Chapter 1 #2
Because I might have a lot in common with Zach Fitzgerald, but I’ve just got my life back on track, and I don’t need any complications. Especially not of the male kind.
Even if thinking about the impact of his body against mine is making me feel breathless.
Nope, I’m a strong independent woman. I have my own business, my own home, hell I even have an accountant. There’s no space for making bad decisions anymore. I’m moving forward, all on my own.
“I hope you’re proud of me, Mom,” I whisper, hoping she’s still looking down on me. “I think I’ve finally grown up.”
ZACH
I try to ignore the floaters in my eyes as I walk through the door into the main lobby of the resort, taking in what I can see of the white walls, the blue and white striped furniture, and the wooden accents that all come together to create a nautical theme that I imagine has a lot to do with both of my sisters’ influence.
It’s annoying that I didn’t see that woman until I pretty much knocked her to the ground. It’s been a bad eye day. The doctor warned I would get them. Especially when I’m tired from traveling or if I’ve been overdoing things, both of which are true right now.
It’s only the second time I’ve been affected enough for me not to see what’s next to me, though. The first time was in Rome, when I was almost run over by a cab I had no clue was in the road.
At least this one was less life threatening. Even if the feel of her warm, soft skin is still seared into mine.
Along with the memory of her red hair, tumbling over her shoulders, a contrast to her pale skin and the deep blue of her dress.
Fuck, she’s pretty. Even with the breaks in my vision I could see that. I could smell her, too, all high notes and pretty flowers.
When your sight starts to go, your other senses will heighten.
I blink that thought away, because I’m so not ready for that yet.
I’m not ready to be here, truth be told. On the island I grew up on, with nearly all of my family surrounding me. Not for the reasons I’m here, anyway.
Because if the harbinger of fucking doom wore linen trousers and white shirts, he’d look remarkably like me right now.
“Oh my God, I thought you said you couldn’t make it.”
I hear Eden’s squeal come from the right of me. She runs over to where I’m standing, in front of a seascape I barely noticed, which really isn’t like me at all.
I turn just in time for my youngest sister to crash into me, arms around my waist. The champagne I just picked up sloshes dangerously close to my shirt.
I smile down at Eden, taking her in. She’s beaming widely, her hair pulled back to reveal the sculpted cheekbones that we both inherited from our mom. And when she reaches up to touch my face, I see the glint of the huge diamond engagement ring and wedding ring that West gave her.
“Yeah well, I thought I’d drop by,” I tell her. “I finished up some work and have some free time.”
She leans back, studying my face. Her brows pulled tight. “You look exhausted,” she tells me.
I don’t tell her that weeks of tests and a possible prognosis that could ruin everybody’s lives has that effect.
But this is her night. Hers and West’s. There’s no way I’m spoiling it.
“Thanks,” I say, deadpan. “Honestly, I was hoping for handsome. Or at least not shit.”
She snorts. “Shut up, you could never look like shit.” Her gaze flicks over me. “How long are you here for?” There’s a hopeful tone in her voice. The same one that I got from Autumn on my way in.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, because it is easier than admitting the truth. And I don’t want to commit to a timeframe I can’t see through. “Thought I might stick around for a bit.”
Long enough for me to decide how to break the news to them.
Her eyes widen. “Seriously? I thought you hated this place.” But her grin widens. God, I hate the look of hope on her face.
“I do.” I lift my glass and take a sip. “But you’re here. And Hudson and Autumn keep producing babies at an alarming rate.”
She laughs, then hugs me again, tighter this time. I know that hug. It says more than she could with words. Family growing. Time passing. Me watching it all from a distance.
While I can see it.
“That’s amazing,” she says. “How long do you think you’ll actually stay?”
“I’ve got something scheduled in September,” I tell her. It’s a lie but she doesn’t need to know that. “So until then, maybe.”
She nods, accepting the answer for what it is. “Oh! You have to meet Sadie,” she says, turning slightly and gesturing to the artwork behind me. “She runs the new gallery on the island. She helped source the paintings for the resort. Isn’t this one nice?”
I take a breath. Choose my words. Fail. “Very nice.” The truth is I can barely see it.
It’s darker in here, and that makes it more difficult.
But from one glance I can tell it’s run of the mill.
I’m assuming it’s Autumn’s choice. As an interior designer she tends to pick art to complement her designs.
Which is completely the wrong way. You choose the art then design the rooms around it. That’s my opinion anyway.
And another reason why Autumn and I sometimes clash.
“Zachary.” She rolls her eyes at me. “What’s wrong with it? It’s pretty.”
I sigh, because I don’t want to have this conversation now. And I certainly don’t want to make my sister furious about a damn painting. “It’s mediocre. Perfectly fine for what you’re using it for, but it’s not exactly going to haunt anyone.”
I soften it with a smile, but I can already tell it landed badly. This is why I should have stuck with nice, damn it.
“Mediocre?” The voice is sharp, controlled. Distinctly feminine.
And it definitely doesn’t belong to Eden.
I turn to see the redhead I barged into earlier walking up behind us, and something deep inside of me tightens. She’s staring right at me, her shoulders held high, revealing her smooth, pale skin, dotted with freckles. Her pink lips are parted like she’s readying herself to say more.
And that dress, the way it hugs her like it’s tailored with intent. It makes me wonder what it’s hiding underneath.
Eden groans, like I’m ruining her life. “He didn’t mean it like that. He just…”
“I know exactly what he meant.” Her tone is short. Her eyes don’t leave mine. Her chin lifts and I clock it immediately.
This woman does not back down.
Christ, I like that way too much. In another time, in another life…
I blink that thought away. “I take it you’re responsible for this piece?” I murmur, trying to look unfazed by her. Even if I can’t pull my gaze away.
“Responsible, yes,” she says coolly. “Apologetic, no.”
I take a sip of champagne, slow, deliberate, my gaze drifting over her face, her posture, the fire in her eyes. “Then you must run a very lucrative business. Selling safe, pretty things to people who don’t know any better.”
I don’t even know why I say it. Just to rile her, I think. Because I like the way her auburn brows look like fire on her pretty face.
And also, because deep down, I’m apparently a bit of an asshole.
Her eyes flash and the redhead steps closer. Close enough that I can smell the floral notes of her skin again. “And you must be the kind of man who confuses expensive with meaningful. I’d rather sell art people love than lock it away in some billionaire’s vault to rot.”
So this is Sadie. The owner of Books by the Sea, the shop that my sisters keep raving about. I guess I’d imagined her looking a little more librarian-like. And a lot less like she’s got a body made for sin.
A low laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. Rough. Honest. “I’m pretty sure you don’t care what I think.”
She tilts her head, red hair brushing her shoulder. “I don’t,” she says, her eyes challenging mine.
The air between us tightens. I feel it settle in my chest, that familiar spark of challenge and need. I’ve always been attracted to feisty women.
Then my sister steps back abruptly. Fuck, I’d forgotten she was even here. “Right. I’m going to check on the dessert table. Or the string quartet. Or anything that doesn’t involve me standing in the middle of whatever this is.”
Eden shoots me a sharp look that tells me to behave myself before she disappears, leaving me alone with the redhead and a piece of art neither of us is thinking about anymore.
“Sadie, I take it,” I murmur.
She lifts a brow. “Zach Fitzgerald,” she says back. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but…” She trails off, her head tipping to the side, the curve in her neck is as pleasurable to look at as a piece of exquisite art.
I open my mouth to apologize to her. To tell her that I was just trying to rile up my sister. The way I always did growing up. But before I can say a word she’s turning away from me.
Again.
And for some reason that makes my blood heat up.
She walks away, her head held high, her hips swaying softly beneath that blue-and-white dress that in another life I’d scheme to get on my bedroom floor.
I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Focus, Fitzgerald.
I’m not here to think about pretty redheads who can give as good as they get. I’m here to tell my family the truth. And possibly ruin their lives.
And I can’t afford to be distracted.