Page 6 of Fierce Love
The funeral home is on the way to the hospital, and maybe it’s worth a quick stop to ensure Otis is keeping in mind the better business practices that are only loosely enforced in Bellerive. Until someone complains, that is.
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Maren says. “Mom says they’re hopeful these treatments will work to stop her kidneys from producing too much protein. There are three or fourdifferent courses of treatment they can try before a transplant will be necessary.”
“Just as long as the match isn’t Ava,” Sawyer says with a wry smile. “I don’t want to have to try to convince her to be cut open and scar her body.”
“She’ll do it, though,” I say.
“But she won’t make it easy,” Maren says with a laugh. “Ava never makes anything easy.”
“Part of her charm as the youngest,” I say.
“Sure,” Sawyer says. “That.”
I let out a chuckle because Sawyer and Ava have always butted heads, much like Gage and I used to. Maybe they’ll figure their shit out at some point, too, or maybe they’ll be too different to ever be close.
I settle into one of the island chairs and grab another cookie. “When are you and Brice getting married?” I ask Maren, a smug teasing in my tone. She’s probably been asked the same question a thousand times by our mother. Celia Tucker will want that connection to the island’s royal family locked up, a dream come true.
Maren throws a piece of cookie at me, and I catch it and pop it into my mouth with a grin. “You already know when, you idiot.” Then the three of us fall into an easy banter for the rest of the lunch hour.
“I should go. I have a client,” Sawyer says, glancing at her watch.
“Physio on a Sunday?” Maren says.
“A freebie.” Sawyer shrugs and grabs her bag from the island. “You know I can’t resist.”
“And I suppose you’re going back to the office too?” Maren turns to me, eyebrows lifted.
“Still trying to firm up some details on my next producing project. I have a few meetings today with interior designers onthe island. Posey is an easy choice for a host for the TV show—late twenties, an interior designer, well-known and liked on the island—but we need someone to bounce off her. The team wants someone who was raised here but in a lower-income area. Silver spoons need not apply. It’s been harder than I thought to find someone with that background who isn’t overshadowed by Posey’s brand of sunshine. We’ve run a few tests, and they just haven’t been right. Nick and Jules had so much natural chemistry on camera—you could feel it through the screen. We needthatto make this show a success. I had no idea how lucky we were.”
“You can’t fake chemistry,” Maren agrees.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Sawyer says at the doorway. “Call or stop by if you need me. I mean it, Nathaniel!” Then she flies out the door.
I grab my suit jacket and walk with Maren to the front entrance. After her time working with the streaming giant, Interflix, for her adventure race, she’s probably the only one in the family who understands the intricacies of good TV. “No royal duties today?”
“King Alexander always leaves Sundays free if he can. It’s his family day. He treats it like it’s sacred, which is pretty endearing, really.” She gives me a brief smile. “Brice and I are going for a run and then a paddle in an hour.”
“Got your next big race lined up?”
“Brice wants a break from the adventure race circuit. We’re going to try to get the youth program off the ground more in time for Bellerive’s first youth event at the end of this summer. I’m also busy trying to find foster homes for dogs so we can get them out of the shelter. Know anyone who might want one?” She gives me a hopeful look.
“Foster homes?” I say with narrowed eyes. She says that, but I think she meansadoptive homes. “Nope.” We’ve had thisconversation before. There are many things I’ll do for my sisters, but taking on a lifelong commitment isn’t one of them. At least, not regarding a dog, and that’s what would happen. I’d cave and keep it. Besides, I’ve never had a dog before. I’d be a terrible dog parent.
“We’re doing an Ironman Triathlon next, just for fun,” Maren says, breezing past my no as though I didn’t even wield it.
“Right,” I say dryly. “Why not?”
“That’s become my motto about pretty much everything,” Maren says, patting my chest and straightening my tie. “Why not?”
I can think of so many instances in life where that motto is more harmful than helpful, but I know I’ll be stopping at the funeral home tomorrow, inserting myself into something I have no business caring about. Even if this version of Hollyn no longer worries about getting screwed out of money, I’m still the same guy who can’t stand by and watch it happen.
Chapter Three
Hollyn
I’ve never been able to decide whether it’s worse to lose someone quickly or slowly. So far, all my losses have been quick and gut-wrenching, the kind that turn your world upside down in a single phone call or knock on the door. A few whispered words or a strident rap, and my whole life explodes.
Otis, the funeral director, leads us on a tour of the building, showing us where the visitation will take place and where he’s suggesting the funeral happen based on projected numbers. The spaces are all neutral creams and browns with comfortable-looking furniture dotted around. Rich, opulent. The sorts of fabrics, brand-name products, and combinations I’d suggest to someone in New York with an unlimited budget.
