Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Scarlett
The start of the Marco family wedding festivities should elicit squeals of excitement. After all, I’m getting an unexpected, weeklong vacation at a beachside mansion, none of which I’m paying for.
But I’m not wired that way. I hate surprises, and not in a quirky, aww, you shouldn’t have way. It’s hard not to dislike them when most of life’s surprises have been bad.
It started when I was a kid. My grandmother died unexpectedly, and before we’d even sold her home, my parents announced we were opening a coffee shop and moving closer to Sully’s Beach. New house. New school. And all the anxiety for me.
On my second day, someone decided to call me Scarlett the Witch after my face turned red when I was told I couldn’t sit with their group at lunch.
I ate alone at a nearby table, listening to them make hurtful comments, until my brother spotted me and sat down without a word.
He did that every day until I made friends, completely ignoring the kids who teased him for sitting with his little sister.
Eli might have given my parents a few gray hairs in his teenage years (okay, a lot of gray hairs), but he’s always had a good heart.
Which is more than I can say for how I was treated the night Carmen had her accident.
I showed up at that hospital because I cared.
Brendan wasn’t just a friend anymore, and I was worried about him and his sister.
He’d kissed me on that beach less than two hours earlier, and I’d walked into that hospital thinking everything had changed.
Instead, Rafael Marco looked at me like I was a stranger and told me this was for family only. Go home. His nephew didn’t want me there.
I never told Brendan what happened. Partly because I assumed he’d asked his uncle to send me away. But even if he hadn’t—even if it was Rafael acting alone—I’d gotten the message loud and clear. Girls like me don’t belong in the Marco family.
And yet, here I am.
Sweating through a red dress that cost more than I make in a week, taking in the Marco estate as we pull in, trying to talk myself out of a panic attack.
As Brendan parks, the mansion looms in front of us like a European palace—all limestone and manicured gardens that probably have their own full-time staff.
I glance over at Brendan, who is the absolute picture of male perfection in his navy suit.
The fabric stretches over his broad shoulders, with one button of his white dress shirt open at the neck, then tapering to his waist where I’m certain there are abs that could double as an old-fashioned washboard.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to twist my ankle as I climb out of his SUV in black Jimmy Choo stilettos that Jaz lent me. I’m pretty sure these were designed as medieval torture devices.
“You look nice, boyfriend.” I circle the vehicle, meeting him at the trunk with a smile that I hope looks more innocent than the thoughts I’m having about his abs.
I smooth the front of my dress as Brendan’s eyes track the movement. “I was going to say the same, girlfriend. You look ready to impress my uncle.” He takes my enormous suitcase from the trunk.
“You don’t have to do that,” I scold, trying to grab it from him.
Thanks to my new hockey WAG friends who loaned me the clothes, I now have five new-to-me dresses, two semi-formals and a capsule wardrobe of expensive pieces.
No more hoodies and ripped jeans like I wore the day Brendan walked into the coffee shop and asked me to be his plus-one.
He pulls the suitcase away before I can reach it. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”
My heart flutters at his words before I can stop it. He’s very good at this boyfriend thing. Too good.
Before we make our way up the massive entry steps, Brendan stops. “Look, tonight’s pretty significant. My family is going to make a big deal out of you being here.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
He pauses, his hand on my suitcase. “What I mean is, I’ve never brought anyone home before. So when they see you, they’re not going to hold back.”
He says it like a warning.
His sister told me as much at the wedding boutique, but I thought she’d been exaggerating.
I glance at the massive double doors, unsure what’s waiting on the other side. “So, this is a really big deal.”
“You could say that.”
“Well, as long as they don’t start setting dates for our wedding, I’ll be okay,” I kid, trying to lighten the moment.
“You’ve met the Marco women,” he fires back. “Anything is possible.”
I feel guilty that I’m giving his family so much hope when I know it’s all pretend. “Maybe I’ll be the one who breaks the ice for you,” I justify. “Then, at the next family event, you can bring a real date.”
“There won’t be another date.” He picks up my suitcase again, avoiding eye contact.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I ask. “I’m practically setting your next girlfriend up for the future by paving the way.”
“Because I don’t want to bring anyone else.” Then he turns and starts up the stairs.
I stand there for a second, trying to decide if that meant what I think it meant. Then I decide it’s safer not to find out.
“You remember our story, right?” Brendan asks, changing the subject.
“Yes—we’ve been together since December.”
After the warning we got from Eli to get our dating history straight, we made up a narrative about running into each other at Boots and Buckles.
“Now remind me,” I ask. “Was it your dance moves that swept me off my feet, or another off-key serenade?”
He turns back to face me. “It was my irresistible charm, obviously.” Then he smirks.
I love this version of him—stone-faced one second, then slipping into humor the next.
“Good,” I exhale. “Because I’m going to need to borrow that charm for tonight.”
“Are you nervous?” Brendan studies me.
“No, of course not.” I lower my voice. “I’m terrified, actually.”
Then he takes my hand. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
I think I’ve already forgotten, from the moment he took my hand. I drop my head, afraid to meet his eyes.
Brendan reaches over and tips my chin up. “Hey, they will love you, Scarlett.”
“But there are so many reasons why this could go wrong.”
“Well, I can’t think of one. Not if we’re together.”
Before I can respond, the door flies open and Aunt Elana appears, welcoming us with hugs and kisses. “Leave your luggage in the corner, and one of the staff will take it to your assigned rooms.”
Over her shoulder, I notice Carmen talking with her other two bridesmaids—Jaz and Taylor, Aunt Elana’s daughter—while Carmen’s fiancé, Tony, chats with a few of the groomsmen.
Then Isabella rushes to the door, kissing my cheeks just like she did back in the coffee shop. “You’re just in time for a tour of the house before dinner.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I stammer, but judging by their expressions, I don’t get a vote.
“We don’t want you to get lost,” Elana says, pulling me away from Brendan. “And we’ll show you your room on the way.”
The women sweep me through the first floor: kitchen, solarium, library, dining room, living room, ballroom, and indoor pool, where Elana claims she has pictures of six-year-old Brendan jumping into the pool wearing only his Superman undies.
On the stairs, I stop at a framed photo I don’t recognize at first. A younger Isabella with her arm around a man with dark eyes and thick hair, the same features as his son.
Brendan’s father. Seeing him here, frozen in time on a staircase wall, makes my chest ache for the boy who lost his father too soon.
Losing my dad is something I can’t let myself think about just yet.
But seeing this photo makes me understand something about Brendan.
He knows what it means to lose someone important.
Maybe that’s partly why he’s trying to help me save the cafe.
Not just because he needs a wedding date, but because he wants to do whatever he can to help my dad.
“Scarlett?” Isabella calls from the top of the stairs.
I pull myself away and follow her voice to the far end of the third-floor hallway, where she and Elana are waiting.
“The Blue Suite,” Elana announces, holding out a key like she’s presenting me with the keys to paradise. “Our favorite room. And it’s yours for the week.”
I start to protest, but Elana is already closing my fingers around the key.
“You are Brendan’s special guest,” Isabella says. “We want you to enjoy every minute.”
There’s no arguing with the Marco women. Once they’ve made up their minds, there’s no hope of changing it.
When I enter the Blue Suite, it’s easy to see why it’s their favorite—deep-navy walls, brass accents, and a massive four-poster bed with blue silk bedding that looks too expensive to sleep in.
Stunning floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a balcony overlooking the gardens.
There’s even a sitting area with a couch and minibar.
When I step inside the bathroom next, I audibly gasp. There’s an enormous walk-in shower with expensive tile and at least a half-dozen showerheads from every imaginable angle. Next to that is a separate bathtub so large, I could stretch my legs out completely in it.
“Do you like it?” Isabella asks.
“I love it,” I sigh, taking it all in. “But are you sure about this? I would be happy in a smaller room.”
Elana snorts. “There’s no such thing as a smaller room in this house.”
“Nothing but the best for you,” Isabella says proudly, giving me a side hug. “I wanted this to be a surprise. Your face says everything.”
My hands fly to my cheeks, which are sore from smiling. I gesture toward the tub. “I mean…I might never leave that bathtub.”
We head back downstairs and Brendan immediately makes his way toward me through the small crowd as Isabella and Elana mingle with the new arrivals. More extended family that I’ve never met. More introductions where I immediately forget people’s names. It’s going to be a long week.
“How did you survive?” he asks when we’re alone.
“Rather well, I think.” He hands me a glass of water. “I got a lovely tour, as well as some fabulous dirt on you.”
“What dirt?”
“Just a story about you in Superman undies. Your aunt is excited to show me the picture.”
“Blackmail, huh?” he says with a nod. “I knew they were up to something.”
“Just their way of showing love.”
He leads me to the table where everyone is finding their seats for dinner, and before I get there, he pulls out a chair for me.
I lift an eyebrow. “Since when are you a gentleman?”
“Since my mom is watching,” he shoots back smoothly.
Brendan’s arm settles around my shoulders, like we’ve been doing this for years. So natural, that my body forgets this is pretend.
At the last moment, in walks Rafael Marco in an immaculate suit, his dark hair slicked back. As if I’m not already nervous enough, he takes the seat next to me.
Wonderful. Nothing like trying to impress the man who told me to go home. As far as I know, he still hasn’t remembered me yet from the night of Carmen’s accident. But that doesn’t stop my knee from bouncing under the table or my nerves from zipping around my stomach.
I sit up straighter in my chair, trying to gather my confidence. “Hello, Mr. Marco.”
He takes one look at me, his brow furrowing as he tries to place me. His gaze slides to Brendan before he makes the connection.
“Ah, yes, Scarlett. It’s good to see you again.” He places his napkin on his lap and motions to one of the waiting staff to fill his glass. “Brendan hasn’t stopped singing your praises, especially regarding the vendor contract.”
“Really?” I turn to Brendan, expecting an explanation, but he only gives me that crooked smirk that tells me he’s been holding up his end of our bargain. “Hopefully, it’s been all good?”
Rafael takes a sip. “Of course. I’d say he’s been bragging on you, but I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“I appreciate that,” Brendan answers smoothly.
Grandma Rosa clears her throat. “Raf, I told you no talking about business all week. This is a family celebration.”
If he can’t discuss the Crushers, that means the vendor contract is off-limits too. I already had new ideas to pitch from watching the vendors at the Charlotte game, but it looks like I’ll have to wait until later.
As plates of salad appear, Rosa gives me a warm smile. “Isabella tells me you and Brendan have been friends for a long time.”
“Yes, when Brendan visited here in the summers.”
“I was friends with her brother too,” Brendan adds.
Rosa’s eyes light up. “I bet you have stories about Brendan, then.”
Brendan shakes his head. “We don’t talk about those stories.”
I lean toward Rosa. “He was convinced he was going to be a professional surfer—despite the fact that our waves are only good for boogie boarding.”
“I was decent!” he says.
“You fell off your board in front of a group of older girls you were trying to impress.”
“Oh, I remember that!” Carmen says with a laugh, then turns to Tony. “He actually tried to stand on his surfboard in these tiny waves.”
Brendan laughs, taking it all in stride. “That was one time.”
“It was very memorable.” I smile over my water glass.
Carmen holds up her fork mid-bite. “Actually, I think he was trying to impress you.”
“He didn’t even notice me. I was a year younger, remember?” I turn my smile to Brendan. “I’m not sure you even knew I was watching.”
“Oh I knew.” Then his gaze locks on mine, and the room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.
I push some salad around my plate, hoping that my cheeks aren’t a dead giveaway of how his look is affecting me. “Well, I’m glad I made you wipe out so spectacularly, those other girls didn’t go after you.”
He looks at me with complete seriousness. “I was just waiting for the right girl to take notice.”
It’s crazy how good he is at this and how easily he can make me believe that every word coming out of his mouth is the truth.
Without realizing it, we’ve somehow shifted toward each other, his leg pressed against mine, the heat pulsing between us.
His arm rests casually across the back of my chair, his fingers occasionally brushing my shoulder.
To everyone here, we’re just a happy couple, completely wrapped up in each other. If they only knew that behind the image, we have a complicated history.
Right now, I need to keep up with Brendan’s performance, match his banter word for word, and survive the next week without forgetting there can be no feelings involved.
“Well,” Rafael says finally. “Timing is everything, in business and in life. Which is why we’re here tonight—to celebrate the perfect timing that brought Carmen and Tony together.” He raises his glass. “To new beginnings.”
Everyone raises their glasses, echoing the toast, as they regard the bride and groom.
But I’m looking at Brendan, wondering which of us is better at pretending—him for making it look so real, or me for hiding how badly I want it to be.