Chapter 29
twenty-nine
ZACH
“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Wyatt asks down the phone line. I can hear the rumble of conversation in the background. “I just landed. Gonna grab a bite to eat and get a cab to the dock.”
“You mean Autumn hasn’t laid out a complete itinerary for you?” I laugh, because she has for every other member of the family.
“She did but I conveniently left it at home,” Wyatt says, completely unfazed that he’ll be incurring our sister’s wrath. “She had me arriving on Liberty early afternoon, which was completely impossible since my flight didn’t land until three. I should be arriving early evening.”
I smile, because I’m looking forward to seeing him.
The two of us are the closest in age. Growing up, we shared a bedroom, spent most of our time together.
“Well, I do have my itinerary, and I’m apparently hosting the pre-dinner get-together for her biggest donors at six.
Then the gala starts at seven. Want me to arrange for a car to pick you up at the dock?
” I’ve already ordered one for Sadie and Romy, because I can’t be there to drive them over.
“Yeah, that would be good. I’ll send you my ETA. Thanks man.” He clears his throat. “I’ll be staying for a few days.”
He doesn’t say it, but I know what he means. He’ll be here tomorrow, when I tell the family about my RP. About the need to gene test them all.
“Okay.” I nod. “That’s good.” It will be good to have his support.
There’s a pause followed by a thud, like he’s put his luggage down. “It’s gonna be okay, you know?” he says softly.
“Yeah, I know.”
He laughs at my lack of enthusiasm. “Let’s go out sailing once you’ve told them,” he suggests. Because that’s what we used to do whenever we had problems. Leave the world behind, face the horizon. Pretend that we had no worries in the world.
“That sounds good,” I tell him. “I’d like that.” And maybe then I can talk to him about Sadie. Because if I’m telling my family, I have to tell her.
And I have no idea how to do that.
“Listen, I gotta go. I’ll see you in a few hours. All dressed up as per Autumn’s instructions.”
“Take care,” I tell him, ending the call.
For the next couple of hours I check the art placement in the hotel, making sure it fits the plans Sadie and I made. Then I calm Autumn down when she starts to panic that everything’s going wrong.
Finally, I head back to my apartment, take a shower, and put my dinner suit on, ready to head to the hotel library at six to welcome the VIPs.
These are the high rollers. Mostly people I know through the art world. A few of Hudson’s guests, some that West has brought in. But it’s mostly my contacts, which is why she wants me there.
And once I’m ready, having checked my tie in the mirror to make sure it’s straight, I pick up my phone and send a photo to Sadie.
I want one back. – Zach
No can do. I’m still getting ready. You’ll have to be patient. You’ll see me in an hour. – Sadie
I shake my head and smile, because I’m counting the damn minutes.
And when I walk back out into the hotel reception, it’s like stepping into a casino in Monte Carlo.
The place is thronging with people dressed to the nines, with security personnel installed by Asher who’s gone so over the top it feels like I’m on the set of FBI: Most Wanted.
But the one person I want to see is still at the bookshop. And I have to wait far too long before I can see her.
Rolling my shoulders, I head toward the library, readying myself to be the host with the most.
Because tonight, I’m playing the role of art expert, bon viveur, and the most easy-going man in the world.
And tomorrow? Well, that’s when the shit hits the fan.
SADIE
“I’m going to need a moment,” Romy says, fanning her face as she looks out of the window at Asher’s security team pacing the sidewalk.
“This is like every fantasy I’ve ever had come true, all at once.
Protective heroes, security team, maybe a dash of why choose?
” She sighs, turning to look at me. “You think we can persuade Asher to leave his team here permanently just for my entertainment?”
We’re in my apartment, getting ready for the gala. I have about five messages from Zach who wants to know what’s taking me so long and why I’m not at the hotel yet, but seriously, for a girl who missed her prom, getting glammed up with a friend while we drink champagne is kind of a rite of passage.
The bedroom smells of shower gel and perfume, mixed with the desserts that Romy brought up from Mylene’s coffee shop. I’m in my lingerie, my hair up, leaning forward to do my makeup while Romy is supposed to be curling her hair.
But she’s too busy making eyes at one of the security guards right now.
Before I can remind her that Zach’s car is already waiting outside for us – and has been for twenty minutes – she lets out a low whistle.
“Actually, scratch that,” she says, leaning so close to the glass her nose is pressed against it. “I now have a mountain man in a suit kink. Surely it has to be illegal to look that good.”
Sighing, I put my lipstick down and walk over to join her. There’s a man walking up from the dock, and Romy’s right, from this angle he looks more mountain than human. He has to be at least six foot four, if not more, and his shoulders are so big he must’ve had that tux custom made.
“Who is he?” Romy murmurs.
I take in his thick wavy hair, the grumpy expression on his face, and I immediately know who it is.
“Wyatt Fitzgerald,” I say, already feeling the buzz of nerves in my chest. “Zach’s brother.” I’ve seen his photo in Zach’s apartment after all. Though he was wearing a pair of jeans and a checkered shirt, at the helm of a boat.
Romy twists to look at me, eyes wide. “That’s Wyatt? The elusive, never-on-the-island brother?”
“The one and only,” I say, trying not to grin at the way she’s almost salivating.
“He looks like a Bond villain,” she mutters, then sighs again. “But, like, in a way where you’d let him tie you to a chair and hope your ransom is never paid.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” I quip, then I laugh. “Actually, he floats boats. That’s his job.”
“He does?” Romy puts her hand on her chest.
“Yep. Has his own charter company down south somewhere.” I vaguely remember Zach mentioning they were trying to get him to expand his company to Liberty.
“Well that man can scrub my decks any time,” Romy declares.
“Okay, stop talking,” I say, laughing despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I need to finish my eyeliner and we have to go.”
My phone buzzes.
The driver is still outside. Message me when you’re in the car. – Zach
I roll my eyes.
He’s been like this all day. While Liberty Island’s Main Street has turned into an open-air gallery where people have wandered from one window display to the next, Zach’s been constantly messaging.
Not that I hate it. Today has been great. The whole island’s been buzzing. The gallery was packed from noon until closing, the shop overrun with tourists and collectors. I think I’ve made more money today than I did for the last month.
Now, as I slip on my heels and give my dress one last tug, my phone lights up again.
Please get in the car or I’ll come over and carry you to the damn hotel. – Zach
“Is he always this bossy?” Romy asks, glancing over my shoulder.
I wrinkle my nose. “Kind of, but he’s on a whole new level today.”
“Well let’s go. I just saw Steroid James Bond get into a car. I don’t want to loose him too long among the desperate ladies of Liberty,” Romy says.
“His name is Wyatt,” I remind her.
“Whatever.” She shrugs and shimmies into her dress, looking every inch the sultry seductress in black sequins and red lipstick she’s trying to be. She grabs her clutch bag. “Come on, let’s go.”
I take a last glance at my apartment. It’s funny being here after spending the week at Zach’s. I don’t feel like the same woman who broke down in tears and fell to the floor.
I’m stronger. Happier.
So damn happy, it’s stupid, actually. And most of that is thanks to the man who can’t stop messaging me.
The drive to the Grand Liberty Hotel takes longer than normal, due to the line of cars slowly making their way up the drive. Zach only messages twice asking where the hell we are, which is kind of a miracle really.
Another guard wearing a black suit and tie, complete with earpiece, opens the car door before the driver can climb out, his stance wide and his gaze scanning the area like he’s ready to take a bullet for us.
Romy audibly sighs as she swings her legs out, the sequins on her dress catching the moonlight.
“Okay, I take it back,” she murmurs as the guard offers her a hand. “Maybe a reverse harem security situation is what I need right now.”
“Romy,” I warn, stepping out after her. Because seriously, she’s actually fluttering her lashes at him.
But she ignores me. “Do you escort all the guests inside, or is this a special service?” she asks him.
The guard doesn’t crack a smile. “Mr. Fitzgerald has requested I stay with Miss Delaney. You’re to be walked through the west entrance, no stopping, no having photos taken on the red carpet.”
Of course Zach has. I try not to smile.
Romy wiggles her fingers at me behind his back, mouthing Mr. Fitzgerald with an exaggerated swoon. I’m too busy trying not to trip on the hem of my dress to respond.
We follow the security guard through a side door and into a hallway draped with white linens and soft golden lights.
The sound of strings swells ahead, low and romantic, matched by the buzz of voices and laughter drifting out from the ballroom.
My heels click against the marble floor, the scent of candles and roses wrapping around us like silk.
The security guard murmurs into his hand. Romy’s eyes meet mine, and she looks so stupidly excited at him doing his job.
“Ma’am,” the security guard says, his hand against his earpiece. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Fitzgerald will be with you in five minutes.
“Do you want me to follow you too?” Romy asks him, tipping her head to the side.
The guard’s eyebrows lift. “I ah…”
She laughs softly. “It’s okay. I think we all know who the prize is here.” She grins at me. “I’ll get us a drink. Champagne?”
“Yes please.”
She disappears inside the ballroom and the guard puts his hand so lightly against my back I can barely feel it.
“Come with me,” he says, and I do exactly as he asks, because I wouldn’t put it past Zach to tell him to carry me in if he has to.
Not that I think I’d hate that. Not one little bit.