Page 37 of Fake Dark Vows
He does.
I lean back against him, resting my head on his shoulder. Snap. I smile at the camera. Snap. I peer up at Brandon and instinctively run my fingertip across his jawline. Snap. I swallow as Brandon turns his face to peer back at me and my pulse races. Snap. Several selfies with forced smiles later, I have what we need.
“Whoa.” The woman fans her face with the sombrero when I hand it back to her, thanking her for her kindness. “For a moment there, I thought I was gonna have to close my eyes.”
“Has anyone else asked to borrow the hat?” Brandon asks, ignoring the comment. The charm is there—I only hope the woman doesn’t notice how it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
She shakes her head. “You’re the first.”
“Could I persuade you to make sure that I’m the last?” Brandon’s casual stance belies his determination to win, and the women snap it up.
Pam laughs out loud again. “Cheeky. What’s it worth?”
“Dinner on me,” Brandon says, glancing along the beach to the straw umbrellas set up outside the bar.
“Oh, I was only joking,” Pam says. “Although if you’re offering.”
Brandon, confused, slides his wallet from his pocket.
But the other woman interjects. “Take no notice of her. We’ll hide the hat if it will help you win.”
“Thank you,” I say again, glaring at Brandon.
Oblivious, he heads back up the beach without waiting for us.
I run after him, my feet sinking into the sand, Georgie struggling to keep up with me while she licks her popsicle. “Brandon, wait!” I call out.
He stops and waits for me to catch up with him, far enough away from the family that they can’t hear our conversation.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
“What? Improve our chances of winning?”
“Ask her not to share the hat with anyone else.”
He wrinkles his nose and stares at the ocean as if he has only just realized it’s there. “It’s called a tactic, Rose. I’m increasing our chances of winning.”
“Our chances?”
A flicker of emotion passes behind his eyes. When he speaks again, his tone is cold, his voice clipped. “Unless you don’t want to finish this with me.”
I always thought that I was good at reading people, but Brandon Weiss is a closed book. “What have I done?” I ask. “Why do you dislike me so much?”
His jaw works and his eyes dart around the beach, skimming the women who are still laughing, still having fun. Finally, he looks at me and says with no emotion in his voice, “I don’t dislike you.”
I nod. It’s my turn to look away. I have the overwhelming urge to detach myself from this man, this situation, and this job that I should never have accepted when Ruby Weiss offered it to me in the penthouse office suite of Weiss Tower.
“I never thought you were a coward.” I clench my fists, and swallow hard to prevent the tears from spilling. I have no idea how they still keep coming after all these years. “But I guess I was wrong.”
I pick Georgie up and walk down the beach towards the shore, and I don’t look back.
“Wait, Rose,” he calls out. “Where are you going?”
“To build a sandcastle.” I allow the breeze to carry my words to him.
Building a sandcastle when the sand is so soft and dry is harder than it looks, especially without a bucket and spade. We’ve been trying—and failing—to build a mound of sand that doesn’t even remotely resemble a castle when one of the kids playing frisbee with his dad comes running over with a red bucket and spade.
“Mom said you could use this,” he says before running back to his family.