The lights were off. Surfaces wiped down, sanitized, and gleaming. The soft hum that accompanied every kitchen led me to the fridge. I hit the jackpot with a can of condensed milk, and made myself a steaming pot of milky tea. My pocket vibrated as I pulled a packet of shortbread cookies out of the pantry.
555-4526: Tell me where you are, Arabella.
I quickly blocked the number, as though staring at it for too long would lead a trail to me like police traced a chatty kidnapper on an open line.
My hairs stood on end up and down my arm. In spite of my pot of what Mom and I called sleepy tea, I knew I wouldn’t get one hour of rest that night.
Upstairs, I took a quick bath, washing off the sand, and wrapped myself in a fluffy bathrobe. Distraction was the name of my game. A book I chose at random off the bookshelf and my drink joined me on the balcony.
The soft, chaise lounge welcomed me with cottony arms. Music and chatter floated over my picturesque scene. I didn’t mind it so much. Their revelry reminded me I wasn’t alone, and my undisturbed view of the rolling, foaming waves put me at ease.
If he’s asking where you are, it means he doesn’t know. You’re safe here, Belle. Your biggest worry is fending off potential suitors.
I repeated the thought a few times to will my chilled blood to circulate. When I almost believed myself, I picked up my mug and book and settled in for a long night.
The Devotion of Suspect X was deep into the best part when I returned. It hooked me and dragged me deeper, smothering me in the brilliant, twisted world of Keigo Higashino.
Hours passed. The dregs of my tea grew cold. The noise from the party faded to silence.
I hunched over my book, eyes skimming faster than my brain was taking the words in. This is insane. The whole time the killer was—
The light winked out, cutting off my reading like a sack over the head. My overhead light flickered. On. Off. On. And then off for a thirty-second stretch.
Kissing my teeth, I heaved myself up and went inside. I turned the lights on in my room and pushed the curtains back to let them reach my spot. Satisfied, I returned to my book.
“What’s our son’s name?”
Another bulb flicked on.
Nathan propped his elbows on his rail, gazing at me from the neighboring balcony. He was clad from the waist down. A beer bottle hung from his fingers, dangling over the rose bushes.
I saved the sputter and shock at finding out he had the room next to mine. The way my life was going, Carter was probably on the other side and Preston in the room opposite.
I set my book down, rising to my feet. Two years and we hadn’t laid eyes on each other. Not so much as spoken a word. Two meetings in three days had broken our streak. Speaking to each other would demolish it.
Go inside, Belle. Draw the shades. Turn out the lights. Let this chapter of your life remain closed.
It was well-named as a voice of reason. Too much had gone wrong in the space of a few hours. Heeding my common sense to stay away from Nathan Prince would save the pieces of frayed twine holding my life together from unraveling further.
Go, Belle. Go, go, go.
“Jameson,” I answered. “After your father.”
Nathan chuckled. No reason he should’ve done that. We were talking about the imaginary love child I created to scare away his admirers. But if Nathan ever responded the way I expected him to, we wouldn’t be in our current mess.
“I like it,” he said. “It’s the name I would’ve given my son.”
“I know. You told me.”
“Does he look like me or you?”
“You. He’s got your freckles and curls. My eyes.”
“The kid must be adorable. How did we survive giving him up?”
“It was hard,” I said carefully, “but in the end, we did what was best for all of us.”
He nodded, head tilting back to the stars. “Funny, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“How often the best choice is the one that makes everyone miserable.”
I said nothing.
“Did you have fun tonight?” Nathan asked after a beat. “Running around making up shit about me and my boys.” He sounded almost conversational.
“Had a blast. Thank you for asking.”
“While you’re in the mood to answer questions, can you tell me how much revenge you’ll need until you’re satisfied?” He took a healthy swig. “Should I