Page 42 of Beauty and the Beach
“That’s weird,” I say, swallowing. “She’s weird.”
“I did tell you,” he says mildly. “Go get ready, please.”
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then I return to my bedroom and blow dry my hair until it’s soft, sleek, and shiny. Then I get dressed in a pink tweed skirt and a cream blouse—pantyhose are included in this outfit, and I hate every second—and return to the kitchen.
As it turns out, my new husband did make me toast, just like he said he would. He made me toast withgrape preserves—seeds and mushy lumps included.
“We have just enough time for you to eat before we have to leave,” he says, sliding the plate toward me with a smirk. “I know you’re hungry.” His message is loud and clear:Make your own breakfast from now on, Amsterdam, or you’ll keep getting food you hate.
My stomach growls as I stare at the two pieces of toast, and for a second I contemplate picking both of them up and plastering them to the front of his suit coat. I resist the urge, glaring at him instead before wolfing down both pieces.
His smirk just widens before he drifts back into the living room, pulling his phone out of his suit coat. It’s buzzing, I realize; he looks at the name on the screen and then answers.
“We’re ready,” he says without greeting or preamble. “We’ll head out there now.” Then he hangs up.
Wyatt, I assume.
“Wait a second,” I say. It’s just occurred to me that I have no idea where Phoenix’s assistant actually lives. “Where’s Wyatt’s house?”
“Behind this one,” he says wryly, straightening his suit coat. “He lives in the mother-in-law building out back. He wouldn’t let me buy him his own place.”
“I hope you pay him a million dollars a year,” I say.
Phoenix just smiles, a genuine, warm smile that I’m notat all prepared for. Then he jerks his chin in the direction of the front door. “Let’s go,” he says. “Mavis will be waiting.”
I’ve never beento a VIP ward of a hospital before; I didn’t even realize they were a thing, mostly because I’d never really thought about it. But the wing of the mainland hospital where Mavis is apparently being treated looks more like a hotel than a hospital.
“All right,” Phoenix says in a low voice as we stand next to each other outside a set of double doors. “Listen carefully.” His posture is almost too rigid, and there’s something cold and blank shifting in his expression, like I’m watching him in the process of putting on a mask. Even the poor hospital lighting doesn’t stop his bone structure from casting impeccable shadows, or his hair from gleaming darkly.
When he turns to face me, his eyes fix immediately on mine. “Don’t speak to or answer questions from anyone other than me or my grandmother,” he says. “Don’t try to be friendly. Stand up straight, don’t fidget.” He pauses. “I know this seems dramatic, or like an exaggeration. But my family are wolves, Holland. They will smell fear and use it against you.”
Something deep in my stomach flips, and I can’t tell if it’s concern over his words or surprise at hearing my name come from his lips.
And it’s that, more than anything else—my name, just my name—that compels me to listen to him. I don’t appreciate being told how to act, and I don’t appreciate being told to hold my tongue. But the man standing in front of me is the devil I know. He’s the devil I can’t stand, the devil that makesme want to scream, the devil whose mere presence sometimes feels like a knife in my gut because of the memories we share.
And yet…I know him. I even trust him, in a way I can’t explain to myself or anyone else.
Which must be why I take a deep breath, nod, and then—before I can stop myself—I step closer, reaching out and touching the knot of his tie, straightening it.
His body stills.
He doesn’t even breathe; I’m close enough that I can tell, and I understand. It’s a bizarre moment, intimate and domestic in a way we never are; I tug on the knot just slightly before smoothing the tail.
“There,” I say softly as my heart pounds in my chest.
I didn’t think I was actually afraid to meet his family, but my galloping pulse and adrenaline rush say differently.
Yes. Fear,I tell myself as I take a deep breath.That’s what I’m feeling.
His dark gaze flits over my face as he looks down at me, his expression still blank except for the muscle jumping in his jaw. Then, finally, he says, “You look—nice. Mavis should approve.”
And without waiting for a response, he turns back to the double doors and pushes them open, stepping inside.
Phoenix
Mavis is sittingup in her bed, haughty and intimidating as always, with that slightly manic gleam in her eyes. The sun should be streaming in through the blinds in her giant suite, but they’re closed, leaving the room in a depressing state of shadow.
I’m not fazed or surprised. This is just how Mavis is.
