“Nate and Holland aren’t down yet,” Kristian said, sipping some sort of amber liquor as he leaned against the bar and ran his hand over the top of his cropped hair. Based on his movements, he seemed stressed, or maybe just tired after a long day of travelling and tension. Even regular weddings did that to people, so I wasn’t surprised to find him in a less than jovial mood after ours.

As the youngest of the five Cartwright brothers—by four and a half minutes, a fact his twin, Abbot, announced gladly not long after I’d met them—Kristian was probably my favourite after Sam. I hadn’t known him for much longer than the day and a bit that I’d known the rest of the family, but so far he seemed fun-loving with a serious side that we were seeing more of since we’d arrived in the Cook Islands. He was focused but didn’t turn into a jerk when things didn’t go according to plan. And lately, nothing was going according to plan. All of our lives had been turned upside down over this crazy ‘wed or die’ plan. It had all happened so fast that I wasn’t even sure what I thought about it yet. I was scared but I was also excited, unsure and overwhelmed. The fact that I knew I was here simply because I wanted to keep breathing meant I couldn’t do much more than float along, doing whatever was needed or expected so I didn’t end up with a backhand to the face like Holland had received when she’d expressed a little defiance.

“What about Abbot and Jasmine?” Sam looked around the bar, trying to find them in the faces of the other tourists in the hotel.

Jasmine was their mother, the matriarch who, from what I could tell, was the determined leader of this merry band of thieves. She was tall, slender, elegant and very intimidating: a six-foot blonde with Audrey Hepburn’s grace mixed with Katharine Hepburn’s looks and attitude. Although, I had to wonder if Nate, the second oldest of all the brothers, wouldn’t rather the control shifted to himself. He seemed a little… hungry, that was probably the best word I could think up to describe him. From the way he carried himself to the way he looked at my friend, he never seemed satisfied. Out of all the brothers, he seemed to be the most restless.

As far as genes went, all five brothers looked like brothers. All of them were tall and broad, with dark hair and varying shades of blue eyes, tan skin, and bodies that made your fingers itch. Besides age, their personality and style seemed to be the only thing that set them apart. When I’d been given the choice to marry into the family for my protection, I’d been offered the hand of Toby, the oldest of the brothers. He was just as hot as the others, and for what I was being offered, he seemed nice enough. But he didn’t set my heart on fire the way Sam did. I figured if I was going to be forced to marry a Cartwright, then I at least wanted to choose which one.

For the first time in my life, I’d lifted my chin and said, “No.” Then I told Jasmine I wanted Sam. Without even asking him, Jasmine had smiled at me and agreed, like I’d somehow impressed her. I never saw the moment when Sam was informed of his new fate. What did he really think about having to marry me? I had zero clue, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to find out. Especially since there wasn’t much we could do about it. What was done was done.

“They’re outside having a smoke.” Kristian waved the bartender over. “Order a drink and take a seat. I reckon we’re gonna be here a while. You want something floofy, darlin’?” His eyes landed on me, taking a moment to graze the length of the simple floral maxi dress I was wearing. It was modest but pretty. It had always been my favourite church-going outfit, although I normally wore it with a cardigan. “Spaghetti straps are not appropriate for the Lord,” my father always said. And I always did what my father said. Well, when he was watching, anyway.

“Floofy?” I responded, not exactly sure what Kristian meant.

“Yeah. You know, the ones that come in big glasses with fruit and umbrellas and shit sticking out of them. Isn’t that what girls drink when they’re on an island?”

I slid onto the stool he pulled out for me. “I suppose. But I’m happy for whatever.”

“No, darlin’, not whatever. If you’re gonna be a Cartwright, you have to make decisions like one. Be precise. What’ll it be? You can have anything you want.” He gestured across the bar at all the colourful bottles that lined the well-lit shelves. I didn’t really know what I wanted. I tended to drink whatever was on offer or whatever Holland was drinking. I very rarely drank alone, so I didn’t buy alcohol for myself. Plus I didn’t like to create waves or call attention to myself by being picky.

Going with the flow was how I lived my life. Even my job hadn’t been my idea. I was studying beauty therapy after high school when my uncle, who’s a funeral director, had an opening for a mortuary beautician. My family basically decided I would fill that role. I guess I didn't mind that my father and uncle set up the job without consulting me, since it paid well and all, but it would’ve been nice to be asked. I kind of had my sights set on working in Chanel, or behind one of the fancy make-up counters at David Jones. You know, a job with actual breathing people.

“Here, peaches.” Sam placed a cocktail menu in front of me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Pick whatever tickles your fancy, and don’t look at the cost.” Then he rested his hand between my shoulder blades, his fingers moving lightly, creating tiny electrical currents beneath my skin. It felt so good and I wanted to lean in to him, but a resounding thought rang loudly in my mind: He touches me intimately in public and chucks my chin in private.

This whole situation was messed up and confusing. I needed to stop trying to figure it out or else I’d drive myself crazy.

Just go with the flow like you always do. Everything will be fine. Even if Sam doesn’t want you like a husband should want a wife, he still seems like he’s planning on being kind to you. It’s not like he’s beating you in private and acting all sweet and caring in public.

Oh God, what if that’s what he’s going to do in the future? What if I don’t meet his standards and he goes all Patrick Bergin in Sleeping with the Enemy on me? Every time I hear him play a certain song, I’ll know I'm in for it? Please no, I don’t want to live like that!

“Peaches?”

“Huh?” I snapped my head up, my entire body flinching as I turned to face a bemused-looking Sam.

“See anything you’d like?” He gestured to the menu I was clutching in a death grip between my fingers.

His hand moved up to the back of my neck as he leaned a little closer. Oh no! It’s starting already! I winced a little, bracing myself before his threat entered my ear. “You can have anything you want,” he whispered, gently sliding his hand down until it rested on my lower back.

I let out a breath. Did he just proposition me? It was times like these that I wished I had a little more life experience. I couldn’t read his signals properly, and my mind was flipping between thinking the worst and hoping for the best.

I needed a drink. Actually, I needed about seven hundred and ninety-two drinks.

Keeping my breathing even while trying to focus on anything but the significance of his touch, I scanned the menu. When I couldn’t stop my brain from overanalysing every moment from the past twenty-four hours, I just chose the first cocktail to jump out at me. I didn’t want to make the bartender wait any longer than he already had. “I’ll take a Mai Tai, please,” I said, figuring it was probably the perfect cocktail to go with our Polynesian setting in the Cook Islands anyway.

“What size?” the bartender asked.

“Size?” They come in different sizes?

“Standard, tall or fishbowl.”

Just as I was about to open my mouth and enquire about the exact size of each vessel, Kristian and Sam both leaned forwards and said, “Fishbowl,” in unison.

The bartender grinned and I simply shrugged. “Fishbowl it is.” I laughed, allowing myself to relax just a little. Let the boys have their fun. I’ll just sip it so I don’t get too drunk.

I may have thought Sam was the most beautiful man on two legs, but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t know these people and needed to keep my wits about me.

* * *

“Itsh so delish-i-ness.” I slurped the straw along the bottom of the giant fishbowl glass, digging out a red cherry with my fingers and shoving it in my mouth. Boy, was I feeling light-headed.

OK, maybe I was a little stupid.

We’d been waiting at the bar for so long that I’d managed to sip away a literal fishbowl-sized drink. I was beyond drunk. I was hammered.

“Mai Tais are the besh-t. Fuck beer. I’m never saying yesh to one of those dirty sock-tasting things again.” My eyes went wide as an idea struck me. “Ish that actu-actually how they make beer?” I gasped and turned to Sam, trying to make my mouth move around my words. “Do you think that if I went to a dish— distillery and opened a vat, I’d find a whole bunches of sweaty socks and gym shoes inside?” I covered my mouth and started giggling. It wouldn’t surprise me.

“All right.” Sam chuckled and pulled the straw I was chewing from between my teeth, placing it back in the glass bowl and pushing the whole thing away. “I think we need to get some food into you.”

“Ohhh yes! Do they make burgers in this place?” I think I yelled every syllable, and when I whipped my head around to look for some indication that I could get a burger, I almost fell off the stool. Luckily, Sam caught me. My cheeks burned as I found myself pressed against his chest, and I couldn’t help but breathe deeply and take in his manly smell. “You are so very handsome, and you smell like freshly cut grass and salty air and soap,” I whispered under my breath. At least I hoped it was under my breath, because that would be an odd thing to say out loud.

“We’ll get you the biggest burger they have. Even if they aren’t on the menu.” His voice sounded like a smile. Sigh.

“Fine. We’ll eat,” Jasmine said with a sigh of her own as she looked at her watch. “They’re obviously not coming down and honestly, I’d rather not dine with that woman anyway.”

That woman was my best friend.

“She’s not that bad,” I said in her defence, righting myself with the help of Sam’s strong hands and feeling bold from all the liquid courage I’d imbibed.

Jasmine regarded me with her cool eyes and I shrank back, almost hiding behind Sam. She was the one who had backhanded Holland when she got a little mouthy before the wedding. Her entire cheek had swelled up because of it. I was horrified but quickly realised that Jasmine wasn’t to be crossed. Self-preservation 101.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a rush, suddenly sober after the adrenalin spike my fear caused. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She pressed her lips into a fine line. “I should think of all the people in this world, you’d have the biggest reason to be angry with Holland right now. Don’t forget, she’s the one who put you in this position.”

“This position isn’t so bad.” The moment the words left my lips, I wished they hadn’t. I’d said them thinking it might show Jasmine that I was tougher than I seemed. But the delivery wasn’t quite right, and I think I ended up coming across as the ultimate clinger instead, so desperate for the attention of a man that I was actually happy about a forced marriage.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I think before I speak? And it wasn’t even that I was happy about being married to the hunk of spunk by my side—OK, I kind of was—it was more that I was trying to be hopeful. Sitting in a corner and crying wasn’t really going to change anything. I could accept what was happening, or I could fight it the way Holland had been fighting it. And all that had done was earn Holland a whole lot of animosity. I hated to imagine what would happen in the future if she continued to fight the family’s rules. No, fighting didn’t work. It never worked.

Jasmine took a moment to look between both Sam and me.

“You think you’re a good match for my son?”

Oh God, what a question. I didn’t even know how to answer that and instead moved my mouth around like I was doing an impression of a goldfish to go along with the giant bowl I’d just drained.

When I didn’t answer, she looked at Sam, the question in her eyes now directed at him. “Well?”

Sam placed his hands on his hips. “You’re the matchmaker, Jasmine. You should know,” he said, a slight sound of annoyance in his normally happy voice.

What does that mean? Is his annoyance directed at me or at her?

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, then.” Jasmine’s eyes landed back on me as if daring me to admit I’d chosen him. Frankly, I was surprised he didn’t already know. “Won’t we, Alesha?”

“I guess so,” I whispered, ducking my head so I was looking at my feet, shrivelling back inside myself.

It was then that Sam’s hand moved to the back of my neck and his fingers pressed lightly.

“Let’s get you fed, peaches. We’ll worry about the rest of this shit later.”

Looking up at him, I took a breath and nodded, feeling added strength and sobriety from his touch. He smiled and I melted like the pathetically lonely thing I was.

Taking my arm, he guided me into the hotel’s restaurant while I walked on unsteady feet, my mind worrying.

I think I need another drink.