Chapter 14
fourteen
EDEN
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a Fitzgerald family barbecue cannot start on time, end quietly, or go more than fifteen minutes without someone threatening bodily harm over control of the grill.
So today’s chaos is right on schedule. Which should please Hudson to no end. The man is obsessively punctual.
Ayda – my very cute but suddenly very grown up niece – is riding around on her toddler brother’s truck, her body too big for it, her legs too long. And he’s chasing her like a man possessed, his scream piercing through the afternoon air.
Asher and West are playing table tennis like the fate of the world depends on it, and Parker is acting as the referee, making calls that have them both furious.
Meanwhile, Hudson is grilling like a man on a mission.
Just another Fitzgerald day of fun.
“Cocktail,” Skyler murmurs, passing me a glass. “Don’t ask me what’s in it, just know it will make this more bearable.”
“Do you have a non-alcoholic version?” Autumn asks her, rubbing her almost-there bump. “I need to pretend I’m normal.”
Francie, Asher’s wife, slides her hands around Autumn’s waist, and for a second the three of them – Skyler, Autumn, and Francie – look like the coolest girl gang I know.
Asher shouts some kind of demonic curse from the table tennis table then slams his racket on the surface. Francie grimaces, and West looks over at me.
A slow smile pulls at his lips. And I find myself smiling back at him. The past few days, since my tour of the resort, have been… good.
It’s as though we’ve slipped into this quiet little rhythm – working, eating dinner, teasing each other about things like gray water filtration and his obsession with keeping everything clean and immaculate.
It almost feels real.
Except it’s not. And I have to keep reminding myself of that.
“Hey, you look upset,” Skyler says, nudging me gently. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I tell her. “Lost in thought. Thinking about what I have to do to persuade West to implement a black water sewage system.”
Skyler side eyes me. “There’s no way you’ll convince him. Hudson told me you’d suggested it.”
“What’s a black water sewage system?” Francie asks, sipping her cocktail.
“You really, really don’t want to know,” Skyler says.
Francie raises an eyebrow. “But I do want to know. I’m a writer. I’m nosy. Maybe I could use it in a book.”
I grin, because Francie is a girl after my own heart. Plus anybody who lives with a man as bossy as Asher can handle anything that’s thrown her way. “Let’s just say it involves turning poop into something useful.”
Autumn makes a face. “Are you trying to turn the resort into a sewage farm?”
“Not exactly,” I say brightly. “But don’t worry, West told me if I mention it again he’s going to dump unprocessed black water on me.”
Well, it wasn’t quite that. What he actually said was, “If you say the word fecal one more time, I’m going to feed you to the damn fishes.”
Close enough. But I’m not worried, especially since I can swim better than he can.
Francie laughs. “So what’s it like living with West?” she asks me, genuinely interested. “The man is so hot I swear even Mylene gets all gushy when he walks in.”
I think about him in the shower the other night. Groaning with pleasure. My cheeks heat up.
“Very boring,” I tell them. “He’s pretty much a workaholic.”
“Ugh,” Francie says. “That is boring.”
“Ignore her,” Autumn tells me, a smile on her lips. “She’s working on her next book and she’s looking for inspiration. Apparently, all of Asher’s moves got used up in the last trilogy. She needs fresh meat.”
Skyler’s eyes light up. “If you need sex scene help, Hudson does this little thing that…”
“Stop!” Autumn and I yell in tandem, putting our hands over our ears.
Skyler starts to laugh. “Hey, I’m just saying your brother has moves.”
“And I never want to know what they are,” I tell her, deadpan. And then, because I’m scared she won’t get the message, I stand up and head for the outdoor kitchen set up on the far side of the yard. I’d rather help than listen to the moves my oldest brother has in bed.
There’s a whole load of mismatched crockery on the tables underneath some trees. Tiny leaves have fallen and covered the surface of the plates, so I busy myself by grabbing a dishtowel and wiping them off.
I’m making great progress when one of the smaller plates slips in my hand and shatters on the outdoor counter. I instinctually reach for it in my usual heavy manner, and a sharp slice of pain radiates through the meaty part of my palm below my thumb.
“Ow,” I yelp, jerking back, but not fast enough. A bright line of red blooms from the stinging skin, the beads blossoming until they merge into one long line.
“Eden?”
I glance up, still grimacing at the sudden pain, to see West walking toward me. Why oh why does he always have to see me at my worst?
I turn my back on him and grab a piece of paper towel. “Aren’t you supposed to be dominating the table tennis tournament?” I say lightly, even though I want to scream in pain.
Ignoring my question, he gently reaches for me. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”
I try to pull away. “I’m fine. Honestly.” But he takes my hand and turns it over, inspecting the cut, his jaw clenching as he sees the blood covering my palm.
“That cut’s deep,” he says, worry in his voice, even though he’s stupidly calm about it. “We should probably take you to urgent care. Get it stitched.”
I attempt to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let go. Just holds it gently but surely, his fingers feeling like the softest handcuffs.
“It’s just a nick,” I mutter, continuing to apply pressure as blood seeps through the towel. “And anyway, I don’t want to go to urgent care.”
“Why not?”
I hesitate for half a beat too long.
“Eden,” he says, his voice a low warning. “Why not?”
I lift my chin. “Because I don’t have US health insurance, okay?”
His jaw clenches. “What do you mean you don’t have US health insurance?”
“I’m covered for the rest of the world. The US coverage is expensive and I wasn’t planning on being stateside long enough to need it. And then when… everything happened in Vegas, I forgot.”
“You forgot.” He doesn’t look at all impressed by that explanation. To be fair, I don’t blame him. Even if it is the truth. “What happens if you get really hurt? Or sick?”
“I don’t usually slice my hand open at family barbecues,” I point out.
“That’s not the point.” He grabs a clean towel and wraps it firmly around my palm. “You’re on this island with me. You’re living in my house. That makes it my problem.” Then he pauses for a moment. “We’re going anyway. I’ll pay for it.”
I frown. “No way. I’m not your responsibility.”
“You’re my wife. So yes, you are. And tomorrow you’ll be added to my insurance.”
When he says ‘wife’ everything in me starts to panic. I look around to see if anybody heard.
“Hush,” I whisper, stepping closer – enough to catch the scent of his skin. Cedarwood and something citrusy that always hits me deep in the stomach. “You can’t say that out loud. Not here.”
His brow lifts, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. If anything, he holds it tighter. Steadier.
“You think anyone’s paying attention?” he asks, voice low, intimate. “They’re all too busy getting drunk or losing at ping pong.”
“That’s not the point,” I murmur.
He steps in even closer, his body brushing against mine, heat bleeding from him into me the same way my blood is seeping out.
“Even if nobody knows, you’re still my wife. And I take care of what’s mine.” He glances down at my hand again. “And we’re going to urgent care.”
“No we aren’t.” I shake my head weakly. “Band-Aids. That’s my compromise.”
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mutters.
A flicker of something twists in my stomach at the way he says it. Like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. A complication he doesn’t want but can’t or won’t walk away from either. He likes the challenge.
And maybe I like it, too.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice a little breathy. “Well, you’re not exactly a dream to live with either.”
His mouth curves, slow and sinful. And I wonder if he knows the effect he’s having on me. “And yet here you are,” he murmurs.
“Haven’t got a choice.” I shrug.
His gaze flickers to my mouth, like he’s remembering the taste of my lips. “There’s always a choice, Eden. You just have to say the word. But maybe you like me like this.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s too late – my pulse is already tripping, my thighs tensing like they’re ready for action.
“Come on,” he says, voice dropping until it’s so low I have to strain to hear him. “I’m pretty sure Hudson’s first aid kit could rival any hospital. Let’s go inside and play doctor.”
The way he says it makes me feel very damn dirty. He’s flirting. And I know he does it to get his way. It’s as simple as breathing for him. But it’s working, because I can feel a lick of hot heat in the base of my belly.
“Okay,” I murmur. “But you’re not sticking a needle in my hand.”
His grin grows, his unsullied hand cupping my face to lift it up so our eyes connect. “You’re such a baby.”
I wrinkle my nose at him.
“Everything okay over here?” Hudson’s voice cuts through the moment like a cold wave over warm skin. He frowns as he looks at us, a barbecue tong in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other.
West drops his warm palm from my cheek, but not fast enough. Not like someone who was caught doing something wrong. More like someone who doesn’t care who sees.
“Eden hurt herself,” he murmurs. Hudson’s frown deepens, and I jerk my arm from West’s hold and put it behind my back, giving my brother what I hope is an innocent smile.
“I barely scratched it. I’m fine.”
But of course Hudson’s brotherly instincts are alight by now. He eyes the used towel on the counter, the blood, and he shakes his head. “That doesn’t look like a scratch.”
Like he knows I hate fuss, West takes control of the situation. “I was just offering to take her inside and clean it up.”