“So do you live in huts with palm branches on the beach?” Tessa asks while slicing into her waffle.
A fucking hut? In the year of our lord 2025?! I exhale and smile. “Trinidad happens to be one of the richest countries in the Caribbean. Our wealth comes mainly from oil and gas.”
Tessa rolls her eyes. “Stop calling it a country; it’s an island.”
I get why Roman left her. She is dumb. I scratch my eyebrows to try to quell my frustrations.
“A country is a nation with its own government. We have that, so it’s both,” I reply.
Roman wipes the side of his mouth with a napkin. “Why are you all giving my fiancée the third degree?”
I put my hands on Roman’s thighs. He turns, and he looks irritated.
“It’s okay.” I smirk and whisper.
Ollie chuckles. “She is a big girl, Rom.”
Cliff looks at me and asks. “So what does your family do?
Damn it. Do I tell them the truth? Or make up a small tale about being a poor Caribbean girl living on the beach.
Tessa’s raised eyebrow makes my decision.
“My family is into rum, whiskey, and spirits,” I reply, exhaling and waiting for the truth to come.
Cliff tilts his head. “Spirits and rum?”
Tessa pouts. “Aww, you make rum and wine at home.”
I smile. “My name is Noelle Montredor. My family runs the third largest rum and whiskey brand in the Caribbean.”
Cliff hits the side of his plate. “House Montredor. I have some bottles of your rum in my study.”
“Let me guess, Montredor 1798 Reserve,” I reply.
Cliff laughs. “Yes, it’s a rich rum. I love it.”
I can feel Roman’s stare burrowing into the side of my face.
Chuckling, I bite my bagel.
“So you’re an heiress?” Tillie asks.
I nod. “Yup, I am the oldest. I have one brother in college.”
“Well done, Roman,” Cliff says, his voice full of approval. I know it’s not real, but being accepted tugs my heartstrings.
Elizabeth smiles. “Why are you not home for Christmas? I mean, we love having you.”
“My father and I have artistic differences regarding the company. So I stepped away for three years.” I haven’t been home for three years. A sadness must shroud my face because Elizabeth perks up.
“I have an idea,” she says.
“God forbid,” Roman mutters under his breath.
Elizabeth ignores Roman. “Why don’t we have an island Christmas?”
“You mean a Trini Christmas?” For some reason, this excites me.
