Chapter 9
nine
WEST
When I walk into the kitchen at six the next morning it looks like a bomb has gone off. A five-foot-five, beautiful bomb with a big mouth and a very particular taste in red paint.
I should’ve known Eden was messy. She’s the kind of woman who leaves a trail. I pick up the almost-empty champagne bottle on the kitchen island and pour the dregs down the sink, throwing the Dom Perignon bottle into the recycling bin.
The burned pan is still on the stove. I guess she gave up on it. Or maybe I gave her a reason to.
And because I’m annoyed, and want to make a point, I put it all in the trash.
She’s going to hate the waste of that.
Good.
I go to pick up a dish towel that’s barely hanging on one of the handles, and then my brow lifts because next to it is a scrap of red silk.
The lingerie Vin sent to celebrate our sham marriage.
The thin fabric is smooth as it clings to my fingers. I drop it like it burns.
I haven’t gone more than a few weeks without sex since college. Usually not even that. And it’s not because I’m a raging frat boy with something to prove. I enjoy sex. I’m good at it. It relaxes me.
My therapist would say I like feeling like I’m not alone. Which is probably why I fired him. It’s not that deep. I just like sex.
I press my palms into the cool marble worktop trying – and failing – not to imagine Eden in that teddy. Silk clinging to her breasts, barely hiding anything. I groan. This is why I don’t do chaos. It’s so damn inconvenient.
My phone beeps and I glance at the clock on my screen. It’s half an hour until my first meeting with my architect firm.
I could stay here and do the video call. But I’d rather do it on site so I don’t have to deal with whatever mess Eden’s going to make today.
And yeah, if I was a better person, maybe I’d feel a twinge of guilt that she spent the night alone, drinking champagne meant for newlyweds, while I holed up in my office and got some work done.
But we’re not in love. We’re just doing this marriage thing until we don’t have to. I don’t owe her anything.
The next few months will be a hell of a lot simpler if I keep my distance. That way I won’t let myself think about what it all meant. That she cooked dinner, put on a dress, waited for me to notice.
Pocketing my phone, I head for the hallway, glancing up the stairs. Her door’s closed, but the light’s shining out underneath. Does she sleep with the light on, or is she awake?
It doesn’t matter. Pulling my eyes away, I grab my keys off the counter, ignoring the pang of regret in my stomach. Because this is for the best.
And when I pull the door closed behind me and walk to my car, it feels like I can breathe for the first time since I arrived last night.
EDEN
There’s something deeply – viscerally – offensive about finding the scorched pan in the trash. I stare at it for a moment, my jaw tight, then snatch it back out and shove it under the faucet, filling it with water to soak.
The water splashes furiously against the interior of the pan. Matching my mood. Because yesterday was a mess of my own making.
What was I thinking, trying to cook for him? Thinking we could have fun with this?
Hoping the West I met in Vegas was a glitch in the system and that maybe, just maybe, here on Liberty he’d revert back to the laid-back guy I remembered from childhood.
But no. He’s still behaving like a Grade A asshole. He hasn’t even mentioned the job he supposedly offered. He certainly hasn’t given me a job description, an office, or even a log in to the damn system.
Hell, he didn’t even wake me up before he left to say goodbye. To be fair, he probably didn’t want to get punched in the face.
I rinse my hands and walk to the front of the house, yanking open the oversize glass door that probably cost more than I’ve spent in my entire adult existence. Outside, the morning sky is a pale blue, and the ocean wind lifts my hair off my shoulders as I step onto the patio and look around.
We have no neighbors. And I have no car. I’m stranded. Oh sure, Liberty isn’t that big, I could walk into town in a few hours, but that’s not the point.
The point is, my loving husband left me here without asking if I needed a ride. Without so much as a post it note on the fridge saying ‘Hey, babe, remember how I offered you that job? Good luck finding it’.
I mutter out some words that would make Hudson’s hair stand on end, and then storm over to the garage.
When I rattle the handle, it’s unlocked. And inside is a sleek black sports car that looks like it should come with a butler and a bat signal.
This is in addition to his black SUV. The man has two damn cars on this small island and he hasn’t offered one to me.
I try to peek through the tinted window like I’m casing it for a heist. I’ve never hot-wired anything in my life, but for a moment I genuinely consider trying it, imagining his face when I drive up to the resort site.
But then my phone rings. Autumn’s name appears on the screen. I swipe to answer.
“Tell me you’re coming to rescue me,” I say dramatically. She chuckles.
“From what? Is West a secret axe murderer?” she asks. “Don’t tell me, he has a dungeon full of vampy women ready to serve his every need. Because I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“Ew.” I wrinkle my nose. And then I start wondering about that locked office door. “And no, he left for work and forgot me.”
She starts to laugh harder. “Oh God, like someone forgetting to pick their kid up from daycare.”
“Yeah, except the kid’s fully grown and trying to find a reason not to key his Batmobile,” I mutter, glancing back at the garage.
“Ooh, the Aston Martin Valkyrie,” she says, like she knows everything about cars.
“Parker brought that one up for him from the mainland last week. Says it’s like driving a woman whose only job is to make you purr.
” She pauses. “He’s desperate to get one.
Then I pointed out it’d be hell to fit a baby seat in. ”
I snort. “Yeah, well I’m about two seconds away from setting the thing on fire.”
“You wouldn’t. Think of the environmental impact,” she deadpans. “You sound tetchy. I’m two minutes away. I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Mylene’s. We can caffeinate you. You can drink for three, you, me and the baby.”
Ten minutes later, she pulls up onto the driveway, and I’m so happy to see her I almost jump with glee.
I barely sit and close the car door before she’s backing out.
As we bump down the unpaved driveway and onto the coastal road, the view opens up like something from a postcard.
The sea glitters beneath the morning sun, deep blue and endless, crashing against the cliffs in rhythmic waves.
Gulls swoop and dive overhead, and for a second I forget how annoyed I am.
Liberty Island might be small, but it’s wild and beautiful. We pass the skeleton of West’s resort as it rises out of the landscape like it’s being summoned from the earth, glass, steel, and scaffolding stretching toward the sky.
I catch myself looking for him. For a flash of that annoyingly expensive suit, or the gleam of dark hair in the sun. But there’s nothing. Just construction workers and cranes and the beginning of something that doesn’t feel like it belongs here.
“What a mess,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“Have you seen the resort plans?” Autumn asks. “It’s going to be beautiful. Like the Grand Hotel but bigger and better. Spa, rooftop restaurant, ocean-view suites. The kind of place influencers will fake proposals just to get invited back.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Exactly what the island needs. More people taking selfies with their smoothies.”
Autumn shoots me a look but lets it go. “It also means jobs. And year-round income for locals. Everybody is excited.”
I roll my eyes, staring out the window. “He’s a modern day Robin Hood,” I mutter.
Autumn pulls up outside Brewed Awakenings a few minutes later. And then she lets out a wail that sounds remarkably like someone just ran over her favorite romance hero.
The door is closed. The inside is dark. And there’s a sign hanging on the door.
‘Closed due to sabotage.’
My brows lift as I look at Autumn. “What’s Eileen done now?” I ask. Eileen and Mylene’s feud is legendary. They haven’t spoken to each other in almost forty years.
“No idea.” Autumn genuinely looks like she wants to cry as she climbs out of the car and walks over, sticking her nose against the window, like she’s on a life-or-death muffin hunt.
The door to the bookstore next door opens. The owner, Sadie, walks out with an enormous stack of books balanced against her hip. She’s so pretty, with her wild red hair and wide blue eyes. She looks like she’d be more at home on a catwalk than in an island shop.
“Somebody poured flour in the espresso machine,” she says, pausing long enough to hitch the books higher. “The repair guy should be here by lunchtime.”
“Was it Eileen?” I ask, because I’m totally here for small town enmity.
She shrugs. “There’s no evidence if it was. They’re both getting sneakier.” There’s a half smile on her face because, like the rest of us, she must find Eileen and Mylene’s feud entertaining.
I immediately decide I like her.
“Did you hear what Mylene did last week?” Autumn asks her. “Poured concrete down Eileen’s drain pipe.”
Sadie winces. “Yeah. She was banned from the hardware store for three days. Tried to claim it was an ‘accidental mispour’.”
Autumn shakes her head. “Honestly, it’s like living in a geriatric version of The Godfather.”
Sadie lifts her coffee cup in salute. “Welcome to Liberty.”
Yeah, she fits right in.
Autumn sighs. “Okay then, change of plan. Let’s go to The Salty Dog before I start weeping openly. Skyler might not have muffins, but at least she has coffee.” She looks at Sadie. “You want to join us?”
Sadie sighs. “I’m waiting on a delivery. Drink some extra for me.” She gives us a wave and goes back in the shop.
“She seems nice,” I say to Autumn.