Page 41 of The Rehoboth Retreat
Her dress was flowing. Her hair looked like it had its own lighting crew. She was elegance dipped in sass and topped with a martini.
“And you must be the radiant goddess who birthed this firecracker,” I said, switching gears to full charm. I took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, ignoring the throbbing in my foot.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re either shameless or concussed.”
“Why not both?” I grinned.
“Mmm,” she purred. “I like him. He’s full-on anarchy, but in a well-dressed sort of way.”
Miles looked at her like she’d lost her last marble. “Mother…”
“Oh, relax, darling,” she said, swanning past him to inspect the glowing orbs strung across the trees. “So he throws a party. It’s summer. We’re at the beach. Maybe you need to loosen up and have a cocktail instead of a coronary.”
“I was having swordfish with a peach and burrata salad,” Miles muttered.
“And now you’re having tequila with flamingo straws. Life changes,” I interjected.
Miles then whispered something to his mother, who then, in turn, whispered something back to him. Whatever she said, it must have set him off, because Miles looked pissed.
He groaned and turned on his heel. “Whatever. If I can’t enjoy some peace and quiet at the beach house, I’m heading into town.”
I started to follow him—tottered, really—but the man wasfast. That linen shirt caught the last of the deck lights like a damn spotlight as he disappeared into the front yard and out of reach.
“Miles!” I called after him, leaning against a support post. “Come on! Don’t be mad. Stay! There are limoncello popsicles and a guy dressed like Wilson fromCast Away!He even painted his face!”
Nothing.
Just the distant click of designer loafers on concrete and the swish of linen rage.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and muttered, “Well, shit.”
Why the hell did it matter? People flung themselves at me all the time. Literally, a guy was grinding on a tiki torch ten feet away, trying to make eye contact with me.
But Miles? He was different. He didn’t laugh at my jokes. He didn’t gawk. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t evenlikeme.
And that?
That was hot.
Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was the way he managed to look like both a luxury hotel ad and an angry pelican at the same time. Maybe I liked being slapped with a verbal rolled-up newspaper for once.
Whatever it was, I wasn’t done with Miles Whitaker.
Not even close.
Miles
I am so done with Hudson Knight!
I slammed the gate shut behind me, the metal latch clanging louder than I’d intended. The sound rang out into the twilight, a final punctuation mark to the absurdity I had just walked away from. Hudson’s party was still raging next door, a relentless thump of bass and laughter that seemed to mock me from the other side of the fence. Shirtless bodies danced in my periphery like a bad music video. I didn’t bother to turn around. I had made my exit, dramatic and principled, and I would not be crawling back to that neon-lit frat house ever.
What I hadn’t expected—what stung far more than it should have—was that my mother didn’t follow me.
“I think I’ll stay,” she’d whispered to me once I told her I was ready to leave. “It’s good to see people enjoying themselves, don’t you think, darling?”
No. No, I did not think that.
She had abandoned me. Thrown to the glittering wolves.Me, the one who had dragged her down here for a weekend of elegant meals, meaningful conversation, and maybe—just maybe—a little bit of healing from the emotional bruising of my separation from Owen. But here she was, sipping fruity cocktails with shirtless twinks, probably asking them if they knew where to find decent wine in Sussex County.
