Page 2 of All I Desire

Chapter One

NATALIA

"You're doing what?"

Isabella shifts on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her butt. She looks at me in horror, almost as if I’ve done something offensive, like spit on her five-hundred-dollar ballet flats.

I fasten my latest creation at my nape. It’s a baroque pearl and pink coral bead necklace, and it might be the prettiest one I’ve ever made. “I was chosen as an amateur model. It’s for a tourism campaign promoting the island. The photo shoot is today."

Isabella grimaces. "Sounds like torture."

"Well, of course you'd say that, with your background." Isabella is actual, honest-to-God, European royalty. She’s the most proper, private person I’ve ever met. Pretty much the opposite of me, who lets it all hang out, and then some. It was only by a random stroke of fate that Isabella ended up on our Florida island. I consider it sheer luck that she became my brother Tate's fiancée — and one of my close friends.

She grunts and rolls her eyes. Well, she doesn’t grunt, exactly. It’s the Isabella version of grunting, which sounds more like a dissatisfied, adorable bird chirp.

"What it sounds like," says Lauren, my other sister-in-law to be, glancing up from her phone, "is a great opportunity to showcase your brand. I’d definitely advise against wearing a ripped tank top and black shorts, though, babycakes."

Lauren, like her fiancé — my oldest brother Max — is effortlessly preppy. The two of them look like they’ve just stepped out of the pages of a Brooks Brothers catalog. She tosses off nicknames like “babycakes” and “baby boo” as if she’s a living, breathing Instagram caption. Which she kind of is, considering that when she posts a photo of her and Max doing something adorable, like rescuing wild baby bunnies or making oatmeal cookies, her two million followers go apeshit.

At first, she annoyed me a little, but her relentless, aggressive positivity has somehow wormed its way into my cold, dark heart. And dammit, I love her because she’s taken my cranky, Type-A brother and turned him into something almost human.

I turn in Lauren’s direction and shrug. "Dunno. Doesn’t this outfit look okay? I was also going to wear my gladiator sandals, the black ones." I might design delicate jewelry, but my personal fashion sense can be best described as utilitarian and, well, black. When I’m at the resort, I wear simple black dresses that are mistaken for elegant. The rest of the time? Black tank tops. Black shorts.

Sometimes I mix it up and wear a grey t-shirt. Occasionally I dye my blonde hair something colorful. It’s my way of standing out, I guess.

"No. Not okay. Nowhere close to okay. Give me five minutes." Lauren springs off the sofa and sprints out of the room.

"Oh, God. She's going to find me a new outfit, isn't she?" Lauren and Max live in the carriage house behind my parents' home. That's where we are now. I live in a condo a few miles away, because I can only stand so much family togetherness.

"You definitely want to wear something beachy," suggests Leilani, who is stretched out on the floor, head propped on a giant pillow, reading a book on her iPad. She's my third sister-in-law to be, paired up with my brother Remy. Somehow, the crassest, raunchiest brother of all landed an angel turned flesh. Not sure how it happened, but whatever.

"This is pretty typical of her. She used to do this to me all the time in college," chimes in Kate. She's my only real sister-in-law; she married my brother Damien seven months ago. She, too, is incredible: a warrior who’s given up her life to help her mother fight cancer. She’s also inherited a handful with Damien.

Goodness, I adore these women.

In the past few months, the five of us have become something of a girl gang. Not that I mind, because growing up with four brothers, I often felt starved for female attention. It was just me and Ma, and we’d retreat to the beach to talk about girl stuff.

I endured years of fart jokes, fistfights, and enough testosterone to fuel a football team. Probably, that's why I'm a bit of a tomboy. How could I not be?

Now, though? The girl gang taking over the Hastings house has been pretty freaking awesome. Dad calls it “hand cream hour” when we gather, and we just giggle at his crotchety self. He loves it, too, I think. Mostly because he knows his sons have finally found love like he did with Ma.

I fling myself onto the giant, u-shaped console sofa, in between Kate and Isabella. "Is this a stupid idea, doing this?”

"Absolutely," insists Isabella in her formal, slightly British accent. “You’ll probably be paired with someone unsuitable. Or someone who will end up being a stalker.”

"Maybe not. Maybe you’ll be paired with someone who will love your jewelry. Or your necklace will end up on a billboard in Times Square.” Kate smiles beatifically. She’s always the voice of moderation and hope.

"It’s an amazing idea. Maybe you'll be matched with a really hot dude," Leilani says in a bubbly voice.

“Yeah, right.” I shoot her a smirk. Of all of them, she’s the one most concerned about my status as the last single Hastings sibling. Or maybe she’s just grateful that I saved her bacon when her abusive ex came to the island and attacked her. I whacked him with a two-by-four and ran the prick out of town. (Don’t worry, I’m a black belt in Kendo. I’m not a total gangster).

I shrug. "I’ll probably be with someone a little eccentric. I mean, who isn’t weird on Paradise Beach? Which is cool. What are you guys doing tonight?"

"You’re taking a definite risk. You don't have to do this, you know. You can cancel," Isabella asserts. “Oh, and Tate and I are going to the first meeting of the dragon boat team.”

She and my brother are always doing random things like that. Kayaking. Windsurfing. Turtle habitat restoration. Tonight, it’s dragon boats.

"That’s cool. You know, Lauren’s right. This is a good branding opportunity for my jewelry. And the resort. That's why I'm doing it. Ahh, screw it. I'm going to leave. Not waiting for Lauren. I look fine the way I am."

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