Chapter 8
CLEO
Iwoke up groaning. Then moaning. Then seriously considering whether death might be preferable to whatever was currently happening inside my skull.
I was hungover. Not catastrophically so—I’d definitely had worse—but enough that my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and my mouth tasted like something had died in it.
A headache pulsed behind my eyes in time with my heartbeat.
Everything felt puffy. My face, my fingers, my brain. All of it swollen and sluggish.
I could hear the house stirring to life around me. Footsteps on the floor below. Someone laughing. A baby crying. The distant sound of running water. Coffee brewing, if my nose wasn’t deceiving me.
Coffee. Yes. I needed that. Lots of coffee.
I forced myself to sit up. That took way more effort than it should have. I was certain the bed had tilted sideways. I could feel my hair sticking up in various directions. I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes because apparently drunk Cleo had decided stripping wasn’t possible.
Fair.
I stumbled to the ensuite bathroom, flipped on the light, and immediately gasped at my reflection. Oh God.
I wasn’t going to claim to be one of those skincare girlies that had a five-step routine every night. But I usually took two minutes to wipe off the top layer of makeup. Not last night.
My eyeliner and mascara were halfway down my cheeks. Raccoon eyes didn’t even cover it. My purple eyeshadow had somehow ended up on my forehead. My red lipstick looked chunky and smeared like a bad goth band lead singer.
And the swelling. My face looked like I’d gone twelve rounds with a beehive. I looked like a puffer fish.
“Should’ve stuck to Diet Coke,” I muttered to my horrifying reflection.
And water. Maybe I could get one of those hydration IVs. My poor body was not happy with me.
I spent the next fifteen minutes scrubbing my face clean and trying to make myself look like a human person instead of a creature of the night.
If I wanted a part in a zombie movie, I’d be a sure thing.
Cold water helped with the puffiness. Somewhat.
I brushed my teeth three times because I was paranoid about my breath.
I was absolutely certain there was fuzz growing on my tongue and teeth.
Finally, I changed into soft leggings and an oversized sweater that said “NOPE” across the chest in glittery letters. It felt appropriate for my current state. I loved kids, but I prayed little Tiana did not decide to have a crying jag before I got ibuprofen and coffee this morning.
I made my way downstairs, following the sound of voices and the smell of breakfast. The kitchen was already full of people, and the morning sunlight streaming through the windows was way too bright.
Cash was there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world.
He looked annoyingly put-together in khakis and a white polo.
His hair was slightly damp, like he’d already showered.
He’d probably gone for a run too because of course he had.
Why didn’t rich people get hangovers? Their blue blood must have some hangover antidote.
Our eyes met. I knew I looked like hell. I hadn’t bothered with my usual makeup. Few people saw Cleo in the raw. But here she was. And she needed coffee.
Wordlessly, he reached for a clean mug and poured me a cup. I could have kissed him for that alone.
“Cream and sugar are there,” he said, nodding toward the counter.
“Thanks,” I managed, my voice rough from sleep and dehydration.
I doctored my coffee with enough cream and sugar to make it barely recognizable as coffee, then took a long, grateful sip. The warmth spreading through my chest felt like absolution. Twelve more of these bad boys and I’d be right as rain.
“Morning, Cleo!” Melody chirped from where she was perched on a stool at the island. She looked radiant and well rested and absolutely glowing with pregnancy hormones. I kind of hated her for it.
“Morning,” I said, aiming for cheerful but knew I sounded like an old lady with a two-pack-a-day habit.
Austin was at the stove. “Frittata?” he offered. “I’m making enough for an army.”
“Yes, please. Food is good. Food will help.”
Protein.
Grease.
All the things to soak up the remaining alcohol.
Cash and I ended up standing near each other by the coffeemaker, and we fell into easy chitchat with Melody and Austin. It felt almost normal. Like Cash and I were friends now.
“I’m so excited about the spa,” Melody said, practically bouncing. “I haven’t had a massage in forever.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced Kent and Sylvie’s arrival.
Kent looked like he hadn’t slept much. The hazards of having a two-month-old.
Sylvie looked peaceful as she cradled baby Tiana against her shoulder.
She moved to the windows, gazing out at the ocean with an expression of pure contentment.
I poured her a cup of coffee and took it to her. “Thought you might want this,” I said softly, not wanting to wake the baby.
Sylvie looked at me with genuine gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”
“How’s motherhood treating you?”
She offered a serene smile. “Exhausting. Beautiful. Terrifying. Perfect. All at once.”
We stood there together, watching the waves roll in. Tiana made a small snuffling sound but didn’t wake.
“I’ll never get tired of seeing the ocean,” Sylvie said quietly. “Growing up in Northwood, we didn’t have anything like this. Just mountains and trees and small-town life.”
“Northwood,” I repeated, the name ringing a bell. “That’s where Kent found you, right?”
“Found me, saved me, annoyed me.” She laughed. “It’s a long story. But yes. My family was on the verge of losing everything. And I literally mean everything right down to the land we stood on. My family’s Christmas tree farm was struggling. Everything was falling apart.”
“And then Kent showed up?”
“And then Kent showed up,” she confirmed, smiling at the memory. “This billionaire in designer suits who had no business being in a tiny mountain town. But he literally found a way to put everything back together. For me, for my family, for the entire town.”
I was surprised by this. It didn’t sound like Bancroft behavior. At least not the Bancroft behavior I’d observed. Minus Austin, who would absolutely move mountains for Melody without a second thought.
“I know exactly how you feel about Bancrofts,” Sylvie said, and there was understanding in her voice.
“Trust me, when I first met Kent, I had half a mind to throw him in the back of my truck like a Christmas tree and abandon him on the side of the road. Instead, he tossed my Christmas tree on the side of the road.”
I nearly snorted coffee out my nose. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, but the universe snapped back fast and hard. I had to save him. And I guess you could say the rest is history.”
“What changed?”
Sylvie looked over her shoulder at Kent, who was currently poking fun at Austin about something. Her entire face softened.
“Everything,” she said simply. “Once a Bancroft trusts you and they let you in? There’s no going back from that. Just ask Melody.”
I paused, letting those words sink in. My gaze drifted to Cash. He was listening to something Melody was saying, his expression focused and thoughtful. Then, as if he could feel me looking, he glanced up.
Our eyes locked. For a moment, everything else faded.
The conversation around us. It was just him and me and this strange awareness that something had shifted between us last night.
He gave me a curt nod, like you might do if you passed a stranger on the sidewalk.
Like we hadn’t just spent hours divulging personal hopes and dreams. Like I hadn’t told him things I’d never told anyone.
Maybe not all Bancrofts were like Kent and Austin. Maybe some of them were better at keeping their walls up.
I was about to turn back to Sylvie when the front door burst open and someone new walked in.
“Who’s pouring?”
I blinked at the newcomer. Another tall, dark-haired, absurdly handsome man who had Bancroft written all over him.
Another brother. Because apparently, there was an endless supply of them.
What kind of sperm count did Armand Bancroft have?
He had to have been producing kids for a good twenty years straight.
Their poor mother.
“Finn!” Austin looked delighted. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a guy surprise his family?” Finn dropped a duffel bag by the door and headed straight for the coffee. “I heard there was a baby announcement and a wedding invitation. Figured I should show my face.”
Everyone else seemed completely unfazed by the new addition, like surprise Bancroft brothers just materialized out of thin air on a regular basis. I looked at Melody, who was laughing at something Finn had just said. Then at Cash, who rolled his eyes at his brother but didn’t seem surprised.
“How many of you are there?” I asked to no one in particular.
Finn grinned at me, cocking his head as if he just noticed me in the room. Normally, in my full makeup and outfit of the day, everyone noticed me. “Depends on the day. I’m Finnick. Finn. And you must be Cleo. I’ve heard stories.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Probably.”
Kent clapped Finn on the back, then turned to Sylvie. “You know what? We should stay another night. No rush to get back to Northwood. You go enjoy the spa today. I’ll stay here with Tiana. Give you a proper break.”
Sylvie looked torn between gratitude and guilt. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Go. Get a massage. Relax. I’ve got this.”
Melody squealed with excitement. “Yes! This is going to be so fun. Just us girls.”
We ate, downed more coffee, and headed to our rooms to get ready for the spa day. By the time I came back down, a sleek black car was waiting outside for us.
The drive was beautiful. Winding coastal roads with glimpses of the ocean between expensive homes. Melody and Sylvie chatted excitedly in the back seat while I stared out the window and tried not to think about last night.
I failed spectacularly.
The spa was exactly as luxurious as expected.
All natural wood and stone and the sound of trickling water.
We checked in, changed into fluffy robes and slippers, and were led to the massage room where three tables waited for us.
Soft music pumped through invisible speakers. The smell of mint permeated the area.
“Full body massage,” the serene receptionist told us. “Ninety minutes. Enjoy.”
I climbed onto my table face down. The masseuse was a tiny woman with surprisingly strong hands. She got right to work.
The combination of the hangover, the lack of sleep, and the absolutely magical hands working my tense muscles created the perfect storm. I passed out within five minutes.
I woke up to the sound of the masseuse quietly saying, “All finished. Take your time getting up.”
I blinked groggily, trying to remember where I was. Then I noticed the droplets on the floor beneath the face cradle. Drool. I had actually drooled.
Please tell me I didn’t drool on her feet when she was working on my shoulders.
I sat up slowly, my face burning with embarrassment. Melody was on the next table over. She was grinning at me.
“Rough night?” she asked kindly.
“Something like that,” I managed.
We were led to the relaxation room for cucumber water and the next phase of our spa day. Melody leaned over. “You were snoring.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were. It was adorable.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands.