"It's not about the hat."
"Then what was it?"
"I was thinking how nice it is hanging out with you. Even if I don't fully get what's in it for you."
"What do you mean?"
I fear I may have used the wrong expression, given how rigid his spine has become. "What I mean is, I don't like not being as forthcoming with you as you are with me. You've told me about your brothers and how close you all are. Your life back on the Gold Coast. What you do day to day up here in the office. I've—I've been holding back."
I brace myself, waiting for the inevitable barrage of follow-up questions I've been dreading. Not that I blame him. If the situation were reversed, my curiosity would be aroused, too. Doesn't mean I'm looking forward to going there, though.
But as he's prone to do, he doesn't take the predictable path.
"That's not entirely true. There are things I've held back, too." He takes a breath and shifts Mabel so she’s beside him instead of kicking at his legs. "My family is…complicated. I've told you about my brothers because we're super close and they're relatively normal. Although if you ever tell them I said that, you'll be in big trouble."
I grin. "Got it."
"My parents are divorced, and Mum's fine, but my father's side of the family are the clusterfuck to end all clusterfucks. He's the middle child of five brothers. My grandfather started Australis, and Dad turned it into the largest privately held development company in the southern hemisphere. From the moment he took the reins, three of his brothers were out to undermine him. Some weird competitive, jealousy thing, Iguess. Despite never working a day in their lives in the company, after many years and plenty of attempts, they finally succeeded, fucking him over big time. Dad kept control of Australis, but he had to pay them out, and we were forced to get private investors. What's just as bad is that all my uncles have, how do I put it delicately? Gone down a bad path in life."
I lean forward. "How bad are we talking about?"
"Bad." Clayton bows his head, like the weight of whatever he's about to say is a heavy burden. "Uncle Dean is the oldest. And the worst. He runs a drug smuggling cartel, and…" He lifts his gaze, and his eyes are filled with pain. "And if the rumors are to be believed, he smuggles something even worse than just drugs."
A shiver runs through me as the implication of what he's saying sinks in. "I've had the misfortune of encountering some very bad people, too," I say. "Evie got caught up in something she had no business getting involved in. I tried everything I could to get her out of it, but I wasn't able to." My eyes drop to Mabel. "And now Mabel is going to grow up without a mother."
After a few moments, I look at Clayton, at all the questions swimming in his eyes, questions he's refraining from asking because he's a good man.
An honest man.
A man who would be justifiably abhorred to find out the truth—that Evie wasn't my wife, and Mabel isn't my daughter.
14
Clayton
"Should we head back?" Vaughn asks after spending a blissful Saturday afternoon at the beach.
"Yeah, I suppose so."
We collect our stuff and start packing up. I shake out our towels, and once he and Mabel are clear from under the cabana, begin disassembling it. The wind has picked up, rattling the palms and causing us to kick up sand as we move.
"Sharks and spiders I'm fine with," Vaughn says, helping me stuff the shade structure back into its carry bag. "But sand…" He shudders.
"Anyone ever tell you you're a freak?"
"Usually only after they've slept with me."
I let out a laugh. "Good one."
He turns to face me. "Who says I'm kidding?"
He's smirking, but it's hard to tell if he's being serious or not.
"I'm pretty vanilla," I admit.
"Says the guy who was in a triad."
"True. But that's as wild as I've ever gotten."
