Chapter Nineteen
I have always been an oversharer. Whether I slept badly, am experiencing some minor tummy upset, or have strong emotions about the ending of a long-running TV series, chances are, if you ask, I’m going to tell you how I feel. If someone doesn’t really care how I am, then why not just say hello and go about it? I prefer honesty, I prefer openness, I prefer real. I know I’m lucky to have been raised by a dad who impressed upon me the importance of sharing my emotions, but I don’t think I realized just how lucky until I was surrounded by a half dozen dysfunctional Westons.
It’s not that family breakfast the next morning is awkward, exactly, but the elephant in the room—that Ray Weston is a controlling, narcissistic asshat and his entire family has to make excuses for his behavior and accommodate his moods—is impossible to ignore. Everyone is walking on eggshells. People cut their food delicately, with intense focus, asking about the weather, remarking upon the size of the waves down on the beach, laughing loudly at his jokes that aren’t particularly funny. Charlie is getting married in a matter of days; she is about to embark on the emotional journey of her lifetime with a man who gazes at her like she’s made of stardust, and somehow Ray is the center of attention. No one is asking Charlie and Kellan anything about their nerves, their hopes, their shared dreams.
Just watching ten seconds of this family at a meal, even if Liam had told me nothing at all about them, I’d know Jake Weston was the charming underachiever who evaded his father’s attention, Alex Weston was the intense pleaser who chased his father’s attention, and Liam Weston was the golden child who naturally exuded the kind of capability and virtue that a narcissist gloms onto and takes credit for. I’m sure West rarely rocked the boat, and I’d bet all the money he’s paying me that his decision to pursue a doctorate and the almost five-year estrangement that followed was his first real bird flip to his shitty dad. Which, good for him.
And yet, here we are.
Next to me, West stares out at the water, chewing a bite of egg-white omelet so thoroughly I think it ceases to exist as matter. When he senses my attention, he blinks over to me, gaze unfocused, and returns my smile with a distracted, flickering one of his own. But even if he’s mentally aloof, physically, he’s close: his shoulder is pressed against mine; he eats with his left hand and has his right hand planted firmly on my upper thigh. It’s supposedly all for show, but news flash, Dr. Weston: nobody can see your hand under the table.
It didn’t surprise me that he put himself back together almost immediately after our hug yesterday. He’s clearly been taught that feelings are bullshit and the only action that’s acceptable is one that benefits his father. “I’m gonna grab more coffee and then we can go,” he says. “Want anything?”
“I’m good.”
West stands from the bench and his spot is immediately filled by Blaire.
She nods to West’s retreating form. “Somebody seems a little tense this morning.” My eyes immediately drop to her boobs, and my goodness that’s a lot of cleavage for brunch. “Bad sex earlier?”
I choke down a sip of my ice water. “Um… no.”
“Yeah. I’d guess not.” She takes a long drink from her mug. Something tells me there’s more than just coffee in there.
“Blaire, can I ask you a question? Weston wife to Weston wife.”
She slides closer, a devious glint in her eye. “Kinky.”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “About the family.”
She picks up a fork and takes a bite of West’s abandoned omelet. “That’s less exciting, but let’s hear it.”
“Is it always like this between Ray and the guys?”
“You mean like a lion ready to devour its young at any moment?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Unfortunately.” She sets down West’s fork. “But you learn how to navigate it, you know?” She takes another long drink, draining whatever’s in her cup. “The first time I visited House Lannister,” she says with a smirk, “Alex was a nervous wreck. I’m sure you’ve seen how he gets with his dad, and I know I can be a handful. I’d already met Janet and Ray, of course—I’d worked for the company for three years by that point—but I was officially being introduced as The Girlfriend.” She lowers her voice. “I was also fifteen weeks pregnant at the time, so you can imagine that didn’t help. Janet was so catty, my lord. Just scathing. I’ve always lightened my hair and she asked if I’d considered dyeing it brown, because the blond wasn’t doing my intelligence any favors. I was also pregnant, like I mentioned, and already starting to show, though nobody knew it was anything but a few extra pounds. That first night at dinner, Janet called me voluptuous and talked about how lucky I was because she’d never been able to put on weight.”
“Yikes.”
“She tried to clarify that she merely meant curvy, darling,” she says with an affected accent. “She said it was admirable that I could eat whatever I wanted without feeling guilty, and she was so glad I wasn’t one of those girls who stressed constantly about their weight, because why would I care about being skinny anyway? It’s so boring!”
I whistle through my teeth.
“It’s not all terrible, though,” Blaire says, and then winces. “I mean, okay it is, but there were funny moments, and I know you’d never believe this, but when he’s not with his parents, Alex is so much more relaxed. They really do bring out the worst in each other.”
“I can see that,” I say, even though honestly, I can’t imagine a funny, relaxed Alex.
“But, you know, the money certainly helps, and the good news with a messy family is that there’s never a dull moment.” She picks up West’s fork again and then pauses with it hovering in the air as she remembers something. “Oh my God, there was this one night Ray was just going on and on at Sunday dinner about some beef with an executive, and everyone was on edge. Charlie was away at school and Liam hadn’t been around for a while, but Jake was there and he’d brought a girl with him—which never happens.”
“I wonder why.”
“Lincoln was only a few months old, and I couldn’t drink because I was breastfeeding. I was about to murder everyone, so I excused myself to the downstairs powder room. I wasn’t the only one with that idea because I open the door and there’s Jake and his date and he’s got his hand completely up her skirt. I’m telling you he was wearing that girl like a mood ring.”
I have to cover my mouth to contain the laugh.
A waiter materializes at Blaire’s side and places a mimosa in front of her. She smiles up at him with gratitude and turns her attention back to me. “Listen, if I could have disappeared into that bathroom with them, I would have. But like I said, you get used to the weirdness. And you’re doing great. Everyone loves you.”
“But is this healthy?” I say quietly. “It’s not my place to say, but Ray is pretty terrible with the guys.”
“He is. You didn’t hear it from me, but I think they’re all waiting him out. I know Alex is. Ray will announce his retirement soon and Alex will step in.”
Acidic guilt crawls up my throat and I have to swallow it down. So everyone in the family except West is expecting Ray to pick Alex as his successor? Blaire lifts her champagne flute and takes a sip of her drink before leaning in and lowering her voice. “Ray can golf all day or whatever he does and be someone else’s problem. But between us, I’d prepare yourself for Ray to start turning the screws on Liam.”
“You mean pressuring him to come back to the company?”
She hums. “As COO. Ray’s dad, Albert, was a real stickler about family and wanted them all working together. Family is everything to the Westons. Now that Liam is back, I can’t see Ray letting him go again. Frankly, I’m surprised he let him stay away as long as he did.”
BACK IN THE BUNGALOW,West and I are quiet for a little while, each doing our own thing, and it’s nice. It’s easy. He’s even-tempered, resilient, and deeply capable—a combination that is so rare it’s no wonder the Ray Westons of the world try to drain him of every good thing he creates and gobble it down into their rotten, fiendish mouths. I never want to be like that with him. I see his goodness and only want to protect it. I think of what Blaire said and I’m ready to challenge Ray Weston to a duel.
“So,” West says, startling me and setting his phone on the table. “What do we have going on this afternoon?”
“How could you forget?” I ask, spreading my arms wide and singing, “Spa day!”
West groans. “No.”
“I’m not saying, but maybe I’m sort of saying, that there is one person in this bungalow who could absolutely use a massage and his name isn’t Anna Green.”
West scrubs his face with his hands. “This island is shrinking down to the size of a shoebox.”
“Well…” I have nothing useful to say to that, so I just pat his shoulder amiably as I walk by and climb onto the bed. “You should know I’ve been going over the treatment menu like I’m studying for a test.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel like this crowd is very spa-literate. I don’t want to stumble over the words when I ask for the color vibration therapy or red pepper lipolysis.”
West works on untangling a mess of cords he’s pulled out of his backpack. “They can’t possibly be that intense about these things.”
“Qué? Are you joking? Not intense? This spa has a whole menu of things you can put in your nose. Is that normal?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Yes,” I say, reading from the pamphlet. “?‘An ancient Ayurvedic practice called Nasya is the nasal administration of medicinal herbs and oils to clear sinus congestion and expel toxins from the head and neck.’?” I read farther down. “Oh, this is good: ‘Because the nose is the gateway to the brain, you’ll relax knowing you’re treating your mind and your body together.’?”
“This…” His frown deepens. “I don’t know if you should choose to ingest any oils this way, Anna.”
“Hello, I’m pretty sure I’m the medical doctor in the family.” I grin at him. “I will, of course, be putting nothing in my nose.” I look back down at the menu pamphlet. “I know I’m probably overthinking this, but I’ve never been to a fancy spa before. Unless you count the one Vivi took me to before I came here.” I cup my hand next to my mouth, adding in a loud whisper, “The waxing one.”
His brows flicker up as he goes back to untangling the cords. “Ah.”
“I swear I blacked out after one particularly delicate part of the Brazilian. At one point they had me get on my hands and knees and—”
“I’m going to stop you there,” he says gruffly, but when I look at him, he’s fighting a smile. I bite my lip to force the laughter down, but it fails, and the sound bubbles up and out of me, a rolling belly laugh. West breaks, covering his eyes with a hand. “Jesus Christ, Green, the shit you say.”
“I just wanted to hear that sound,” I confess. “I didn’t really have to get on my hands and knees to be waxed. But I did have to hold on to my ankles like—”
He holds up his other hand, laughing hard. “Stop.”
I want to hug him again. The urge feels like a breath held in, the tension ratcheting up with every passing second. But there’s an invisible force field there now. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Finally, he gets his smile wrangled and looks over at where I’ve composed myself. “What are you worried about? The rules? The price? It’s all-inclusive. You can get anything you want.”
“It’s just the intimidation factor. That’s all. All the fancy ladies.”
West runs a finger below his lip. “You’ll be okay, you know. You come across as incredibly sure of yourself.” Now, this I can’t believe, and I make a dorky face. “And right now?” he adds. “You look very fancy. Don’t let them intimidate you.”
I look down at my beautiful blue-and-white floral sundress. “That’s just clothes. Not me. Stop trying to distract me with your flirting. Are you going?”
“I think all the groomsmen are scheduled for something.”
“Are they splitting up the guys and girls?”
“I assume so.”
I push out my lower lip in a pout, but stand, checking the time on my phone. Strange that the Westons chose an island that specifically prides itself on its lack of schedules and then created a packed itinerary. “I guess I’ll see you later? At dinner? We have that Old Hollywood party tonight, right?”
He trains his gaze over my shoulder, staring at the wall, deflating. “Yeah.”
I don’t know why I do it; I probably shouldn’t. Everything about his posture since yesterday screams, Leave it. But I’m terrible at leaving it. So, on my way out the door, I bend down, pressing my lips to his warm, smooth cheek. “I know this trip is draining, but I’m here with you. Try to relax and enjoy today—you deserve it. I’ll see you tonight.”
I’m sure I went too far. I am being too intimate, feeling too protective of a man who doesn’t need protection. Besides, no matter how good the kissing is, we aren’t really married. I mean, we are legally, but not, like, emotionally or—even sadder—biblically. With a smile plastered to my face, I leave before I can make it weirder, walking straight out of the bungalow and onto the beach.