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“I’ll see you in Oakley tomorrow. Possibly two days, depending.”
I bite my tongue to keep myself from asking himdepending on what?But why ask? German won’t tell me.
And honestly, I’m feeling better and better about things. If I were really in trouble, German wouldn’t wait two days. He would take me into protective custody immediately and set me up in a safe house somewhere. He definitely wouldn’t send me to hang out with my family.
That better be the case. I’m fine dealing with the consequences of my choices, but I’m not about to put my family at risk.
So, yeah. I’m going to take him at his word that this is overkill.
“I assume you’ll be at your sisters’ bed and breakfast?” German asks.
I almost correct him and say that Gran’s house technically belongs to me too, even though Lo and Jake are the ones running it with support from Merritt and Hunter, who handled the renovation.
They actually invited me to visit this weekend, for the grand opening of the bed and breakfast that was always our grandmother’s dream. I should be there. Of course, I should be there. Ididsay the reason I relocated from DC to Atlanta was to be closer to Oakley—even if I’ve only visited once since the move.
But instead of making the trip, I made excuses, going on and on about how I have to fly rather than drive the four or so hours it takes to get there because my car is unreliable. And if I did try to drive, it’s May, which means humidity, which means having no AC in my car is even worse than usual. And flying is such a pain and getting shuttled from the airport in Savannah to Oakley is a pain, and … yeah. I’m not sure my sisters bought any of it.
But I’m not about to admit the real reasons I didn’t want to go. First, how do I explain how incredibly emotional I am at the thought of seeing the bed and breakfast open? Don’t get me wrong—it will be amazing.
But it feels sofinal. Like Gran is really gone, and we’re all moving on to new things. Maybe I’m not in touch with my feelings or maybe grief really does take on different shapes and come in various sizes, but I’m not sure I’ve fully come to grips with Gran’s death.
Somewhere shoved deep in my belly, there’s a ball of guilt and sadness and regret and just plain loss. I miss her. So much. I had a feeling that going this weekend would have that complicated ball of feelings shooting out of me like some kind of rogue cannon blast.
I’m just not ready.
I guess now I have to be.
The second reason I’ve been avoiding Oakley is a lot sillier—silly enough that I don’t want to admit it out loud. Because it has everything to do with a man who I think is technically abillionaire and is absolutely a thorn in my side whenever I set foot on the island.
Every time I visit my sisters, Benedict King pops up like he’s in one of those old music boxes and I’m the one turning the handle. Only, instead of jester clothes, the man is forever dressed like he’s headed to the yacht club in khakis, a polo, and boat shoes, armed with the kind of smile that comes from thousands of dollars spent at a high-end orthodontist.
I shouldn’t be so bothered by Benedict, but there’s just something about him that gets under my skin. Like a very attractive parasite.
“It’s a little creepy how much you know about me when I know so little about you,” I say to German, pushing thoughts of Benedict out of my mind. “Is German even your real name?”
I’m rewarded with another sigh.
“It’s called a background check,” he grumbles. “I’m in the business of knowing your business.” He pauses. “You know, you really should start going to bed earlier. It’s bad for your circadian rhythm to stay up all night and sleep most of the day.”
Okay, now that’s just downrightcreepy.
“Kidding,” he says a moment later while I’m still busy peeking between my blinds to check for white surveillance vans outside.
“I certainly hope so,” I mutter.
“Don’t get into any trouble before I get to you.”
“Me? Trouble?”
“I mean it.”
“Hey, German?” I say before he can hang up.
“Yeah?”
“This means we’re going to finally meet in person.”
“Yes.” His tone is clipped. Which only makes me want to mess with him more.
