Chapter Two #3
“Um, thank you.” Abigail shattered the uncomfortable silence that bounced off the hotel room walls. “Those pictures were probably worth forty thousand.”
“At least,” Jules added.
Rhys grumbled, explaining it was all part of the job.
This would be one more reason that he hated Hollywood.
One more reason Jules would continue to hire him until he was done with the circus that always showed up whenever she walked into a room.
He ran a hand through the loose strands of his dark hair and gestured to the ice cream. “What do you want?”
Ice cream had been a sound plan. Now it mocked them like a children’s treat incapable of soothing the stress she’d brought upon herself.
He picked up the ice cream scoop and tossed it. The heavy metal scoop rotated like a baton before he caught it. “It’ll melt. What do you want?”
She could scoop her stupid ice cream. Did he think her that fragile? A pampered, brokenhearted princess who had everyone candy-coating her nightmare with sugar and calories.
She tightened the sash on her robe and moved to his side. Everything Abigail had ordered awaited them. But Jules couldn’t swallow the ache growing in her throat. Couldn’t blink away the burning behind her eyes. An unexpected sob caught in her throat. The whimper couldn’t be choked into submission.
Rhys glanced down, a glare flaring in his midnight eyes.
Oh, the judgment.
She refused to cry over Mason Marlow. But the ice cream might make her crack.
Why had she ever agreed to this spectacle with Mason? He’d made a fool out of her.
No one would believe the truth. No one would arrange a marriage in this day and age. No one believed love was only a myth.
They’d never understand why she craved safety and security, and they didn’t know how Mason had promised her she would never be alone. He had the celebrity clout to stand between her and chaos. Marrying Mason meant stability.
Except it didn’t. That safety net had slipped through her fingers like Santa Monica beach sand spilling into the Pacific Ocean, churning and turning under the crush of pounding waves.
And now she was going to cry in front of Rhys.
He’d seen her cry only once before and used that to destroy the very foundation of personal trust, and now he’d believe she was brokenhearted over Mason.
Don’t cry. Don’t do it. Not a single, solitary tear.
Rhys shifted away, almost as if he could sense the sob welling in her, ready to crush her to the carpet. He had saved her from an abductor, shielded her from stalkers, and led her silk-swaddled escape from her wedding, but he couldn’t handle tears. How entirely on brand for the male species.
His large hand rested on her shoulder, and whatever had been rising in her chest went completely still. Not soothed just—stopped. “Take a breath.”
Her eyes locked on his, and for a moment, she thought he might be the only reason she could breathe.
Her sister and girlfriends surrounded Jules, pushing him out of the way. They coddled her and cooed Mason’s death threats, making bowls of ice cream and chattering nonsense—happy thoughts and greeting card punch lines. When did society teach women that artificial sweetness was a balm for emotion?
Jules backed from the fray. The women told her to sit and relax, that everything would be okay. She didn’t have the mental energy to convince them otherwise.
Her eyes found Rhys’s again. They were tight at the corners and full of… of what? Anger? Resentment? She didn’t know.
His jaw ticked as he listened to the chatter. His frown deepened. They weren’t convincing him that the situation would be okay either.
Jules laughed, quietly and only for him to hear.
He surveyed the ridiculousness again. The corners of his lips tipped up.
They’d known each other longer than she’d known Yasmin, Aaliyah, and Olivia.
She trusted them. Him? Yes and no, and it didn’t matter as he pushed away like a man who had found himself in the middle of too much estrogen and not enough breathing room.
Jules stopped him as he beelined from the fray, his face shrouded with that bodyguard glare that caused people to take a step back. “Rhys,” she said, catching his arm as he powered toward the hotel room door. “Thank you.”
“He’s not worth your tears.” His voice was low, not a whisper but not for anyone else to hear. “No one is. I promise you.”
Her heart fluttered, and her mind went back to that day so many years ago when he’d rescued her from the first man she’d thought she loved. That had been a mistake, loving that man and crying in front of Rhys.
Rhys squeezed her shoulder again. Again, it reminded her of that reassuring touch he’d offered so many years ago when he’d saved her from two weeks of hell.
It was ironic, somehow, that she’d thought she’d been in love with the man who’d abducted her, tormented her, basically ruining her for anyone else, and now Mason had betrayed her while pretending to be in love. Rhys had saved her from both instances of love.
Fucking love. Love caused more problems than it was worth.
“Do you want toffee chips?” Aaliyah called.
Jules shrugged. “Why not?”
“Cherries?” Bowls and jars and scoops clinked and clanked like building her an ice cream monstrosity could erase her wedding day.
She shrugged again, not above a little wishful thinking. “Go for it.”
The ice cream sundae gave her friends something to do. Rhys glanced over, eyebrow arching. “Hope you’re hungry.”
Jules moved to his side and nudged his hulking body. He stiffened, of course. Rhys didn’t ever relax. Probably one of the many reasons he was good at his job.
“You should make a bowl.”
“Nah. Abigail looks like she might throw a punch if anyone gets too close to the ice cream cart.”
“Don’t make me laugh. I’m supposed to be sobbing.” Emotion cracked through her bravado. No one noticed except Rhys. Perhaps he had the registers of her voice memorized, as he had memorized everything else.
He draped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing with a side hug that packed a stronger sense of security than any her fiancé—ex-fiancé—had offered. And it only served as a reminder that she was less safe than she’d ever been.
The dull ache of hope and mistakes knotted in her throat. “I was supposed to be done doing this alone.”
He tensed. “You’ve never been alone.”
“Here you go.” Aaliyah interrupted with an overflowing bowl of ice cream, hand extended. “What are you going to do about the honeymoon?”
Yasmin and Abigail clattered their spoons, shushing Aaliyah. Everyone except Rhys bugged out their eyes as though mentioning the honeymoon might remind Jules of the last hour of her life. He transformed into the stoic bodyguard but didn’t head for the door again.
Jules took the ice cream from Aaliyah. It needed doctoring—more toffee chips and hot fudge and maybe another cherry on top. Anything to forget the honeymoon that waited for her the next day.
The nonrefundable airline tickets didn’t care if Jules had walked out on her groom.
The luxury bungalow with a seaside infinity pool would sit empty and alone.
Rhys had expected to travel to St. Barts with them. But he wouldn’t care if it were Jules and Abigail instead of Jules and Mason. She dug her spoon into the toffee and fudge. “I’m still going.”
“Oh, honey. You don’t have to do that.” Abigail side-hugged her like Rhys had. The sisterly affection didn’t help as much as her bodyguard’s. “I’ll handle it.”
Jules spooned another mouthful of ice cream. “Go with me.”
Abigail blanched. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We’ll just, I don’t know, pay a fee and have the tickets put in your name.”
“I don’t have enough vacation time to cavort off to the Caribbean.”
“Don’t make me beg, Abs.” Abigail wasn’t part of the family business.
Mom, the lauded screenwriter. Dad, the world-renowned director.
Jules topped the A-list. Abigail was an accountant for a small business that specialized in boat sales.
No awards, no status chasing, no drama. She loved numbers and spreadsheets and staying out of the limelight that had been pinpointed on them since they were conceived.
“I can’t. It’s simple. I don’t have the time off scheduled.”
“Please?” Jules pressed her palms up like she was praying around the bowl. “ Please .”
The hotel room door swung open. Sloane, Tabitha, and her parents waltzed in.
“Guess who’s going on the honeymoon with Jules!” Yasmin announced.
Tabitha’s mouth slackened. “ Who? ”
Yasmin smirked and winked at Jules. “Your favorite cousin.”
Well, that was one way to convince Abigail to agree to the trip. Jealousy slapped Tabitha’s mouth shut. Dad chortled like a sister-moon was a much better idea than a honeymoon then slapped Rhys on the back. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”
Jules and Abigail were headed to St. Barts with Rhys. Just one more reason he would think she was a celebrity twit who fixed heartache with superficial stunts.
“Oh, wow.” Sloane chewed her bottom lip, sizing Rhys up like it was the first time she’d seen him. “I could do a lot with this.”