Chapter Thirty-Seven
Diane pushed from the outdoor dinner table and pressed her phone to her ear. “Excuse me. One minute.”
Jules tracked her mom’s expression then glanced at Abigail. Dad didn’t seem to notice as he regaled them with news of his golf swing. Something about a new technique or a new club. Maybe something a golf pro had suggested. She didn’t know.
“If that’s Tabitha, I’m going to lose my shit,” Abigail murmured.
Jules raised a shoulder. “As long as she’s not here, I don’t care.
” She leaned over to spy on Wes sitting in the kitchen, scrolling through his phone.
If Mom taking a phone call inside hadn’t caught his attention, Jules guessed it wasn’t Tabitha.
Though she suspected Rhys and Wes were experts at appearing disinterested and absorbing everything.
Mom popped outside again, still holding her phone, though she was no longer talking on it. Her lips pressed together, and Dad let his sentence about birdies or bunkers drift off.
“Don’t be upset,” Mom said.
“Oh, come on.” Abigail crossed her arms. “If you let her back into the house tonight, it’s not just Rhys and Wes you’re going to hear about it from. I’m in desperate need of a long-term break from Tabitha.”
Mom’s gaze shifted to Jules, but she agreed with Abigail. “I could use the break too.”
“It’s not Tabby,” Mom said. “It’s Olivia, and I think you should listen to her.”
“No way.” Abigail scoffed. “Over my cold, dead, worms-crawling-out-of-my-eye-sockets body.”
Mom rolled her eyes the same way Abigail always did. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Jules rested her hand on her sister’s forearm. “I don’t have anything to say to Olivia, and I’ve said everything that needs saying to Mason. No hard feelings—”
Abigail snorted.
“I’m serious. Mason didn’t break my heart, and maybe I should be furious at both of them, but I’m… relieved.”
“Relieved?” Mom sank into her chair and reached for her wineglass.
Perhaps her family needed to hear the truth.
Maybe Abigail would kick Jules’s ass. With everything happening, her agreement with Mason seemed so trivial.
“There’s a lot you don’t know.” She bit her lip.
Her sister would shake her senseless before this meal was done. “Mason and I had a business agreement.”
Dad cleared his throat. “A prenup?”
“Not exactly.” God, this was awkward. She squinted and waved her hand back and forth. “I was lonely, and everything with the stalker had been ratcheting up. It just seemed safer to have someone to lean on professionally. And sort of personally.”
“Sorta personally?” Abigail’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. “You’re going to have to explain that.”
“Think of us more like…” Why had she decided to share? There had been a reason thirty seconds ago. “Friends with benefits.”
Dad coughed.
Mom gulped her wine.
Abigail shrieked, “Are you kidding me? No wonder you said everything was so-so.”
“Friends with benefits doesn’t mean so-so. I said men were so-so.”
“Please don’t make me defend the male species again,” Abigail muttered. “It depletes my soul.” But she cocked her head. “Wait. I don’t have to.”
“Why?” Mom asked.
Jules twisted her fingers in her lap. “Please don’t fuel her.”
“You share, or I share.” Abigail grinned. “I could send out an update in the family group chat. What GIF would I use?”
More curious than he’d ever been before, Dad asked, “Share what?”
Jules slugged back her wine. “I hate you.”
“Rhys disproved her theory,” Abigail explained with a hefty dose of sisterly side-eye. There would be consequences one day. Jules would make sure to somehow work Abigail’s sex life into family dinners. If only she knew anything about the women she dated.
“I’ve seen the pictures of you and Rhys.” Mom tried to hide her smile behind the rim of her wineglass. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
Dad tossed his napkin with a grimace. “This is a conversation for just the girls. I’m going to show Wes my new driver.”
What Jules wouldn’t give to hear her dad continue the conversation about his swing again.
“I told Olivia she could come over.” Mom swatted Dad back into his chair. “Clear the air, and if you never want to speak to her again, then so be it.”
“You know the cops think Mason burned down my house, right? In what world was that a good idea?”
“Mason didn’t burn down your house,” Mom scoffed.
“No kidding. It was Tabitha.”
Mom set down her wineglass. “Abigail Vanessa Lowry, watch yourself.”
Abigail tossed her hands up in surrender as Wes opened the patio door. “Were you expecting Olivia?”
Jules let out a deep breath. “I’ll go talk to her.”
She found Olivia perched on the couch of the formal living room. Olivia had been here dozens of times, and never had they set foot in this room. Mostly unused, the space served as an area for business meetings.
Olivia bounced onto her toes. Her flowy shirt hid the baby bump she and Mason had plastered all over the internet. Not that Jules had googled it or anything. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
They stood awkwardly. Jules had no idea what she should say. “Congratulations—” She winced. “Really. That wasn’t snark.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know—”
Jules waved the apology away. She didn’t want it and probably wouldn’t believe it. The only thing she wondered was how much Mason had told her about their arrangement. Was that why Olivia was here?
“I didn’t mean to get pregnant,” Olivia said. “I don’t think I meant to fall—”
“Honestly, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I never meant to hurt you.”
God, Olivia looked heartbroken, and that, juxtaposed against Jules’s total lack of romantic feelings for Mason, made her stomach roil. But also, it indicated Mason hadn’t broken their agreement and told Olivia about the arranged marriage. “Why are you here?”
“Mason didn’t burn down your house.”
“I know,” she said before thinking. But that was the truth.
No matter what the cops said, she wouldn’t believe it.
With Jordan Everett, she hadn’t wanted to believe it, but Jordan had quickly proven she was entirely wrong.
Mason hadn’t proved anything other than that he was angry about losing out on their business agreement.
Burning down her house didn’t do anything to fix that, and as Jules looked at Olivia, she knew in her heart that he hadn’t facilitated anything that had happened on St. Barts. “The cops think so, but I don’t.”
“Sometimes, I think everything that happens in your lives is for ratings and attention. I saw it with you, and now with him, it’s just… I just wanted to apologize. You were one of my best friends, and I fell for your guy.”
“Well, you can make it up to me by not doing that reality series. Sort of surprised you didn’t show up with a film crew.” Jules made a show of peeking out the window. “Nope. Not there.”
“As if Sloane would let that happen without your okay. I didn’t tell anyone I was on my way over except your mom. And that was when I was parked a block away, already here. I mean, Tabitha knows. It was her idea I talk to you—”
“Why would Sloane—” Jules didn’t care. Sloane had more sway in Hollywood than Jules might, if she was honest. Given the number of times Jules’s name had been thrown into the online marketing campaign for Mason and Olivia’s pregnancy reality show, she shouldn’t be surprised that Sloane and her legal team had stipulations for how her name was used.
The doorbell rang. Wes had been out of sight but possibly not out of hearing range of their conversation. He didn’t glance over as he made his way to the door.
“It’s late,” Olivia remarked. “I hope I didn’t start a trend.”
Jules hoped Rhys had returned. That he’d been gone this long didn’t bode well.
“Jules.” Wes hustled from the front entryway. “Let’s go.” He grabbed her by the elbow. “Come on.”
Olivia rested her hand on her stomach, outlining the baby bump. “What’s—”
Dad rushed into the living room, half dragging Abigail, half pushing Mom. He made eye contact with Wes. Mom held her phone out as Dad prodded them along. The security camera’s live feed was streaming, but Jules couldn’t tell what was happening.
From the front living room, glass shattered. An alarm blared.
“Go,” Wes commanded, unholstering a weapon tucked under his shirt. “Now.”
Glass shattered again. Jules pivoted toward the back of the house.
“Now!” Wes shouted.
Jules snagged Olivia by the arm, leading the charge.
The alarms screeched. Their neighbors would call the cops, though the system had already notified authorities. All they had to do was make it upstairs.
She faltered. What if this were a fire? The safe room wasn’t a fireproof vault.
Rushing boots stampeded behind them. Wes shouted. Noise crackled, and gunfire popped. Then something whizzed over her head—not a bullet.
But their group collided, tripping and falling over themselves to get up the sweeping staircase.
That noise sounded again, hissing and thumping. Thick, acrid smoke surrounded them. An unbreathable cloud blanketed them. Her eyes watered. She couldn’t breathe. The taste assaulted her tongue. Bile swilled at the back of her throat.
They rushed up the stairs, tripping as they climbed.
Olivia is pregnant. “Pull your shirt over your face.”
They reached the second floor. Jules stumbled, blinded by the smoke. Tears raced down her cheeks. She couldn’t hear Dad or Wes. “Is Mom behind us?”
Gunfire popped.
Abigail lumbered with Mom up the stairs.
Olivia faltered. “I can’t—”
Jules yanked Olivia, who bent over and retched.
A rough hand grabbed Jules’s shoulder. “Wes. Get her—” She tried to hand Olivia off, but couldn’t catch her breath. Dizzy, she couldn’t make her arms listen. Her brain’s commands glitched. A hand slapped over her face. Jules couldn’t take another breath.
She clawed at the arm, fighting against the hold. She tried to inhale but couldn’t.
As she blinked, black dots danced in her peripheral vision, obscuring the smoky, awful haze. The dots and the white smoke mingled until the dark shadows overtook the white clouds.
Then her world snapped to black.