Everyone was staring at him.
Grandfather’s eye twitched. Nadine hid a smug smile behind her third glass of wine. And his brothers shared confused expressions with their significant others while Brant still waited on his drink.
The one he’d ordered forty minutes ago along with everyone else’s. They brought him the wrong one twice, adding enough lemon to kill a man in the first one, dumping salt in the second.
“Really, how hard is it to make a martini?” Nadine asked the room while Bentley eyed Brant with interest. “Has this been happening the whole time you’ve been here?”
Brant’s eye twitched. “Actually no, the bar service has been exceptional.” At least up until he slept with Nikki. Then everything went to hell. He left that part out, though.
The waiter returned to their table with fresh drinks for everyone but Brant. He placed the bread basket on the far end and then very casually removed every last piece of silverware in front of Brant’s chair and left.
Well, that was expected. Apparently if he wanted to have a good meal he was going to have to go to the bar across the street.
Nadine frowned. “Do you not…use silverware?”
Brant bit his tongue.
Jane, Brock’s wife, narrowed her eyes at him, then slid over her silverware and whispered, “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he hissed under his breath.
The waiter returned and handed Brant a sippy cup. Humiliation complete.
Nadine’s eyes bugged, “My, my, do you get to order from the kids menu, too? I’ve heard the nuggets are wonderful.”
The kids menu sure enough followed. Along with a bib. And plastic silverware.
“Thank you,” Brant said through clenched teeth when the waiter nodded innocently.
“Just following your orders, Mr. Wellington.” His orders. Right. More like Cole’s orders.
Jane kicked him and quietly said, “Seriously, what did you do?”
Brant stared down at the Sesame Street bib. “Nothing good, I can tell you that.”
“Brant.” Jane let out a frustrated sigh. “You know if you want to talk—“
“—I don’t talk,” Brant snapped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Yeah, you did,” Bentley piped up.
Nadine whispered something to Grandfather then pointed at Brant’s plastic fork. “Is this normal behavior?” she asked Brant.
What was normal?
“Well, you did say to make sure to assess every part of the menu. Tonight, it seems I’m eating fries, a Go-Gurt, and a smiley cheeseburger.”
And maybe if he was good he’d get a chocolate sundae.
His body jerked to attention. Over a fucking chocolate sundae. Nikki loved chocolate.
Why? Why did everything come back to her?
He checked his phone again. Two hours. Didn’t she get breaks?
“So.” Nadine folded her hands on the table. “What do you think so far? About the hotel?”
Brant set down his phone and sighed. “The staff is”—he paused as the waiter returned with salads for everyone else and placed an order of carrot sticks in front of Brant—“stellar. Their attention to detail is impressive, right down to the guest-specific itineraries.”
Nadine frowned. “Is there anything else I can do to serve you?”
Brant cleared his throat.
The waiter finally glanced at him. “Yes, Mr. Wellington?”
“Food?”
“Oh.” His eyes widened with fake innocence, the bastard. “I was under the impression you were fasting from fried foods.”
“Fasting,” Bentley piped in. “From food?”
The waiter nodded seriously. “Cole has notified the entire staff that you mean to take on the Zen retreat as part of your experience here.”
“Oh, how lovely!” Nadine clapped her hands. “I’ve heard it really helps a person embrace their inner child!”
“My…inner child.” Brant nearly choked on his tongue as a vague recollection of the program entered his fuzzy memory. “So you…don’t eat normal food on this fast?”
“On day one, you are allowed one alcoholic drink at night, but other than that, water and juices it is!” He rubbed his hands together. “The chef was just putting together your Zen for the afternoon.”
“My Zen.” Unbelievable.
“Oh, here it is!” He quickly pulled it from the approaching tray. It was a chunky, green-looking thing that had him gagging before he even smelled it.
“Bottoms up!” Nadine cheered. “Oh, Brant, truly, this is wonderful. I knew you would do a good job, but this is above and beyond. Most people are too afraid of the meditation practices with the Zen program to even embark on this journey! And now I’ll have your expert opinion on all the facilities here!”
He looked between her and the green drink. Cole Masters was going to burn in hell.
With a grimace, he picked up the drink and held it to his lips. It smelled like sour milk and cherries.
“The rotten goat’s milk smells worse than it tastes, I promise.” The waiter winked.
Bentley made a gagging noise and scooted away from Brant while Brock paled.
Brant was only able to choke down one sip before he bolted to his feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, emptying every last ounce of breakfast and green poison into the white porcelain.
Two sets of footsteps sounded. A knock on the stall door.
He jerked it open. Brant and Brock stood on the other side, expressions grim.
Bentley spoke first. “I don’t suppose this is a good time to fill us in on why the staff’s trying to kill you?”
“I slept with her.” Brant shoved past them to the sink. “Abandoned her.” His hands shook as he splashed his face with water. “Killed our child.” Oh, God, he was going to be sick again. “And I’m the reason she’s blind.” He glanced up at his brothers’ horrified expressions. “Take your freaking pick.”