Chapter 29
Silvie
“Eyes up here, Mrs. Bennett,” Cal says as he catches me staring and practically drooling at the sight of his arms.
I can’t help it. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he slices limes, those beautiful tattoos on display. And who knew slicing limes could be that sexy?
“I’m working,” I lie as I glance down at my phone and pretend to be doing something, not even able to hide my smile.
Cocktails & Chaos is in that beautiful golden hour, which is my favorite time of day, when the sun reflects off of the water at just the right angle, making it look like glitter, and everyone is tired from a long day of playing out on the boats and at the beach.
The open tiki bar hums with tourists, salt air, and blender noise.
I’m sitting at the bar with a basket of nachos, pretending to focus on my phone while absolutely unable to focus on my phone.
Cal smirks. “Sure you are.”
Marina is also behind the bar, leaning over the counter and laughing at something a tall, good-looking tourist says. He’s charming and definitely enjoying the attention.
Cal leans toward me. “That guy’s not ordering drinks. He’s flirting.”
I smile at Cal, who’s protective of Marina, as he is of all the staff. He’s always looking out for them. Marina is like a sister to him, and I’ve never seen her seem this interested in a tourist. But he’s laying on the southern charm thick with an accent.
Something about him seems off, though. I can’t put my finger on it, but my Spidey senses are going off.
Marina flips her hair, rests her chin on her hand, bats her eyelashes at him, and says something that makes the guy throw his head back and laugh. He keeps glancing our way, and Marina doesn’t seem to notice.
Cal shakes his head and goes back to slicing limes. “He better not break her heart or I’ll break his legs.”
I laugh. “That got dark.”
He shrugs. “I’ve seen it happen a lot. Tourists come, and we’re just temporary toys to them.”
“Hey,” I say as I reach across the bar and lay my hand on that deliciously muscular forearm. “Those days are over for you, husband.”
He shakes his head and grins. “That they are. I’ve got what I need right here.”
I raise a brow. “You’re married now, and Marina gets to flirt. Are you jealous?”
“Of flirting?”
I raise a brow. “Yes.”
He smirks. “I can still flirt.”
I frown. “No, you cannot.”
He laughs and leans across the bar. “I can flirt with my wife.”
Ohhhhh. I squeeze my thighs together at him, calling me his wife in such a hot way.
Marina leans closer to the tourist. “So, you’re here alone?” she asks sweetly.
The guy smiles, and he says, “Yes, I am.”
I can’t help but recognize that his southern accent has dropped slightly. Red flags are being raised.
“What are you here for?” she asks.
“For work,” he says smoothly.
“What kind of work?” she asks as she wipes down the bar.
“Media.”
Something in my stomach tightens. Before I can say anything, he casually reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, holds it up, and takes pictures of Cal and me.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Paparazzi. Damn it.
“Hey!” Marina yells and jumps back, hurt on her face.
The man’s expression changes instantly, and his charm has evaporated.
“Silverlyn Montclair and her bartender husband at the local tiki bar,” he says as he holds his phone up recording us.
My blood runs cold. I freeze and stare at Cal.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Cal says angrily. In one motion, he doesn’t even hesitate as he drops his knife and vaults over the bar. The man shoves his phone in his pocket and bolts toward the beach.
“Cal!” I shout.
The man sprints across the sand, nearly wiping out. Cal closes the distance, furious, but then falls.
There’s a waiting SUV parked beside the access path. The man dives into it and tires spray sand as it takes off.
Cal stands there for a second, breathing hard, chest heaving, looking very angry.
Marina and I remain at the bar and watch as he turns back toward us.
And as if they’re multiplying like rats, there are more of them.
Two more outside the tiki bar, taking photos and videos of everything that just transpired.
They’d been waiting. They lift professional cameras, and flashes go off.
They’re aiming at Marina and me. Cal storms toward us.
“Get out!” he roars at them.
They ignore him and keep taking photos, baiting him to keep yelling by hurling stupid accusations.
I gather my purse and go behind the bar, unsure where to hide from them. Fear flashes through me and Cal stands in front of me, protectively.
“Silvie! Did you pay this bartender to marry you to save your company?”
“Is this marriage under investigation by your trust?”
“I heard the board is reviewing the legality of the marriage?”
Tourists eating at the bar are staring, and a few are filming as well, equally into the drama.
I close my eyes, blinded by the flashes. It feels like being naked under floodlights. People are staring, talking, and pointing. I’m used to this back in New York, but not in Coconut Beach. My safe space.
Cal reaches under the bar, grabs his keys, and says to Marina, “I’ll be right back.”
Someone yells, “Temporary husband!”
Cal pulls me, his arm protectively around me, as we push out the back and race to his truck, him getting me in and racing to the driver’s side.
More flashes.
He climbs in and peels out of the lot.
A black SUV pulls out behind us.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.
They follow all the way down the coast road.
When we pull into the cottage driveway, two other cars are already parked along the street. We get out and run into the house, ignoring them as they call out more questions.
Once inside, we both exhale in relief as we shut and lock the door behind us.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
They’re here because of me. This is my fault. I’m shaking as I sink onto the couch and pull out my phone, which is buzzing with texts and calls.
“Why are you sorry?” he demands, a thread of anger still in his voice.
“I’m going home,” I say quietly.
He freezes and looks at me. “Home?”
“This is my fault. If I go, maybe they’ll follow. I can’t do this to you, Cal. You didn’t sign up for this.”
He grabs my hand and doesn’t let go. “Look at me, Silvie.”
I peer up at him, my chest feeling heavy, and I see flashes through the window.
Cal stalks over and snaps all of the blinds closed. He sighs.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters.
Panic rises in me. “This is what I was afraid of.”
“Don’t go outside,” he says. “I have to go back to the bar and check on my mom.”
I reach for my phone. “I have to call Birdie and Wilby.”
“They’re already coming,” he says, glancing through the blinds.
I look out the peephole and open the door when I see Birdie and Wilby on the porch. Wilby’s on the phone, and they rush inside.
Birdie shuts the door and peeks through the blinds. “Lord, have mercy. I haven’t seen paparazzi like this since we lived in Manhattan and your family was on every front page.”
I sigh. “It’s not fun.”
She softens. “No, sugar. It’s not.”
My phone buzzes and it’s Carly. “Carly? Are you okay?”
She’s frantic. “There are people outside my house knocking on the door and taking pictures. I can’t reach Cal. Is he with you?”
My stomach sinks. “They’re what? And, uh, yes, he’s here.”
“They’re outside asking about you, filming and taking pictures.”
“Tell her I’m calling her now,” Cal says, “and I’ll be back.”
I hang up with Carly so she can take his call. He takes off and runs to his truck, taking a while to back up as they try to block him in.
I stand up and pace. “They’re ruining everything. I hate this.”
Wilby looks up from his phone slowly. “It was Belladonna.”
I close my eyes. Because, of course, it was her doing.
“She leaked a full story claiming your marriage is strategic to steal the family company. It’s everywhere,” he says.
He sends me the link, and I quickly scan it. Heiress Marries Local Bartender in Corporate Power Play.
My stomach turns. I pull up my dad’s contact and hit call.
He answers on the second ring, and he sounds furious. “What did you do, Silvie?”
“Wrong daughter, Dad. You should be asking Belladonna that,” I clip, not having time for his accusations.
“I’ve been on the phone all day with the board.”
“I saved the company, Dad. That’s what I did. Your other daughter gave this story to the press.”
“You brought chaos into this. The board is launching a full investigation. We look ridiculous.”
“I did what I had to do! They were going to take it from us.”
“And now they might anyway.”
I press my hand to my forehead. “What do you want me to do?”
He exhales sharply. “You should’ve handled this differently.”
The line goes dead, and he’s hung up on me. Great.
Silence fills the cottage. Birdie is watching out the window and Wilby is on his phone firing off texts.
“Wilby, get the jet ready for tomorrow, please.”
“We’re leaving?” he blinks.
“Maybe if I go back to New York, they’ll follow me.”
Birdie steps forward. “And what about Cal?”
My throat tightens. “We have to go.”
I feel so bad for Carly. She didn’t ask for this. Cal didn’t ask for this. I shouldn’t have done this. And now I’m in a place where I can’t walk away, or I will lose everything. And if I stay, I’ll ruin their lives.
“I don’t think you should run,” Wilby says quietly.
“I’m not running.”
But I might have to. I can’t do this to them.
It’s late. Wilby went back to Birdie’s to pack and get ready. He got the jet to come pick us up tonight so we could hopefully leave in secret and not alert the paparazzi. Cal’s cottage is quiet. The paparazzi seems to have gone for now.
I’ve packed a small suitcase, and I’m waiting for Cal to finish up at the bar and get home.
I hear his truck pull up and park, and I wait, on the couch, my feet tucked under me.
He opens the door and kicks off his shoes, eyeing my suitcase and looking over at me.
“I’m going to New York,” I say.
He doesn’t respond right away. He swallows and looks away, pissed.