She smiles up at West.
I look away. There’s such an ease to their interactions, speaking of an intimacy that feels intrusive to watch. I’ve never had that with anyone. Not the way they are.
“Besides,” Nora says, “I think she’s lovely. She doesn’t seem to be a good liar, either, even though she’s doing her best to pretend like you two are in love. She’s very in the moment, you know? She feels authentic.”
That’s one way of describing the tornado of Paige Wilde.
“Open my wedding gift when we’ve all left,” Alex said. “Not before.”
I groan. “What did you buy?”
“You’ll see it when you open it,” he insists. He’s found a tennis racquet somewhere, too, and is holding it in his left hand. The saber is still in his right. “Where are the closest horses? Is the polo place across the border still open?”
“How are you not hungover?” I ask. Tennis does sound good. I haven’t played with Paige for days, and I suddenly wish for all of this to be over, the guests, the noise, so it’s just us and the house again. Charged silences and quick arguments that are maddening, and sharp, and more fun than I’vehad with anyone in years. I don’t talk to anyone the way I talk to Paige.
And no one talks to me the way she does.
“Hangovers are not for Scots,” he says.
“You were up the latest last night,” I say. It’s a lie. Paige and I were, but it seems like none of them noticed that we left.
He grabs a new bottle of champagne and gets up to saber the top off. “Not the latest,” he says, and turns toward the garden. “West’s sister was up later.”
“And she hasn’t woken up yet,” West says. “Shit, Alex, don’t saber it into the pool.”
“Of course not.” He holds the bottle at a forty-five-degree angle and swipes the saber across its neck in a single practiced slice. The cork flies off, and he holds it up. “Who’s thirsty?”
“Me,” Nora says and swims toward him.
I reach for my own glass. This day is a wash anyway. If she doesn’t come down soon, I should go and check that Paige isn’t packing her bags. The thought gnaws at my insides.
James comes walking up from the lake. He’s dripping wet, his blond hair slicked back from his swim, and pale even in the summer sun.
I’m surprised he stayed all three days. With his kid at home, he doesn’t travel for longer than necessary.
“Hey. There’s a delivery by the dock,” he calls. “Come, all of you.”
I get up to join him, and West and Nora leave the pool. Alex keeps the saber in hand. With his thick auburn hair and build, he looks like a pirate of old.
There’s a new boat waiting by the dock.
It’s been hastily tied to the stone lion, and a man stands at the far end of my dock, dressed in a tuxedo and holding a giant bouquet of roses. They’re the same blood-red color as Paige’s nails.
“What the hell is this?” Alex says out loud.
I walk out first on the dock. The man looks us all over but only addresses me. “Per lei, signore.”He hands me the bouquet.
I take it. There’s a single card nestled amongst the flowers, and I reach for it. My stomach sinks. Of course we’d be invited to one of the parties now.
“Who is it from?” West asks.
“To the newlyweds,” I read. “May your marriage be as lucky as your hand. You’re all invited.’ It’s signed with a single V. There’s something else here, too…” I lift out a playing card tucked between two rosebuds. It’s custom, with a black velvet back.
Written on the card’s face are the following words.
Monaco. Tonight.
Come win something back…
