29. Adair
Adair
The wind's already picking up by the time I make it to the beach to meet my cousin.
The late afternoon light stretches long over the sand, coloring everything gold. I spot him near the dunes, facing the water.
I knew he’d be here. We didn’t even need to confirm.
“Hey,” I say softly as I approach.
Cam turns, the corners of his mouth twitching up in something that’s not quite a smile. “Hey, yourself. Man, you look great. The East Coast has been good for you.”
He’s holding the small cedar box close to his chest, one hand curled protectively over the lid like it might fly away if he loosens his hold.
We don’t hug yet. We stand there for a second and let the wind wrap around us. Let it carry the weight.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, eyes glassy but clear.
“Wouldn’t miss it, Cam. You know that.” My voice catches. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
He nods once and looks back out to the water. “I didn’t think it would hit this hard until I got here. Until I smelled the salt.”
I reach down and slip off my sandals. The sand’s warm and soft. I take a step closer, shoulder to shoulder now. “He loved it here.”
“Totally,” Cam says, quiet and certain. “He said Palm Beach gave him life and that it was the only place that didn’t make him feel like he had to shrink.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know. He's the reason I'm here now, why I moved here in the first place.”
He doesn’t answer and opens the box. Inside, it’s nothing dramatic, fine, pale ash. The last trace of his twin, Milo.
I step back to give him space.
Cam kneels. Scoops a handful of ash and lets it spill through his fingers like a blessing. It dances in the breeze, curling and drifting, catching the light before disappearing over the waves.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters something too low to catch. “He would’ve hated a cemetery.”
“He would’ve haunted you for even thinking about one,” I say, smiling through the sting in my eyes.
That gets the smallest laugh out of him. “You’re not wrong. Come on, get some of Milo on your fingers. You can't let me have all the glory.”
I reach in and let the fine, silky particles slip through my fingers. He empties the rest in a slow and steady pour, until the box is light and empty and quiet in his hands. He places the empty box in a bag on his shoulder, and we stand together in the silence after.
He grabs my hand and we watch the surf roll in and take Milo out to the place he loved most, the ocean.
He doesn’t speak again until we’re walking back up the beach .
“I didn’t think you’d be able to come,” Cam says finally. “I know you're so busy lately with the business, the husband.”
My stomach tugs a little at the last word. “This mattered more.”
Thankfully, he didn't bring up the scandalous article. I'm sure he's read it.
He stops, glances down at me, eyes red but steady. “I know you loved him too.”
“I did,” I whisper. “God, I did. Both of you are like brothers to me. I miss him.”
And like that, we fall into each other. There’s no preamble or hesitation. Just arms around necks, hands in fists, grief pressed tight between two people who loved the same boy in different ways.
He sobs once. It's sharp and sudden against my ear, and I hold on tighter. “He was the best part of me,” he chokes. “I don’t know who I am without him.”
“You’re still you,” I say. “You’re carrying double now. For both of you.”
His breath hitches. Then steadies.
Neither of us sees the camera or the flash in the barely gray dusk.
The warmth of the setting sun clings to my skin, salt lingers on my cheeks, and Cam squeezes my hand once before letting go.
I pull up to Bets’s house, a charming coastal bungalow nestled behind a grove of oak trees. I knock lightly, and a moment later, the door swings open. Bets stands there, her hair pulled into a loose bun, a baby monitor clipped to her waistband .
“Adair,” she says, surprised but smiling. “What brings you here?”
“Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Her smile softens into something more serious, and she steps aside to let me in. “You never have to ask. Come on in.”
We settle in her living room as the sun streams through the windows, casting warm patterns on the hardwood floor. Bets tucks her legs beneath her on the couch, her expression patient and expectant.
I take a deep breath, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“Your intuition was right. Citrine’s been struggling,” I admit. “For months now. I’ve been barely making ends meet. As you already know, I’ve had to let staff go. I know you’ve noticed the changes, and I know I should’ve told you sooner, but…”
I trail off, the words catching in my throat.
“But your pride got in the way,” Bets finishes gently, a knowing look in her eye. “I know the feeling.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “You’re right. That, and I’m not good at asking for help. It’s all pride, but it’s debilitating.”
“You’re not failing,” she says firmly. “You’re facing challenges, like every business owner does at some point.”
I let out a shaky breath, her understanding lifting some of the tension in my chest. “I’ve found a way to turn things around,” I say, steadier now.
“Talk to me.”
“The product line’s taking off. I'm sure you've seen the buzz lately, thanks to a single influencer, Rose Henchey. Since she posted, orders are up over two hundred percent. ”
Bets blinks once. Then slowly smiles, eyes glinting with something sharp and pleased. “ Rose? As in ‘Morning Matcha with Rose’ Rose?”
I nod. “The very one. You know her?”
“Oh, I know her,” Bets says, already pulling out her phone. “She posted something last night about a scrub. Sea Breeze something? I thought it looked familiar.”
“Yup.”
She stares at me, a little stunned. “That’s a big deal, Adair. People in this town spend thousands trying to get on her radar. And you, what, called her up?”
“Sort of. It was a connection through Parker, but she loved the product. And she’s been promoting it hard.”
Bets shakes her head in disbelief, tapping through her screen. “You’re trending on her stories right now. Twice. That’s wild.”
A rush of pride blooms in my chest, stronger than I expected. For the first time in a while, I'm not constantly scrambling to prove I belong here. It's like I have a place here and a job to do.
“If I can keep up with the demand, this could save Citrine and put us through to the next level. And that isn't the only iron in the fire.”
"There's more?"
"Yes, I have a call scheduled with someone from Barbara Corcoran's office."
"The Barbara Corcoran?"
"Yes. She's been looking for a beauty brand to help promote. As you know, she has a lot of big-box store connections. I'm not sure that's the direction I want to go, but I want to hear what it would mean."
"Uh, yeah! Absolutely. Wow. That's amazing. Kudos."
"It feels good to finally have some wins. It's been hard."
"And you've been taking the hits alone. "
Bets lifts her eyes from her phone, and for the first time in weeks, there’s nothing guarded about her expression.
“I can’t do it alone,” I add quickly. “That’s why I’m here. I need your help, Bets. I need your advice, your experience. I need your financial backing, but as a loan. With interest.”
“Look at you, all grown up,” she says with a proud smile.
“I’m done letting ego get in the way.”
Bets squeezes my hands, then grabs her notebook. “So give me everything. The plan. The product line. Citrine’s future.”
I unload it all. She listens like a partner, pen flying, eyes sharp with ideas.
The energy in the room is electric. Citrine isn’t surviving. It’s becoming .
By the time I finally pause, we’re both leaning forward like conspirators in something huge.
“Adair,” she says, her voice soft but certain, “you’re doing it. You’re a badass, and you’re making it happen.”
I smile. Her approval means the world to me.
She reaches across the couch, taking my hands in hers. “I’m proud of you,” she says. “Not for pulling this off, but for doing it your way. For trusting your gut. I know what it took to get here.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. “Thank you.”
Bets grins. “Okay. Enough business talk. Now that we’ve covered your glowing empire, can we talk about your glowing husband?”
I roll my eyes, but the heat creeps into my cheeks before I can stop it. “Not glowing.”
She lifts a brow. “You sure? Because I’ve had a front-row seat to the chemistry between you two since that night you didn’t tell me, but Dr. Hottie and Gunner announced your engagement. You looked like you’d been body-snatched, but the tension was loud.”
She pauses, reading my face. Her voice softens. “And… I saw the article. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk about it, but are you okay?”
My stomach twists. “I don’t know.”
She leans forward, all business stripped away now. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But if you want to talk about it, you know I would never judge.”
I nod, the words already rising in my throat. “It wasn’t real.”
Her pen stills. “Okay, define ‘not real,’ because what I saw, you can't fake.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “It was a ruse. The whole thing. A contract. Technically speaking, we’re doing what the article said, minus the salacious details. Only, I didn't trap him. He came to me.”
Bets doesn’t flinch. “Keep going.”
“I needed money. To jump-start Citrine. You’d already done so much for me. I didn’t want to ask for more. And Parker… he had this inheritance clause. It was mutually beneficial.”
“Was?”
“It's a fucking mess now. His dad didn't want him to do this, we had to put on a show, I started to fall for him....”
Her expression doesn’t shift into judgment. Just calm curiosity. “So you do care about him?”
I let out a breath. “I do, but it’s over. There have been several things that have happened in our short arrangement that were red flags. I needed to remove myself for my mental health.”
“I'll be honest, when I saw what was online, I figured it was some jealous ex trying to take you down. ”
“Close,” I say, as a hollow laugh escapes. “It was his jealous father trying to control him. I don’t know what he was trying to do, exactly, but he planted the story and wanted me out of the picture.”
“Sounds like a real piece of work.”
“He is.” I pause. “But the worst part is, Parker knew he was capable of something like that. He left me blindsided and looking like a complete asshole, putting my entire career and life here on the line.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “How is that Parker's fault?”
I blink. “What do you mean? Of course it is. He saw the writing on the wall and did nothing to stop it.”
“You said it was his father, right?”
“His father told him how to get out of this, and threatened to do exactly what he did.”
“He knew his dad might pull something. Doesn’t mean he knew it would happen. What exactly should he have told you, and how exactly is he supposed to control his father?”
I chew on that. She’s not wrong. But it doesn’t make it sting less.
“So what are you saying?”
“I think,” she says carefully. “I think you’re scared. And maybe a little proud. Which is fair. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Adair. That wasn’t fake. Don't die on this hill.”
“It was an act, Bets.”
“You two might’ve started this as a contract, but I would bet a lot of money that something’s evolved from that. The way he defends you, watches you—it’s real. Whatever this is with his father, that isn't an indication of anything except he has a shitty father.”
She softens, tilting her head. “What’s he said about all this? What does he want to do? ”
I shrug, but the words come out anyway. “He says he’ll do whatever I want. That he’s sorry and didn’t imagine his father would do this. He said he would annul the marriage if I wanted, and I told him I did.”
“So, where are things right now?”
“I haven’t heard from him in days.”
“Have you reached out?”
I hesitate. “No. When we run into each other at the condo,” I add with a small voice, “I always make up a reason to have to run.”
The air shifts. Something tight in my chest begins to loosen.
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t have to. Her silence says enough.
Maybe she’s right, I’m letting ego talk louder than my heart. I don’t want to be the reason this ends before it ever really began—even if I’m risking everything to find out.
My phone rings in my purse. I grab it to see if it's Parker, and my heart drops when I see that it's Jenna.
I sigh. “I should take this. She’s probably read the article by now. I'll be quick.”
Bets rises, already reaching for her tablet. “Get it. No rush, I'll be right here.”
I step out onto the porch and put the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal.
“Don’t you hey me,” Jenna fires back, sharp and breathless. “You’re married ?”
I wince. “Technically, but--”
“And it was for an inheritance?” she adds, already at a ten. “Adair, what the hell? Why haven't you told me any of this?”
“I was going to tell you. I didn’t know how.”
“You tell your best friend, that’s how.”
“I know. I messed up. I’m sorry. ”
Silence. Then a softer exhale. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. I’m working on it.”
“Good. Because if I see one more headline painting you as the con artist in a man’s soap opera, I swear to God, I’ll drive to Palm Beach and punch someone.”
A reluctant laugh escapes me. “I love you. I’m at Bets’s right now talking about Citrine and, you know, life on fire. Can I call you back tonight?”
“You better. Wine, details, and the whole truth.”
“Promise.”
I hang up and glance at my screen. My name pops up in three new Google Alerts.
The momentary calm from talking to Bets and Jenna evaporates.
This is what it means to be in the eye of it. Not only the article, but everything that came before and everything that’s still coming.
No matter how fast I mop the floors or pack the boxes or pitch the next product, I can’t outwork the fallout.
Not this time.