36
BRYN
Dad: So I guess you’re not coming home after all?
Me: No . . . is that okay?
Dad: Are you with Mitchell?
Me: Yes.
Dad: And things are good?
Me: Better than good.
Me: Are you mad?
Dad: I’m not mad. You’re happy. That’s what matters. But let’s have another family dinner together, okay? I have to get to know this Mitchell Dunford. Text me soon. Love you, iha.
I click off my phone and set it on the kitchen counter. My dad’s text is the last of a series I answered this morning, from our week of hiding from the world, limiting our social media and Internet access. The rest of my family thinks I returned to Paraiso, swamped with work. Levi thinks Mitchell took a solitary vacation.
What we did was play hooky. We toured around the city. We made love. We played house: we cooked for one another, watched TV, walked around naked in our apartment, at times covered only by a towel or a sheet, only to be pulled back by the other person, ready for another round of lovemaking. We acted as if every minute together might be our last. Slept as if we’d run a marathon every day.
That’s right—sleep. My man slept every single night in my arms. Not always uninterrupted, but I’ve been there for him when he wakes, when he needs to talk things through.
The cost of our stay is going to be astronomical, but we don’t care. We earned this. Once Paraiso and Dunford open, our privacy will cease to exist.
I step into the shower with Mitchell. The water runs cold before we finally get out, skin wrinkled like prunes, clean and sated, exhausted and refreshed. Mitchell wraps me in a fluffy white towel, tucking me into him as we look at our reflection in the misted mirror.
“Much different from the first time we were in the bathroom together,” I say, leaning back into his chest.
He laughs. “You had that sexy stain from the wine, right on your boob.”
“Jerk.” I elbow him. “You still couldn’t resist me.”
“How could I? You were always so cute in your evil ways.”
I turn in his arms, lay my cheek on his chest, and find comfort in his strong and steady heartbeat. Beads of water drip from the short strands of his hair and sprinkle onto my forehead and cheek. “It’s weird, right? We’ve been faking a relationship the last month—”
“And now that we aren’t faking, we have to pretend to break up.”
The last five days have been a fairy tale. We were living in a bubble, like a committed couple from the moment we woke up to the time we went to bed. I’ve had nothing on my mind but Mitchell, my business left in the background. Now it’s back to real life. “What do we do?”
“I don’t know. I’m only sure of one thing. I don’t want this—us—to end.”
“Me neither.”
“We’ll go with the flow, then.” He presses his lips to my cheek, though his nonchalance doesn’t soothe me. While I don’t want for this to change, the circumstances surrounding his family and our businesses will require adjustments. As if he reads my mind, he says, “Let me rephrase that—we’ll take it one day at a time, okay? There’s nothing contractual that says we have to break up. We’ll feel out Laurel and figure out how to tell her, and convince her that we’ll attract more attention together than apart.” He walks into the closet and pulls out his suitcase, already half-packed last night.
“I hope so.” Following his lead, I grab my clothes hanging in the closet. Mitchell’s uniform is in the back, and it’s a reminder of how far we’ve come. The retirement ceremony feels like a lifetime ago. I pull that out as well, handing it to him, before he tucks it into his garment bag. I pull the chargers off the walls, and see I’ve gotten another set of texts on my phone, all from Vic.
SOSOSOS.
What is going on?
Where are you?
“Shit.” I press the call button instead of texting back. This sounds serious. The phone rings on the other end.
“Everything okay?” Mitchell passes me with toiletries in hand and he slips them into his bag.
I shrug. “My sister.”
Vic answers just when I think voice mail is going to pick up. Her voice cracks, as if in panic. “Finally. Where the hell are you? I drove all night.”
“What? What’s happened?”
Her voice is gravelly and her words run into each other. “Bryn . . . it’s Luke. The guy. He lied.”
“Your friend?”
“He wasn’t just a friend. He wasn’t supposed to be just a friend.” Her voice softens, then a choked sob follows. “He lied. I’ve been catfished.”
“Wait, Victoria. Breathe. Where are you?” Questions burn against my throat. While Victoria speaks a mushy soup of words, I pull out a pair of jeans and throw them on.
“Are you even listening? I’m here, in Paraiso, where I thought you would be.”
“I . . . we’re still in the city. But I can be home soon.”
“I saw all the construction and . . . Wait, we? Are you with Mitchell?”
“Hold on. What do you mean by construction?” Dread shudders through me. We halted work for the week. My gaze snaps to Mitchell, and he’s quick on his feet, reading my mind. He lopes through the room, grabbing the rest of our clothing and toiletries, and stuffs them into our suitcases.
“There are trucks everywhere.”
“We’re going to load up the car. Can I call you on the road?”
“Okay . . . um . . .”
“I’ll call you right back.” After hanging up, I shoot Mitchell a look. “We’ve got to get back to Dunford.”