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“They won’t be, and we already ate, so no, thanks.”
The man sputtered something about the check and pulled the waiter’s wallet from his waistband.
“Sorry. I can’t help with that. You might have some luck if you let the paparazzi out front know Hailey Watson skipped out on her bill.”
6
MICHELANGELO
I’d booked a two-bedroom suite in a place I’d heard Penelope mention once, right on the ocean, in Laguna Beach. When I pulled into the valet area, she looked over at me and smiled.
“Excellent surprise, Brand.”
I beamed.
“Come sit with me,” I said once we were settled, motioning to the chaise lounge on the terrace that looked out over the ocean.
“You go ahead.”
I’d intentionally moved a second one out of view. “We can share.”
Pen raised a brow and folded her arms.
“Come on. I won’t bite.” I took a seat, spread my legs, and patted the chaise. “You wouldn’t really want me to sit on the cold, hard concrete, would you?”
She rolled her eyes but, thankfully, sat in front of me. I moved her hair from her neck, leaned in, and nibbled her soft skin.
My Butterfly giggled. “Hey, you said you wouldn’t bite.”
“When presented with something I know will taste divine, I can hardly resist.”
Penelope raised her hand and smoothed her hair over the place where I’d just had my mouth. I half expected her to get up, but was relieved when she rested her back against my front. “Thank you for everything you did to help me today.”
“I told you that’s what I’m here for.”
“Somehow, I doubt you meant confronting my father and digging into my inheritance.”
I put my arms around her when she shivered. “I do what’s needed.”
Neither of us spoke for several minutes, listening to the waves crashing on the sand, instead.
“The first time you ever called me Butterfly was on Fire Island. Do you remember?”
“I told you I remember everything, but do you recall why?”
“What’s today?”
I checked the time. “As of three hours ago, it’s the fifteenth of September.”
“It was this time of year, almost exactly. Tara brought you to the island to see the annual monarch migration.”
I pictured it as if it were yesterday. Every year in mid-September, tens of thousands of monarch butterflies stopped to rest on the island’s dunes as they made their way from Canada to a mountaintop near Mexico City. I’d never seen anything like it before or since.
“There was one that would not leave you alone,” Pen said. “It kept flying all around you. Finally, it landed on your shoulder. Seconds later, it flitted away.”
“Tara had walked far enough away that only you could hear me when I said the butterfly reminded me of you. Flitting close, deigning to touch me, then flying away too soon for me to keep you.”
Penelope laughed. “Deigning? Hardly. God, Brand, I did everything I could to get you to pay attention to me.”
