Page 3 of The Weekend Getaway

“Probably since the party, huh?” Phil asked, his gaze contemplative.

Mia flinched, then quickly looked away, toward the pool, focusing on the afternoon sun rays glinting off thesurface of the water. She didn’t want to think about the party. Didn’t want to think about what happened that night. Didn’t want to think about the part she’d played in the days following. Or how her performance had helped to guarantee her future, her marriage to Alex, the life they were able to create, their fabulous, luxurious, enviable existence that might soon fall apart if Alex didn’t do something.

Mia took a small breath, turning her gaze back to Alex and Phil.

Alex was doing something.

He’d planned the weekend getaway to make sure things didn’t fall apart.

“Mamma Mia!” Chris called out, making it sound like an inside joke, or a sly compliment, as though it was a nickname he’d always called her and not something he’d just come up with out of the blue.

“Phil!” Mia said, mirroring his enthusiasm as she leaned toward him, offering her cheek, making sure not to cringe when his cold, thin lips pressed against her face, leaving a small slobbery imprint on her skin. “How are you!”

“Glad to be on this beautiful island with old friends,” said Phil, glancing around at the vibrant, tropical surroundings.

“We’re so glad you could come,” Mia told him, hoping her voice sounded sincere.

“Had to rearrange my schedule,” Phil said. “But I wasn’t going to miss it.”

Mia kept nodding and smiling, her stomach still twisting as she tried to determine if she’d heard a hint of something in Phil’s tone. Something like … what? She wasn’t sure. Something she didn’t know if she should be worried about, or not.

“So, how’s the firm?” asked Phil, finishing his champagne. “You do personal injury, right?”

Mia bristled but kept her smile firmly in place. Again, something in Phil’s tone, maybe indifference, possibly disinterest. As though Alex’s law practice was inconsequential. A low-rent establishment unworthy of respect or admiration. Phil’s question, you do personal injury, held notes of amusement and disdain. Like maybe he thought Alex was some ambulance chaser and not a highly esteemed, successful attorney.

Alex nodded. “Mainly wrongful death.”

“You, Chris, and Jason started the firm together,” said Phil, like perhaps it had just occurred to him, and he thought it was a novel idea. Not quite shocking, but definitely surprising. “Foster, Ashton, and Morgan.”

“Ashton, Foster, and Morgan,” Alex corrected.

“That’s right. Your name is first on the shingle,” Phil said, looking at his empty champagne flute. “Wouldn’t be any other way, would it?”

Mia tensed, glanced at Alex. His face remained passive, but the tips of his ears told a different story, reddening to an angry crimson. Mia suspected Phil knew the correct name of Alex’s firm but had made the mistake on purpose. She had a feeling he wanted to humble Alex. Belittle his accomplishments, such as they were. Or, used to be. But Phil didn’t need to knock Alex down a peg or two to make himself feel better. There was no rivalry between Alex and Phil. Nocomparison when it came to wealth, status, and privilege. Phil was the scion of a billionaire family. Alex had been born into a lower-middle-class clan of blue-collar workers. Auto mechanics and plumbers. Men who worked with hands that were never clean. Hands that retained the stains and smells of manual labor. There should have been no reason why Phil would want to make Alex feel insignificant.

And yet, Phil had every right to wish nothing but the worst for Alex.

“I didn’t invite you to this spectacular place to talk about work,” Alex said. “We’re here to relax and have a good time.”

Mia continued to smile, keeping up the façade, wondering why her husband was lying.

“Well, speaking of a good time,” said Phil. “I could use another drink. Had to open a bottle myself. Found some flutes in the kitchen. Is the staff late? I know I was early but I figured they would be here before any of us.”

Alex said, “Can you believe this place is self-service? Didn’t realize that until I was on the plane and it was too late to arrange for a crew.”

“I told him to let me manage the booking,” Mia said. “I would have made sure the place had a full staff. Maids for all of us.”

Phil nodded, twirling the stem of the flute between his thumb and index finger.

Mia glanced at Alex. His quick glare let her know she’d messed up. Said too much. Or maybe something wrong. She wasn’t sure.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Alex said. “It’s only three days.”

CHAPTER 2

MIA

Mia swallowed.

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