Page 16 of Fake Dark Vows
Whatever Rose’s intentions for this week, I get the feeling that Damon will be backing her all the way. He has a knack for sniffing out trouble, especially if there’s a chance it will backfire on me, because despite what our parents believe, their sons have never been on the same side.
What is it she wants? Money? I could’ve written her a check and saved us all the excruciating embarrassment of pretending to be civil in front of my parents and their guests. I’m struggling to accept that she’s interested in the job my mother offered her, albeit temporarily. Perhaps she’s hoping there will be a younger family member she can get her claws into, a cousin, or even a son of a family friend.
Jennifer has seen straight through Damon, but I’m worried he’ll charm Rose with the friendly card games and the doting-dad public image. It seems to work on plenty of other people including our own mother.
There’s a gentle knock on the door, and I smile to myself. Turning around, I open the door, grab Jennifer’s hand, and pull her inside the tiny room, squashing her body against mine. Only, it isn’t Jennifer. It’s Rose. There’s barely enough room for two in the confined space, and our lips are almost touching, our noses so close, I can see the amber flecks in her brown eyes. She doesn’t pull away.
Why doesn’t she pull away?
“I’m sorry,” I say huskily, releasing her.
I release her hand and try to step backwards, my thighs hitting the rim of the basin. “I thought you were Jennifer,” I say.
She rubs her wrist and continues to stare at me with those big brown eyes. “It’s fine. At least I didn’t splash you this time.”
I nod. I’ve spent my entire adult life manipulating conversations to my advantage, with some of the most influential people in the oil industry. But Rose always seems to have me on the backfoot, like I’m the one in the wrong.
It’s no wonder my mom fell for the innocent façade though—she’s always been a sucker for a sob story, you only need to ask the CEOs of all the charities she has funded over the years.
“I know you don’t want me here,” she says, “but can we just agree to stay out of each other’s way?” Her back is pressed up against the door like a caged animal waiting for the opportunity to escape.
“Fine by me.” It sounds way harsher than I intended. I nod towards the door. “You’re blocking my way.”
A flash of emotion—irritation? anger? —passes behind her eyes, and she goes to step aside as the plane hits more turbulence. She’s thrown off balance and I instinctively try to catch her. My arms wrap around her as her forehead collides with my jaw. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she says, rubbing her brow. “Are you all right?”
She’s so close, I can feel the contours of her body pressed against mine. My pulse is racing—the turbulence or her proximity? I breathe in and catch the citrusy scent of her shampoo, and my lips instinctively gravitate toward hers. Our lips are so close I swear I can taste champagne, feel her tongue teasing mine, and I grab her hips, pulling her even closer.
She squirms in my grip and twists her face away from mine. “What are you doing?” She licks her lips and I know that she can imagine the taste of me, too. Her chest is heaving with the effort of controlling whatever is going on inside, and I want to rip her blouse apart and bury my face between her breasts.
“Jennifer is out there,” she says, jolting me back to reality.
“Jennifer and I… We’re just friends.” Goddamned if my voice is betraying me every time I speak to her.
Perhaps she doesn’t believe me. Can I even blame her? Rose sucks in a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them again, I see the janitor’s daughter mocking me for complaining about sticky fingers on my pants. “She isn’t just anything,” she hisses. “She’s your date. Maybe you should try treating her with the respect she deserves.”
“We’re not dating, Rose.” Why does this matter? Why am I explaining myself to her?
She turns around and tries yanking the door open, but it doesn’t budge.
I lean across her and flick the lock. “It’s a bit temperamental.”
She opens the door and walks back to her seat without another glance in my direction.
CHAPTER 6
Rose
I try not to have an open-mouthed gape at the house when we arrive on Ruby Island like a kid on their first visit to FAO Schwarz, and fail spectacularly. It’s huge. I mean, what did I expect—the Weiss family owns the entire island. I guess I’d kinda anticipated a small beach with a sprawling, white Gone-With-the-Wind-type property situated at the top of a grassy hill, but boy, was I wrong.
The speedboat docks at a private jetty—I’ll never get used to someone owning things like jetties and islands and airplanes—and we’re collected by a man in khaki pants and a polo-neck shirt, driving a six-seater buggy. He addresses Brandon and Damon by their first names, but neither brother introduces him to me and Jennifer.
The island is flat, with beaches reached by wooden walkways and signposted with old-fashioned wooden posts reminiscent of the Hundred Acre Wood sign from the Winnie-the Pooh books. Shell Beach. Swimming Beach. Picnic Beach. Small Beach. So, when we turn a corner and the house comes into view, I draw in a sharp breath, prompting an eye roll from Brandon and laughter from his brother Damon.
“I think that’s the reaction our mother was trying to achieve when she had the designs drawn up,” Damon says.
“Not bad for a vacation home, is it?” Jennifer twists around in her seat to peer at the house, her smooth, dark-skinned arm dangling over the side of the buggy.
Brandon proceeds to tell the group in general how much cedar wood was used during construction of the building, and where his mother shopped for the furniture to complete the interior design.