Page 35 of Beautiful Revenge
Someone is even holding up a cell to capture my life being crushed into tinier pieces than it already was.
Great.
Just fucking great.
Even Blake, standing under one of the massive trees that’s thriving in its protected environment, smiles and waves.
I don’t have the nerve to frown back at the sweet boy, so I smile.
But that’s it. I’m out of here.
I hurry towardthe elevators as I dig the keycard from my purse. Of course Devon gets to his first. “Let’s talk about this when we get to the suite.”
“Men,” I mutter. “I’m not talking about anything, nor do I have time for you. I’m going to lock myself in my room, push a dresser in front of the door, and make a phone call. You’ll either eavesdrop or tap my line, since you have the means to do both. I hope you enjoy listening to my life unravel further.”
Devon presses the button to call an elevator as another couple join us to wait. They’re older—way older than the older man I want to punch in the face. They’re taking in every antique detail that’s been oiled, buffed, and brought back to life from over a century ago.
The woman turns to me and beams. “Did you just get here too?”
“Of course they just got here, Mel,” her husband answers for us. “Remember they said there was a private event over the weekend? Everyone here just checked in.”
“Oh, true. Sorry, the place is overwhelming—in the best way. The pictures don’t do it justice. We’ve had this reservation for more than two years before it opened.”
The woman just proved she doesn’t read those magazines that make money off celebrity gossip and lifestyle columns. She certainly doesn’t follow Wall Street. I give her a tight smile and thank God one person in the country is clueless to every detail of my life. “It’s lovely.”
“Not everyone came here to socialize. I’m sure they want their privacy.” He turns to Devon. “Wait until you’ve been married for thirty years.”
Devon doesn’t have the chance to respond, and the woman does not heed her husband’s warning to leave us alone. “You look like newlyweds. You’re probably on your honeymoon. What an absolutely romantic place to celebrate your love!”
Well, I’m on my honeymoon, alright. I can thank good timing, and the fact Albert likes long showers that I’m here solo and not preparing to trek across Africa on a five-star safari.
I push that out of my mind and realize dealing withDevon Donnelly—no matter how much he knows about me—is better than the alternative.
I shake my head and answer before Devon has a chance to. “Oh, no. We’re not married.”
Mel leans in and lowers her voice. “Maybe someday. I guess there was a big-wig wedding here last weekend. Can you imagine? They booked the whole place.”
“It was a doozy,” Devon quips.
Mel keeps talking. “Did you dine in The Greenhouse? I think I ate my way into a food coma. After the long trip, I’m beat.”
The man rubs his belly and yawns. “We always overdo it the first day of vacation.”
Mel turns to Devon and me and keeps talking. “Do you have plans tomorrow? We booked a sailing excursion. Silas will be as red as a lobster. I’ll have to deal with him complaining the rest of the week. He’s so bad about applying sunscreen.”
Silas shrugs. “Gotta get my base tan.”
The elevator might as well be my savior when it dings and the doors open. Devon proves he’s not made for hospitality since he hasn’t said a word, but he does stand closer to me than necessary. His hand lands low on my back, as if I need guiding into the elevator.
Ugh. Asshole.
To Mel and Silas, I’m sure we look like a couple on a romantic vacation.
Mel presses the button for their floor. Devon wraps a hand around my waist as he reaches around me to swipe his card to access the penthouse suites. I lose his touch, but he settles in so close, his radiating heat hits my back.
The desire to elbow him in the gut overwhelms me, but if it means flying under the radar with this couple, I can restrain myself.
I cross my arms and try not to look like I hate the handsome, rugged Brit who silently claimed me by the simple fact he hasn’t said a word to make anyone think otherwise.
