35. Isla
ISLA
“They really should have just gotten married today rather than elope and wait to celebrate it five months later.”
Isla stiffened at the familiar sound of her father’s voice as he came up behind her at the cocktail table. Dad set a plate of canapés on the tablecloth with a frown. “This is a wedding reception without a wedding. Wouldn’t have taken much to just allow us to witness the nuptials.”
Isla leaned over and kissed her father’s cheek. “Honestly, Dad, what difference does it make? Receptions are the only part of the wedding worth attending.”
He scowled at her. “ That’s a sad statement about your views on marriage, Isla Grace.”
She grinned. “You know I’m just purposely ruffling your feathers.” She looped her arm through his. They didn’t see each other often, but she’d always had an affectionate—but distant—relationship with her father.
God, this party was giving awkward family dinner energy but with nicer clothes and fewer carbs.
She’d planned on hiding in the loo until dessert, but now she was stuck making small talk with her father about the sanctity of marriage. Fantastic.
He hadn’t been a bad father, just a brokenhearted one—left humiliated when Mum ran off with another woman. It had wrecked his self-esteem, hurt his pride, and broken his heart. Diana had been the bandage: cold, poised, and conveniently uninterested in her stepchildren.
Maybe that was why Dad had chosen another wife so opposite from Mum. Mum was a warmhearted Latina—a carefree, beach-loving free spirit. Whether or not Dad had been aware of his choice in a stepmother as Callum and Isla had been at the time, it had put a wedge in their relationship.
Unintentionally having slipped into silence, Isla shifted her weight. “So, you’re not having fun?”
Dad shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that when you get married, I expect a proper wedding. At least one of my children could grant me the honor of being there when they wed.”
Isla grimaced, her gaze flicking across the crowded room toward Aiden.
God, he looks so sexy in his suit.
There was something impossibly unfair about him looking that good and feeling this distant from him. How could he look like her safe place and still feel a thousand miles away?
They hadn’t talked once since the beginning of the party. She’d purposely avoided him, and he appeared to be doing the same. It didn’t help that there were at least six people here who knew the truth about them—and once Tomas and the film crew got here, there would be even more.
Isla was dreading that, to be honest. Callum and Liddy had agreed to allow Tomas and one cameraman in after the dancing had begun, though Boyd was setting up in an adjoining room to watch live. But none of that messiness compared to the thought of seeing Davy.
Boyd had wanted to film some footage of Tomas and her walking in the streets of London on Thursday—and the interaction with Davy had been stiff. Awkward.
The rift between them seemed like a chasm.
She needed her best friend right now. The fact that Davy wasn’t there, and the wound from their argument, hurt deeply.
To make matters worse, Liddy was also being cool. And while Elle had tried to help Aiden and Isla in the morning, Isla hadn’t gotten the impression that Elle wanted to get pulled any further into the middle of it while they'd been getting ready earlier. Not that Isla blamed her.
And then Mum gave me an earful about it.
So here she was, stuck talking to her dad—and Kyle, when he drifted by—feeling like an outsider in her own family.
Like Dad probably did, ironically. Of course, Dad had Diana to attend to occasionally. Diana had parked herself next to Aiden’s parents and hadn’t moved since.
“You should come visit me occasionally,” Dad tried again, his voice softer. “I miss seeing your face at the house.”
Isla reached for her cocktail. “Well, I would, but I don’t really know if Diana would like that, Dad.”
At least they’d reached the point in her life where they could talk about this openly.
“Whether she does or not is irrelevant. She enjoys enough of my money to keep her happy. Come for your old dad, instead. I’m sure you can always stay at Megan’s if you’d prefer, like you did last time.”
“I’m not sure about that. She’s busy planning her own wedding in a couple of months.” She sipped the gin spritzer, the tangy lemon flavor making her mouth pucker. “But I’ll do my best.”
“I tried to be a good father, you know,” Dad said, face reddening as he attempted to eat a canapé in one bite.
Oh God, the wine is probably going to his head. Just what she needed—feeling like a loner with an extra side of family recrimination.
“You are a good father, Dad. Love and marriage just have a way of fucking us when we least expect it.”
He frowned at her language. “Isla.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just teasing.” Nope. Not getting pulled into a mid-party therapy session. She grabbed her drink. “I’m going to make the rounds. Catch you in a bit.”
She passed by her mum as she left Dad’s side. “Que estaba diciendo?” Mum whispered too loudly. What was he saying?
“ Nada. ” Nothing. She really wasn’t about to get caught in her parents’ perpetual stand-off. “I’m going to get some air.”
“ Ten cuidado, ” Mum warned behind her.
Yeah, yeah. She’d be careful.
Isla left the elegant room being used for the cocktail hour and slipped out onto the adjoining balcony.
The venue was an old bank that had been converted into an event space and hotel—most of the guests were staying here tonight, including her.
She’d checked into her room earlier when she’d come with Elle and Liddy and now all she wanted to do was flee to it.
The balcony had an impressive view of London, including the dome of St. Paul’s, and Isla walked toward it, glad for the break from the chatter and the soft lyrical strain from the string quartet.
Nothing added to the chaos of a party quite like classical music being played over the sound of emotional implosions.
Glancing at the few people out on the balcony, she shouldn’t have been surprised to find Callum there. Yet there he was.
Of course he was there. Where else would a brooding older brother lurk if not on a balcony with a beer like a Victorian ghost haunting his own elopement party?
He caught her eye and smiled as she came up beside him. “I completely understand why you eloped,” she said with a groan. “And why Liddy had to talk you into a party.”
“I saw you caught over there with Dad. Sorry.” Callum grimaced, his gaze refocusing on the cityscape. “Though usually you’re able to rise above it all with a smile. Not today, though. Something on your mind?”
Isla focused her gaze on the dome of St. Paul’s.
Like her heart wasn’t thudding in her chest. Like talking to her big brother—who’d always been a safety net for her, the only one who understood everything she’d been through—wasn’t somehow painful now.
“No,” she said brightly. “You? Just avoiding your guests?”
“No,” Callum said. A muscle in his jaw flexed, then he sipped on the beer. “Just trying to figure out why everyone I’m close to—including my own wife—is lying to me.”
Isla drew a sharp breath, and her gaze collided with her brother’s.
He flicked his eyes away from hers again. “I’m not stupid, Isla.”
Oh God. What does he know?
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs. “Callum, I?—”
“I’ll admit, I was angry at the thought at first. Angry because I worry about the implications of you and Aiden sleeping together and what that might mean in the future if it ends badly. I don’t want my little sister getting hurt, especially not at the hands of one of my closest friends.”
Oh fuck.
Her mouth went dry, and she sipped more of her drink, letting him continue talking for now while she gathered her thoughts.
“But then, my anger faded, and it occurred to me that there also wasn’t anyone I trusted as much as Aiden—except for Quinn, of course—even though he’s lying to me, too.
But really, you’re both adults. And he’s responsible.
Wealthy. He’s always cared about you, and I couldn’t think of someone I’d be happier to see you with. ”
Isla’s throat clenched. If this was where the conversation ended, it would be a good thing.
She hadn’t expected this. Calm. Mature. Like maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t given Callum enough credit.
The whole situation with Tomas had skewed her perspective too much.
She’d spent weeks dreading this moment, expecting fury or disappointment. But here it was—something worse. Resignation. It didn’t slam into her like a door. It seeped in, slow and sad, like rain under a cracked window.
Somehow, that hurt more.
But from the manner of Callum’s delivery, he wasn’t happy about the fact now.
Because we lied to him.
“Callum, we wanted to tell you.” Isla turned toward him and gripped his elbow. “And you can’t be angry with anyone else who knows. We didn’t try to tell them and leave you out of it. It was all accidental, and both of us asked them for the chance to tell you ourselves.”
“It’s a sad day when the only person who tells me the truth about my own sister and best friend is Lola Salas.”
Isla’s eyes widened. Lola? She knows? How in the hell had she found out?
Of all the people to break the news, it had to be Lola.
Not Aiden. Not me. Not even Elle.
The woman who’d once torched Aiden’s heart and still somehow held the match to hers. The shame hit hard and fast like she'd swallowed a mouthful of glass.
“How...”
Callum gave Isla a cool look. “Of course, she didn’t do it out of goodwill. She let slip that she’d seen you and Aiden in Vegas—after a long night of drinking, apparently. Said something about how you threw up on her suitcase after leaving Aiden’s room in the morning.”
Humiliation burned in her cheeks. She couldn’t really say nothing had happened that night even though she was tempted to. Because something had happened. Something bigger than hooking up.