“I’ll decide that.” He takes a large gulp of juice, dropping his eyes back to his plate. “He better not touch you again.”
A warm feeling inside my chest shouldnotbe my body’s reaction to his possessiveness, but it is. I’m learning a lot of new things about myself with Colt around, and I’m enjoying every single one. It’s like I’ve been locked in a shell my whole life, and he cracked it open last night.
I wonder what else I’ll learn while we’re here.
We inhale breakfast in record time thanks to Amara breathing down our necks and complaining we’re delaying the next task: an egg-and-spoon race.
Not a standard one, though. No, my brother has turned the skill level up to infinity. Paired with—surprise, surprise—Grant, I stand by the railing, staring at a diving board jutting out from the yacht, suspended over the ocean.
It’s narrow.Verynarrow, and we’re supposed to walk to the end, blindfolded, holding the spoon with our teeth as we balance the egg. The fastest duo to not drop their egg, wins.
I’m certain the draw was rigged so I ended up with Grant. The only consolation is that Colt’s paired with my father not my mother. They stepped aside as soon as the task was announced and now look lost in conversation, probably preparing a battle plan.
The warm sea breeze tugs at the loose tendrils of my hair, the smell of salt and seaweed blending with the strong scent of Grant’s cologne. I swear he bathes in it.
My head feels light just looking at the drop below the board. I’m not great at judging heights, but it’s at least thirty feet, probably more. There’s no way I’ll complete the race. My legs feel like they’re about to give in and I bet they will the moment I take one step away from the railing.
“I can’t do this,” I say, my voice trembling even though my feet are firmly on the deck. “You can’t make me.”
Grant sidles up closer, a smug grin plastered on his face. “It’ll be fun, pumpkin. You’ll be blindfolded so you won’t see the drop.” His fingers brush against mine, sending a shiver of revulsion up my arm.
“Stop calling me that. Anddon’ttouch me.”
Across the deck, Colt’s watching with concern, annoyance, and a protective spark in his eyes that kindles a flame inside me. I send him a small smile, moving away from Grant to maintain a safe distance. Colt admitted he’s a hothead and I believe his word. It’s not difficult to imagine him throwing his fists. With six brothers, he’s probably very good at it. Siblings always fight when they’re kids. I sure did with Ben.
“I’ll panic and fall, Grant. I’m not a good swimmer.”
“There’s a huge inflatable underneath. You’ll be fine. C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. I know you want to win and be back with Colt for the task tomorrow.”
Bastard. He’s not wrong, though. Winning means choosing a partner tomorrow, but...
I lean out, checking how far the drop is, and my head starts spinning. “I’ll pass out,” I mutter more to myself than him.
“You won’t. Look,” he nudges my shoulder, motioning at my mother who’s going first. “Watch everyone and by the time it’s our turn you’ll be fine.”
Piece of cake.
Not so much. Watching others doesn’t help. Not in the slightest. Every cheer, every splash as someone loses their balance, tumbling onto the airbag below or missing it by a foot, every laugh echoing from the deck feels directed at me.
I pinch the hem of my dress, hoping to stop my hands shaking, but the weight pressing onto my chest grows heavier as the minutes tick by.
My father and Colt are second to last, completing the task with undeniable ease. I feel better while I watch Colt navigate the narrow plank. He makes it look so damn easy, every step confident, his posture straight, the egg firmly on the spoon.
Once he’s back, my father repeats the process, almost losing the egg twice along the way.
Amara’s not sharing times, so I have no idea who’s winning. That’s the only reason I’m still by the railing, watching, instead of hiding in the comfort of our suite.
I should at leasttry. Colt was lucky to land with my father today, but who knows who he’ll get paired with tomorrow?
What if it’s my mother?
What if it’s Grant?
I know he doesn’t give a shit about their digs, butIbrought him here andIshould be at least trying to make his stay pleasant.
“How are you doing?” Grant asks me when Amara hands him a spoon. “We good?”
Swallowing hard, I meet Colt’s gaze over Grant’s shoulder and relax my muscles by letting out a long puff of air. It’s surreal how just the sight of him helps me find my balance.
