Chapter 4
Chapter Four
brUNO
The introductions go on and on.
Somebody invites Russell to stay and have a drink, and if there weren’t camera crews flying into the estate, he’d probably go for it.
He gets out of there, thank God, and we head toward the main gathering area, a broad stone patio spread beneath sailcloth tents strung with small lights.
White linen tables ripple in the ocean breeze, and hydrangeas overflow from massive planters.
Servers wander through the crowd with trays of champagne.
People seem stunned by the appearance of Kelsey’s big city boyfriend, even a bit put off. I wonder briefly if it’s an issue with the RSVP like Sadie warned, or maybe because we are so obviously mismatched as a couple.
But as the introductions go on, I get the feeling that some of this weirdness is directed at Kelsey.
If she notices, she doesn’t show it; she glides through it all with determined brightness.
A pair of hotel porters approach. One takes the gift; the other takes my bag.
“Put it in her room. I’ll unpack it myself.”
“Yes. Naturally!” Kelsey says, baffled. “Okay, yeah.”
The other porter turns to her. “Room number?”
“Um... I’m in 2B.”
The porter cocks his head politely. “That was... 2B?” Clearly people who arrive in helicopters don’t stay in 2B. Scruffy little opportunists who try to scam billionaires out of gifts is who stays in 2B.
“You heard the lady,” I say. “2B.”
This sends them off.
I watch Russell’s helicopter disappear over the horizon.
I don’t blame him for being incredulous.
The last time he and Adrian pressed me on the subject of meeting someone and settling down, I believe I replied along the lines of, “You mean join the whole death march of love and family like a fucking lemming off the cliff?”
My little scammer is practically vibrating with nervous energy, chattering to her sister about how we’ve been keeping our romance under wraps, but I knew how important this wedding was, and of course was eager to meet the family.
She’s high energy and expressive. If her words were written out on a caption underneath her face, every sentence would be followed by three exclamation marks.
It would have to be somebody like this, wouldn’t it?
I’ve never been one for romance, but back when I succumbed to various obligations that required dates—before I figured out that a man could literally be his own island if he lived on a yacht, before I realized that fucking a woman was in no way worth tolerating a woman—my type was morose, reserved, fashionable women who made zero emotional demands on me.
Women who acted, at all times, just like their photos in magazines.
I do not go for dimples. I do not go for bright eyes. And I certainly do not go for women who are walking, talking exclamation marks.
“How could you not tell me you were involved...” Her sister flicks her eyes to me.
“I promised I wouldn’t.” Kelsey links her arm in mine. “Bruno is devastatingly private and he hates the paparazzi.”
“Hate them,” I grumble.
Kelsey gives me an amused smile, dimples out in full force, as if my hatred of the paparazzi is somehow amusing.
“So much!” she whispers dramatically. “They give him fits.”
“I wouldn’t say fits,” I say.
“Not literally fits,” she says.
At least it wasn’t Adrian in that helicopter. Adrian has five times the bullshit detector Russell ever had. He can spot a lie from miles off. He’d have had questions I’m not prepared to answer.
Of course, Russell will be filling him in right about now, texting furiously:
No, it’s not made up. He’s actually here with someone. Yes, a girl—a real one. Not his type at all. No designer dress. No pout. Just...normal.
This whole setup is so perversely outlandish, it might be brilliant.
She’s chattering away about her admiration for my watches, now. She’s tall for a woman. Her thick dark hair has a large purple streak down one side that in no way matches her matronly blue dress.
“Bruno is fascinated with the concept of time,” she says.
I grind my teeth together. “Though, as I’ve told you, I don’t consider time a concept.”
More people gather around. I’m introduced to the mother of the bride, a woman in a cream sequin blazer and smart slacks. “Kelsey!” Her air kisses on Kelsey’s cheeks don’t quite land. “So good of you to come. And you’ve brought a date!”
Kelsey beams at her mother. “Mom! So good to see you. You look amazing.” She introduces us and repeats the stage-door story.
“A Broadway show!” the mother exclaims, as if this news is a mixed bag. Mom’s not so sure how she feels about a Broadway show. I’m not so sure about how I feel about Broadway shows either, but if I had a daughter, I’d probably know she was in one.
Well, every family is its own little piece of hell, and this piece of hell belongs to this Kelsey woman.
She pulls me closer. “I bet you’re tired after your trip. I’ll show you to our room.”
“Good idea.”
We head across the yard to the walk that leads to the hotel.
“Thank you again,” she says as soon as we’re out of earshot. “I know you don’t know me...” She keeps on with the thanks.
It’s boring and tiresome to be thanked extensively for things, so I tune her out, strategizing my exit.
I pull out my phone and text Sadie to track the helicopter to make sure Russell’s really going back to Newport.
I won’t call my own helicopter to come get me—that’s too obvious.
I’ll have her send a car around the front of the hotel to take me to the marina and have one of the crew come out in the tender boat to meet me.
I’ll be back on deck by nightfall. I check my watch and text my chef to have a meal ready in two hours, three tops.
The girl stops blathering. “Bruno!”
“What?”
“You’re not even listening, are you?”
“No.”
“I just don’t know what your thoughts are. Like...you’re not really staying here, right?”
“Don’t you worry. You got your gift and your fifteen minutes of fame, and I got what I wanted.”
“What did you want?”
“Excuse me?”
“What did you want?”
“A scheduling conflict for the weekend.”
“Ohhhh. So that’s why you came.”
“It certainly wasn’t my love of strangers’ weddings.”
She snorts, and we enter the hotel, which is passable, I suppose in that trying-to-be-Hamptons-chic way.
But much to my surprise, instead of heading to the elevator or up the grand staircase, she takes me into a stairwell and we head down.
Could the B in room 2B truly mean basement?
I match her pace down a hallway that’s seen better days.
She stops at a door that looks like it might lead to the boiler room. When she opens it, I realize that was optimistic.
“This is your room?”
A look of embarrassment flashes across her face. “There was some kind of overbooking event and I got volunteered as tribute.”
“Do the rats handle turndown service or is that extra?”
“What do you care? You’re not staying here.”
“Certainly not,” I say.
“You don’t have to be like that. I mean, yes, it’s substandard, but—look at the wallpaper.
Isn’t it amazing?” She slides her hand over a patch of wall unblemished by various stains I’d rather not think about.
“Probably left over from before the place went preppy. Don’t you love the little boats and people with parasols?
And there’s a random bird here and there...
It’s got real personality, and a kind of faded glamour aspect. ”
The little scammer has opinions about crusty old wallpaper. I would have thought her taste would run more to Gucci.
So she doesn’t add up. Not my problem.
I check my phone. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We are going to do some photos and make an appearance, have a drink out there, do more photos, and then I’m out of here. You can make my apologies for me.”
She nods. “I’ll tell people you had a watchmaking emergency.”
“Watchmaking doesn’t have emergencies.”
“Maybe one of the tiny gears broke. Or the second hand is misbehaving. Or your diamond-encrusted whatever needs emergency encrusting.”
“No, you’ll say I had to leave. You won’t elaborate on why. Something came up and he had to go.”
“But what if they want to know what?”
“You say ‘something came up.’”
“But I’ll already have said that.”
“And you’ll say it again. Add a shrug if you must.”
She furrows her brow. “But that makes it sound like you didn’t give me a reason. Like you just left.”
“I don’t trouble you with the complexities of my life.”
“That doesn’t say much for our relationship.”
“I’m different than other men you’ve dated. You’re thrilled to be with me, and happy with whatever I give you.”
“Oh my God.” She twists her face into an expression of utter disgust. This woman. Everything she feels goes straight to her face. It’s almost alarming. “I would never be in a relationship like that.”
“That’s the only kind of relationship I’m ever in. You’ve made compromises.”
“You’re the one who was waiting outside the theater door, begging for a moment of my time.”
“Something came up.”
“Yikes. Okay.” She looks out the window where an employee is dumping a load of garbage.
I don’t know much about weddings, and I very much prefer to keep it that way, but it seems like the sister of the bride should have a better room than this.
“What I don’t get is, why would somebody like you need a scheduling conflict? I thought billionaires get to do whatever they want?”
“Not this billionaire. Not this weekend.”
“What’s happening this weekend?”
“None of your business.” I look around the room. “We need to get a good number of pictures before I leave, but probably not in here. Maybe in the lobby. Do you have something more presentable to wear?”
“Excuse me?”
“Clothes. I’m guessing you have something more presentable for tonight.”
She straightens. “I’m not even a real person to you, am I?”
“Which is convenient, because I’m not a real person to you either.”
She huffs and moves toward the closet. “The clothes situation is not ideal for what you’re going for, I’m afraid.”
I glance around the room again and a darker thought occurs to me. Russell—or worse, Adrian—could make one phone call and find me in this storage closet masquerading as a hotel room. I pull out my phone. “Sadie. I’m at the Hamptons Royale and we need an upgrade.”
“Good luck with that,” Kelsey mumbles.
Sadie wants to know the checkout date. I relay the question to Kelsey.
“Sunday,” she says.
Sadie gets on it.
“Don’t bother. They’re fully booked.” Kelsey’s still buried in the closet. “There’s nothing available.”
“There’s always something available.”
“There isn’t here.”
“We’ll see.”
Kelsey is throwing outfits on the bed.
My phone buzzes. A text from Sadie. We’ll be in the top-floor suite.
“Staff is coming to relocate us to the top-floor suite. We’ll do pictures there.”
She turns around. “What’s this, now?”
“We’re switching rooms.”
“You can’t just come in here and take over like I have no say in anything.”
“What was that out there? Please please please please please? I believe those were your exact words.”
“It wasn’t that many pleases.”
“And now you’re getting a better room. How is that a problem?”
“Because you can’t just come in here and tell me how things are going to work.”
“Would you rather I go out there and tell them about your TikTok trick?”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you literally blackmailing me?”
“I’m upgrading our accommodations because we’re both invested in pulling this off.”
“You are seriously the worst. Do you just live in a world where nobody says no to you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Highly recommended.”
She makes a face. As faces of disgust go, it’s a strong one. “You were on Broadway, you said? I believe it. These faces of yours could be seen from the moon.”
“Oh, ha ha. You’re horrible.”
“I’m sorry, can you remind me who invited who to this wedding on false pretenses?”
“It wasn’t false pretenses, it was stupidity. Normal people get to be a little stupid sometimes.”
“Look. We’re upgrading. We take a few photos, we go to the cocktail party tonight, and then I’m out of your hair. Meanwhile you’re sleeping in a suite and your sister gets a wedding present that will make her cry. Think of it as the Cinderella treatment.”
“It feels more like the Rapunzel treatment to me.”
I roll my eyes despite myself.