I nod and a small smile crosses my face. “Okay, then. I’ll do it for me.”
Emma beams back and forth between us. “Now, hug it out, you two sillies!”
We both shake our heads, Pierce saying, “Not necessary,” at the same time that I say, “No need, thanks.”
“Oh, fine.” She looks both exasperated and amused. “I’m just glad you sorted it out. Because even though Pierce has been trying to go all ‘tough love’ on you, he just can’t stop worrying about you.”
“That’s a wild exaggeration,” Pierce says, rolling his eyes.
Ignoring him, she says, “He can hardly sleep.”
“Not true, I sleep very well, thank you.”
“He goes on and on about it,” Emma whispers. “That’s because he loves his baby brother very much.”
Clearing his throat, Pierce says, “Let’s not get carried away. I’m fond of Leo.”
“He loves you,” Emma says with a firm nod. “More than anyone, except maybe me.”
I burst out laughing. “In that case, I should give him a hug.”
I close in on Pierce with my arms open, then grab him in a bear hug while he protests vehemently.
“The more you fight it, the longer I’m going to hug you.”
“Bastard.”
***
Two hours later, I’m driving a golf cart back toward the lobby, having just delivered toothpaste to a family of four. The resort grounds are quiet, with only the sound of the trees blowing in the trade wind. It’s a rare calm moment that allows me to process Pierce’s words. In my twenty-seven years, I never would’ve guessed that someone as accomplished as the great Pierce Davenport would think me to be an extraordinary human being who’s capable of so much more than I allow myself, but apparently he does.
As I drive along under the moonlit sky, I briefly run through all the steps it would take to free myself of the Bank of Alistair. First, I’d need to tell him to sod off, resulting in weeks of teary phone calls from Mother, who’d be certain she’s losing the only person who truly loves her. She’d be wrong about that, but the time and energy to prove it would be considerable. Second, instead of wrapping up my days of menial tasks and mule work in a matter of weeks, I’d guarantee myself years of them—possibly a lifetime.
I suppose, deep down, I’ve always thought I had something more to offer the world than a good time, but wouldn’t it be smarter to find my purpose in life and have money at the same time? I mean, it seems like a rather foolish idea to cut my safety net out from under me, then continue on the trapeze of life, even though it is nice to have one person in my corner who believes I would make it to the other side.
The truth is, I’m not so sure Pierce is right about me. I may be a total failure. And what about Brianna? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want things to go somewhere with her, and I highly doubt that a girl like her would be content to date a guy who’s just starting out without a penny to his name. Not that she’s a gold digger or anything. I don’t mean to imply that. She’s just so driven, and she’s already got it all together. Why in the world would she wait for me to catch up?
She wouldn’t. But she may be willing to date a rich guy who is trying to make something of himself. The smart thing to do is to finish what I started. Then once I’m back in the lap of luxury, I’ll have all the time and resources in the world to help get me off in a new direction, hopefully one that will take me along the same path as the woman I love…
CHAPTER 27
Butterflies of Desperation
Brianna
AMBER: Ithink it’s best if you don’t come to Mum and Dad’s to help with the guest favours today. You’re too busy, and we’ve got more than enough people to get the job done.
ME:No, I want to be there. I wouldn’t be much of a maid of honour if I didn’t help with any of the prep work.
AMBER:I’d prefer you didn’t come. It’s just too awkward right now. Maybe forever. Good luck with your exams. See you at the wedding rehearsal.
“Shitake mushrooms,” I mutter, putting my phone down on the kitchen table and glancing at Izzy. She’s too busy devouring a bowl of Choc-puffs for breakfast to notice my non-swear. As much as I was dreading going to my parents’ house to work on the party favours, the whole “maybe-forever” bit doesn’t exactly sound promising. I stare at my phone, chewing my bottom lip.
“What’s wrong?” Dolores asks, crumbling a slice of bacon onto her oatmeal while Milo, Puddy, and Knickers meow at her.
“Wedding stuff,” I whisper, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring a second mug.
Not bothering to lower her voice, she asks, “What’s the world’s most delicate bride upset about now?”
