my mom and Ben, sitting on the padded wicker love seat sharing a cocktail.
“You ladies look beautiful,” my grandma says, smiling at us.
“Why don’t you come, Grandma? Mix it up with the bridal party?” Sienna sits beside Grandma and takes her hand.
Grandma waves her off. “You must be joking. That group can’t handle me.”
Klein stands, coming to me in the center of the room. The look on his face is predatory. He twirls me around once, a slow revolution. “You’re beautiful.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s something,” he whispers. “You’re something.”
I press into him, lightly.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened between us earlier. Even though I planned it, even though I spent the ride from the bridesmaid’s house thinking it through, it somehow managed to surprise me.
By the time I made it to our bedroom door, I’d second-guessed myself and had nearly talked myself out of it. But then there Klein was, lying on the bed wearing a towel, and my rational thought disappeared.
There wasn’t an ounce of me that didn’t want to have him in my mouth, to feel him unravel on my tongue.
And then I did exactly that. And it was... phenomenal. I meant what I said, that before today, that act had been a boyfriend perk.
But there’s something about Klein that makes me want to come out of my skin, to shed the person I’ve known myself to be until now. He makes me want to try new things. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel judged by him. It’s safe. He’s safe.
Though I admit, looking at him now, the emotions he’s eliciting? They are dangerous.
We’ve agreed to have fun this week, but like Klein said earlier, that doesn’t mean our heartbeats can’t quicken their pace around one another.
Is that what this is? Thrill?
Klein nuzzles the side of my head. “You’re having some deep thoughts, Royce.”
“Tell me, Madigan, how could you possibly know that?”
“When you’re thinking hard about something, your lips pucker the tiniest amount”—he draws a finger across my lips—“and your eyebrows draw together in the center.” His touch ghosts the bridge of my nose, smoothing the skin between my eyebrows.
“I was thinking about earlier,” I admit.
“What about it?” Low and grumbly, his voice vibrates over my skin.
My hand runs up his arm, then back down, fingers intertwining with his. “How much I liked it.”
“I liked it too.”
My mind plucks the memory, serving it up to me. Thick and heavy in my throat, the way I had to relax my muscles to accommodate him. “I remember.”
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. The man hasn’t had a single drink, but the way he’s looking at me now, there’s a drunkenness to his eyes, a haze.
“Paisley.” His touch slides over my jaw, halting at my chin. He leans in, his lips tickling my lobe, his words a low hum against the shell of my ear. “When we get back here tonight, I am going to fuck you so well, so good, I’ll have to clamp my hand over your mouth to keep everybody from hearing your screams.”
The air in my lungs thickens, becoming sticky. A shallow breath drags through my nose, and I whisper, “If you don’t, I will. That face washing device is a vibrator.”
He grins, slow and sexy. “I know.”
“Um. Hey.” My sister’s face pops into my field of vision. “Not to burst your bubble, but there are other people in this room right now, and it’s super awkward that you guys are standing here whispering.”
“Sorry,” I say, but I don’t mean it. Not even a little.
“I’m not sorry,” Klein says, eyes on me even though his words are meant for Sienna. “When your sister is in the room with me, she might as well be the only one. That’s something I’ll never be sorry for.”
I smile at Klein, then look at my sister. I wish I could say she looks happy for me, and I guess she does, but she looks other things, too. Envious. Resentful.
Why? She’s the one getting married in a handful of days. She’s the one who should be glowing.
“Very sweet,” she clips. “It’s obvious you are a great writer.”
“Anyway,” I break in before Sienna gets any more acerbic. “We better get going. At this point, you will be fashionably late, but anything past that is considered rude.”
Sienna pivots and walks away. What the hell? Her behavior is giving me whiplash.
I wave at Grandma, and wish her a nice night. She wears a knowing smirk, offering me a saucy wink. Did she hear my conversation with Klein over the crooning of The Beach Boys? Probably not. Maybe it was our body language she was reading.
Grandma shoos us out. “Your brother and cousins should be up from the beach soon. We’re going to make dinner and watch a movie. You kids have fun. I won’t wait up for you.”
Klein grabs me by the waist, turning and gently pushing me so I can follow Sienna. Swiftly, in a move that startles me at first, he brushes aside my hair and plants a soft kiss on the dip of skin where my shoulder meets my neck.
Shivers tumble down my skin. I hope tonight goes by quickly so we can get back here. My thigh muscles are already aching, clenching in anticipation.
Klein drivesus in the golf cart. Sienna is quiet, and when Klein sends me a concerned look, I make an attempt with her.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” she replies, but she sounds tired. Of what?
I look back to Klein and shrug. I could push the issue, but I don’t think it’s likely she’ll open up in front of Klein. Or, maybe, to me.
Shane has rented a house further down the island, closer to Cape Fear. Judging by the number of golf carts parked out front, we are the last to arrive.
Sienna says not a word as we park and weave through the other carts. She walks ahead of us on the stairs, footfalls light and quick.
“Maybe she’s nervous about tonight,” Klein suggests, reaching for my hand as we climb the stairs together.
“That’s probably what it is.”
We reach the top of the stairs, and I pause. “Cecily texted me while I was getting ready for tonight. She said the response to your account is better than she hoped it would be. Did you know that already?”
Klein shakes his head. “I’ve been doing what I was told to do. I take a lot of pictures and add them to a shared album.” Klein rubs at the back of his neck. “I’ve been preoccupied.”
“By the jellyfish sting?”
“Hah. No.” He runs a hand over my bare arm. “By a beautiful woman. And her sassy little mouth. And her playful nature. And the way she loves the ocean, and the grains of sand that gets stuck in her hair.” He waves a hand back and forth above my head, like he could keep going. “And on and on and on.”
“I’m surprised you’ve overlooked that, considering it’s half of the reason you’re here.”
He steps closer, taking up space, stealing my breath. “Is it?”
“Well, that, and the secondary deal we made.”
“That secondary deal is a recent development. It can’t be counted.”
My head tips up so I can really take him in. The slightly messy hair, the light dusting of facial scruff. Intelligent eyes, irises darkening with lust.
Pushing up on tiptoe, I press my lips to the space below his ear. “It does sweeten the deal, though, doesn’t it?”
“Paisley,” he says, pulling back, tucking the pads of two fingers below my chin so he can look directly into my eyes. “I could have a G-rated week with you, and it would be just as sweet.”
I drag my gaze to the side, needing a break from the intensity. He’s only waxing poetic, right? He’s doing what he does so well. Weaving words into emotional prose. Isn’t that what Sienna was picking up on earlier?
“Lovebirds,” someone yells. We turn in unison, seeking out the voice in the dark.
Shane flickers the front light as he stands in the doorway, holding the door open. “Are you planning on joining us this evening?” He points at Klein. “I have a Cuban with your name on it.”
Klein is the first to move, but he keeps a hold of my hand. We pass by Shane as we step into the house, and I feel the weight of his gaze on my face.
“Everyone’s in the kitchen,” he says, following us inside. “That’s where the food is.” We follow the sounds of music and talking.
Farhana is the first to spot us. She waves me in, grabbing a flute and filling it with bubbly. “For the maid of honor,” she says, handing it over. “Klein, can I get you anything?”
“A beer, if you have it.”
“Of course we do,” Shane interrupts. “Hope you like IPA.”
“That works,” Klein says, nodding his thanks when Shane hands it over.
“Do you like IPA?” I whisper, poking at the sailfish on the paper covering the bottle.
“This one is good. Some are obnoxious in their attempt to be burly.” He tips the bottle so he can study the branding. “This one is... nautical. Fitting.”
Shane pulls Klein into conversation with his groomsmen, bloviating about venture capital. Klein doesn’t give two shits about anything related to the financial services industry, but he politely listens. My sister complains to her half of the bridal party about a guest who declined, but reached out today, asking if there would be room for them after all. “And a plus one!” she exclaims, shuddering at the wedding etiquette faux pas.
I look over at Klein. He’s leaning against the island, his posture relaxed. When he takes a drink from his beer, his eyes find mine, and stay there. The corners of my lips lift automatically, without me having to think much about it. Just looking at him puts a smile on my face.
Retrieving my phone from my purse, I type out a message to him.
How are you feeling? Your sting ok?
He takes his phone from his pocket and reads my message.
What sting?
He winks at me.
Suppressed laughter ripples my shoulders.
My lips did the job then? Literally.
He grins crookedly.
Yes. They did.
I make a big show of sighing silently, lifting up my shoulders and dropping them dramatically.
I hate to break it to you, but I think you may have impregnated me.
He sends me a concerned look, teasing.
Perhaps you missed that day in reproductive education, but those body systems don’t connect.
I lick my lips and shrug, one-shouldered.
After that? They might.
Klein hides his laugh behind the back of his hand, but Shane catches on.
“Something funny on your phone, Klein?” He makes a gimme motion. “Now you’re going to have to share it with the class.”
Klein shakes his head, eyes meeting mine. “Not happening,” he answers firmly.
Shane follows his gaze, straight to me. Understanding comes into his eyes. “Gotcha.” Spinning, he grabs a box from the counter and holds it open, announcing, “Cigar time.” The men ooh and ahh, with the exception of Klein. Shane passes the open box under my nose and I nod politely.
“That’s right,” he says. “I forgot you hate the smell of cigars.” He grins in a way that is too on purpose, too Oh yes I remember that about you. “And the taste.”
This fucking guy. I really hate him. Deadpan, I say, “I never did enjoy eating cigars.”
Farhana laughs. So does Klein. Shane smirks. “Look at Paisley with a sense of humor. When did you develop one?”
A vein in Klein’s temple throbs, and the sight of it is what I need to remind myself not to allow Shane’s remarks to bother me. For whatever reason, it seems Shane wants me to be sad. Upset. Aggrieved. But why? Who knows. Something to do with his ego, almost certainly.
“Shane,” my sister cuts in, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her body into his. I’m trying to hide my surprise at her public display of affection, but Shane doesn’t do so well at first. It takes him a second to tuck back his surprised expression. He pats Sienna’s back, saying, “Is my bride-to-be tipsy?”
Sienna giggles in a very un-Sienna like way. “Maybe,” she trills, fluttering her fingers in the air. “And I think we should play a game.”
He leans in, nuzzling her nose with his own. “What game would that be?”
“Hmm,” she pretends to think. “Spin the bottle!”
“Hard pass,” Klein announces.
Sienna pouts. “You can’t say no to the bride.”
“I can say no to kissing anyone who isn’t Paisley.”
A chorus of aww’s come from the bridesmaids.
Sienna looks hard at Shane. “You wouldn’t kiss anyone who isn’t me anyway, right babe?”
“Of course not, Blondie.”
Shane looks at me as he says this. Is he hoping I’ll hear the nickname he first used on me, and react? I don’t care. At all. Besides feeling bad for my sister at her fiancé’s lack of originality.
“Sardines?” I throw out the game, hoping my sister will remember that it was our favorite game to play growing up.
Her expression brightens. “Yes!”
Shane’s eyebrows tug as he looks at Sienna. “You want to play Hide and Seek?”
She squeezes his shoulder. “A variation of it. Everyone?” She looks around the group of adults. The women nod. The men shrug. Wren elbows Tag, and he nods dutifully.
Sienna recites the rules for those who may not know them. “I get to hide,” she announces, taking a drink directly from the champagne bottle.
Per Sienna’s instructions, we all close our eyes and count to one hundred. When I open my eyes, I find Shane staring at me with an expression I don’t understand.
Klein squeezes my hand. “May the best man win, Royce.”
“Good luck, Madigan. I know how my sister thinks. So I already know where she is.”
He winks and takes off out of the kitchen. We trickle out, except for Tag and Wren, who mysteriously head toward the front door.
So here’s the thing. I knew how my sister thought when we were kids. But I’m on my second pass through the house and I haven’t found her yet, so apparently I don’t know how she thinks as an adult. I’ve run into a number of other people while looking for her, so most of us haven’t found her yet either.
I stop in the kitchen to eat a few chocolate covered blueberries, and down half a glass of champagne. I’m passing the pantry door when it opens suddenly and a hand sticks out, clamping onto my wrist.
I cry out as I’m hauled inside the small, dark space.