Brothers of Paradise Series

“Ivy, everything I’ve told you has been the truth. What happened between us, what I want in the future… I haven’t lied.”

I shake my head, unable to see through the sudden film of tears. “No. I can’t hear it.”

“The last person I wanted to hurt was you. The last person. Do you hear me?”

“Your actions say something completely different. God, I’m such an idiot. Just another beautiful woman for you, right? Another casual entanglement, something to amuse yourself with. And I never asked for more.” My chest feels like it’s breaking. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

“Ivy, please, let me-”

I retreat again. “Please, Rhys. Give me some space.”

He stops by the door to the cottage, looking like he has more to say and no idea how to say it. The weight of his gaze feels heavy, but I don’t look away, not even through my haze of tears. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he says quietly. “Please, Ivy. Let me try to explain then.”

I don’t nod. After another beat of silence, he disappears out the door, closing it behind him.

I let myself fall apart then, as I rush through the house, tears gathering in my eyes and rolling silently down my cheeks. There’s only one thought in my head, and that is escape. My hands don’t tremble as I pack the few things I’d removed from my two giant suitcases. The agency’s red silk dress looks ruined. I’ll have to take it to the dry cleaner’s in New York before I can return it.

It’s depressing that that’s the thought that breaks me, but it does, as I sink to the floor of the bedroom. I won’t be able to look at that dress without thinking about him and me on the beach.

And that’s not a thought I can afford to revisit right now.

It takes me a few minutes, but I manage to control myself, storing the hurt at his lies of omission somewhere deep inside. I’ve worked under stressful conditions; this shouldn’t be much different. I carry one of the suitcases to the curb, returning for the second. Does Paradise Shores have a taxi service? As long as I can get to a train station, I’ll be able to figure my way back to New York. I’ve never longed more for my tiny Manhattan apartment than I do right now, not even with the ocean a stone’s throw away and the bright summer sunshine.

“Ivy?”

My heart leaps out of my chest before I realize it’s not him. “Hi, Lily.”

She smiles at me from her lawn, holding the hands of a tiny toddler. He’s standing, albeit with a considerable dose of help from his mother.

“No sleeping in when you have a one-year-old,” she says, smiling down at Jamie’s thick brown hair, the same as his father. “Are you heading somewhere?”

Perhaps it’s in the silence of my response. Perhaps it’s the look on my face. But she scoops Jamie up onto her hip and steps out on the curb. “Ivy, is everything all right?”

“I need to get back to New York.”

“Okay,” she says. “Do you have a train ticket booked?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay,” she echoes. “I’m sure Rhys can drive you to-”Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

I shake my head. “I need to leave now.”

“Right. Well,” she says, bouncing little Jamie on her hip, “how about I drive you to Bridgeport? We can grab a drive-through coffee on the way, and-no, no playing with Mommy’s hair-then you can board one of the Amtrak trains back to Grand Central.”

My throat feels thick with sudden emotion. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” she says. “Let me just drop off this rascal with his father, and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Five minutes later I’m in the passenger seat of Lily’s car, leaving the glittering ocean behind me in the rearview mirror. She turns on the radio, keeping the music down, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Sorry for this, truly,” I say again.

“Oh, don’t apologize. It’s not a problem at all. And even if it was a problem, I’d still do it.”

I swallow before speaking his name, but it still grates on my tongue. “You and Rhys… you’re close?”

“I’d say so, yes,” she says, face softening. “We’re both the rebels of the family, in a way. I run an art gallery, he has a publishing company. It’s not construction or real estate and it’s not going to land us in Forbes.”

“And those two things are important to your father,” I murmur.

“They were,” she says. “They’ve become less so now, but they still hover above our heads, in a way. How about you? Did you always want to be a model?”

“No. I wanted to dance when I was younger, but I injured my knee, and had to stop. I worked with a lot of physical therapists afterwards. I’m studying to be one, now, part-time. Modeling is how I pay for college.”

Lily nods. “What kind of injury?”

“Tore a ligament in my knee, and the recovery was pretty rough. It can handle a lot now, but it can’t handle hours of dancing every single day.”

“A shame,” she says softly. “Did Rhys tell you about my injury?”

“A little, yes.”

“Well, one of my legs is pretty bad too. Not terrible, but dancing is pretty much ruled out for me as well.” She shoots me a grin. “It probably was before the accident too, to be honest.”

I smile back, even if my heart feels like it’s shattering. They’re all being so nice to me, and here I am, running away.

“So,” she says. “If you want to tell me what my brother has done to piss you off, I’ll listen. Lord knows he’s pissed me off too many times to count.”

I look down at my hands. “This might be a bit different.”

She snorts, sounding so like Rhys. “Probably. But I’m a good listener, and I don’t gossip.”

I stare out at the passing landscape and think of what to say. What will be true, without going into all the gory details. My throat still feels tight with tears. “Well… I think we’re on different pages, in regards to us. How serious we were, or where we’re heading.”

Lily is quiet for a long moment, and when I look back at her, a frown is tugging at her lips. “Was that too much info?”

“No,” she says. “It’s just, I’ve never known Rhys to be anything but honest. I don’t like thinking he’s misled you.”

“He’s your brother,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to come in between that, somehow.”

She shakes her head with a kind smile. “Don’t worry, you won’t. And I completely understand if you don’t want to say more. I’ll still give him an earful later.”

I chuckle at that, despite myself.

“He’s often difficult,” she says. “He goes his own way. He makes his own path. He claims to love debate, and truth, but that doesn’t mean he’s always good at putting himself in other people’s shoes. But if there’s one thing he is, it’s loyal, right down to the bone.” She’s quiet for a long moment, even as we pull up to the Bridgeport train station, turning the car off in the parking lot.