Page 324 of The Romance Adventure

CJ

CHAPTER 2

Rolling over in the king-sized bed, alone, I hope today is going to be the day my wife finally returns. It was supposed to be last week. Two weeks before that. A month prior.

She keeps getting more work, which is a good thing since she loves what she supposedly does, but a little scratch in the back of my mind makes me wonder if that’s the full story.

Then again, suspicion could be a product of guilt about not having given her a full disclosure about the nature of my work.

She knows I’m a diver, often for pearls. But there’s more to it than that. Much more.

I’ve been avoiding staying at my house—our house—because it’s lonely here without her.

The large, modern-style villa in Palm Cove with its stone exterior, open-concept interior, and ocean views on three sides is the perfect hideaway for us. There are a lot of hard elements: stone, metal, glass. Her softness provides a contrast, a place to land, and let’s be real, we’re a lot of fun together—starting with that sultry night of dancing in Malaga.

I’ll never forget seeing her from across the crowded room. I wasn’t able to ask my dad what it was like when he met my mother, but my grandfather told me that the second he laid eyes on Fernanda, he knew he’d marry her someday. Emphasis on someday. It took him a while to woo her—mostly because she wasn’t sure what to make of the man who told stories of pirates and treasure as if they were real.

But his business acumen proved him more than capable of providing for them, and eventually their daughter, Emmanuella. Sadly, Fernanda disappeared before they could have more children. Seems to be a trend, because Emanuella is my mother and she vanished, too.

My brothers, Emmie, and I were led to believe our parents died in a boat wreck, but the moment I questioned the story, Chip, my grandfather, didn’t tell me that I was holding onto a fool’s hope.

Nope. He showed me how to identify real gold, comparing it to fool’s gold. I took it as a message—how to spot a fake, recognize lies, and above all seek the truth.

Which has been on my mind during these long nights alone.

Who should I tell the truth to and when? How? These questions turn over and over in my mind like pebbles washing in on the tide.

Being the fourth son in a family of five means I’m less of a lone wolf than they’d have you believe. I get lonely easily, which was one reason I stayed at the rental with my brothers while I could. I also had some remodeling done as well—a secret underground work-from-home location accessed via the garage.

As far as my family goes, I miss the four of us, plus Emmie, living together at the resort. It was loud, busy, lively.

More than that, though, I miss my wife.

She’s not dead or missing, just independent. I admire that about her, but we’ve been on the rocks lately. At least, it seems that way.

This brings me back to whether to come clean with my brothers now that they’re all just about married. Magnus and Lally say I do on Thanksgiving. I’ve tried to tell them numerous times, but being the baby, I rarely get priority in conversations. And being the one who most ardently claims our parents are still alive, aren’t exactly who we thought they were, and the treasure is out there too, they tend to dismiss me.

I can’t win.

But I can tell the truth, which is exactly what I aim to do today.

After a quick shower, I hop into my Jeep and head to town. I’ll grab us all coffee and pastries from Beans & Books and tell them to expect to meet my wife by the end of the week. She’s an international real estate agent and has been hopping from one job to the next overseas. I visited her in Florence, but I was also there on business, though she didn’t know that.

Only when I reach the coffee shop, Magnus, Royal, and Ryan are already gathered by the dock, coffee cups in hand.

Lally comes from the other direction, led by what may as well be a chariot of dogs. Isla and her sister Robyn appear from Beans & Books. Nutmeg, Robyn’s cat, glares out the window as if betrayed. The only person missing is Harley, who used to be known as the Scourge of the Seven Seas but is now happily married to my brother Ryan.

Didn’t see that coming.

My wife is missing too, but they don’t know that. Not yet.

After parking, I meet them and say, “Morning. I was going to call a meeting⁠—”

“Get a coffee, you’re going to need it,” Ryan interrupts.

I’m used to the interruptions. “Anyone else need anything?”

“Who is this? Looks like Mr. Manners is finally joining us,” Royal asks in his typical snide tone reserved solely for me. Then again, when Isla met him, she called him Mr. McGrumpy, so I’m not alone in thinking he’s a grouch, even after he’s had his morning cup of black, dark roast.