Page 72 of Shy Girl
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Too hot to quit now, I kept going.
“Do you know why I would have left, silent as a tomb? Because never in all my life have I ever felt such deep disappointment over another human being. You're materially successful, wealthy, and have the most beautiful family. You don't deserve a single part of it. I don't want my name to be associated with you. Anthony Dunkin, you are a failure in all the places that matter, and I hope it haunts you to your dying d-day.”
The table groaned as I shoved away from it and stood up. I towered over him, seething with righteous fury now.
“I will not sign your contract and I will not take your filthy money. You can come after my innocent, kind mother if you like. She has never broken her part of the agreement, and she never will. She will never know that I sought you and that I found you. But I will be under no such restraint. If you so much as take her to court over this, your name and the paternity test in the NDA paperwork will be spilled over every single news outlet in this country. And if you think I come from a small town and don't have the connections to make that happen, you're denser than I expected.”
My leg shuffled back a step. Anthony hadn't moved a single inch. His entire body radiated tension as he stared at the spot where I had been sitting.
“Your secret is safe with me, Anthony Dunkin,” I hissed. “B-because you are the l-l-last p-person I w-w-would ever want as my biological father.”
With that, I turned and stalked out of the bar with my chin held high and my heart finally galloping free.
Tears streamed down my face when I stumbled back into the bungalow. I slammed the door shut and locked it. Then I rushed from door to door, window to window, locked all of them, then stood at the kitchen sink and slowly sank to the floor.
Sobs shook my body as I let the tears free. Years of questions had just been satisfied—and so painfully. Years of hope were destroyed. Shredded. Torn apart. All the time of wondering and waiting and thinking.
Poof.
Gone.
While I vented all the locked emotions, the warm island air built up in the bungalow until it felt sticky with heat. I welcomed the physical discomfort as a distraction, but eventually, all of it was swallowed up in sheer despair.
An eternity later, I unwound myself from the ball I'd tucked myself into and lifted my head from my knees. The unmistakable smell of Jayson Hernandez slammed into me then, and I recalled that I was back at our shared bungalow, which carried his scent.
I had another monster to face.
Victoria.
With the blurriness that emotion brought to memories, I recalled the security camera. The uncertain lines of tension in Jayson's body. Unmistakably, hehadkissed Victoria. Did it mean anything? The forming fissures in my heart meant that it likelydidmean something, but I didn't know what.
All of my life I'd dreamed of Jayson Hernandez. Drawn strength from the idea of him that had, somehow, played out in real life. Never had I actually thought that the real Jayson Hernandez so closely resembled the one in my head. Now, that man may have just thrown himself back into Victoria's arms.
And whose fault would that be?
The heat of our shared kiss on the beach had been real. Dazzling. Like a firework in my blood. I hadn't imagined it out of sheer desperation. No, he'd kissed me like he meant it, and that meant I still had a chance.
So I needed to find out.
With the back of my arm, I mopped up my tear stained cheeks and slowly stood. If Jayson really had gone back to Victoria, that was his choice. I'd work through my pain and eventually wish them both well, but I wouldn't figure it out by sitting here on the floor.
Now, I had to take this as a chance to do what I should have done years ago. But no matter how I looked at it, this confrontation was far bigger, scarier, and offered more devastation in my life than anything Anthony Dunkin could have brought.
This time, I would finally tell Jayson exactly how I felt.
18
Jayson
Bastian clapped a hand on my shoulder, his face illuminated by a wide grin. “Grady,” he whispered, “is going to destroy you for this. I can't wait.”
I laughed quietly, my shoulders shaking with delight. “It's his own fault,” I murmured. “Grady left hissee the bridemoment wide open.”
“I can't believe Helene agreed.”
“She'd be crazy not to. This will be hilarious.”
Ten steps ahead of us, Vikram sashayed barefoot down a sandy trail in a hideous white wedding dress that Bastian had bought from a thrift store on his way here. Wrinkles from being shoved into a bag creased the fabric, and it smelled like campfire. The sleeveless top, shaped like a heart, left his broad shoulders bare. Chest hair puffed out over the top. Gauzy fabric rippled around his knees as he hurried through a lush garden set in the hotel grounds, away from the sounds of revelry near the beach. His bottom lip was split and swollen after a wrestling match between him and Bastian on a surfboard got too out of control.
