by Olivia Hayle
“This is where you grew up?”
“Yes,” I say. “So, Rhys is the brooding brother, Parker is the laughing, nice one. It’s impossible for you to mix them up.”
She nods. “Right. So Parker is the adopted one?”
I can’t help it—I laugh. It’s the kind of joke my brothers would love, and she hasn’t even met them yet. “Yeah, you could say that, though not to my parents’ face.”
“I would never.”
Another voice calls in the distance. “Henry? Is that you, laughing?”
“Yes!”
There’s a faint whoop and then my brother’s voice rings out again. “I haven’t heard that since 2007!”
“Very funny. They’re exaggerating,” I tell Faye.
She nods, eyes teasing. “I know. You’re a clown in the office.”
I want to tease her back, but we’re already at the porch, and there’s no more time. A flurry of introductions and hugs and handshakes ensue.
“This is Faye,” I say, and she shoots them all a big smile.
“It’s really nice to meet you all.”
My youngest brother shakes her hand immediately, and something in me eases. He can talk to a wall, and there’s no one who’ll be kinder to her.
Faye’s hand slips out of mine as my mom hugs me for a long few seconds. “You look good,” she tells me.
“Thank you.”
“Rhys.” My oldest brother shoots me a wry grin and pulls me into a half-hug. He’s tan, far more than he should be, and his hair is a mess of dark curls. Spending months of the year traveling as a photographer apparently does that to you.
“Get a haircut,” I tell him. “Think of the wedding pictures, man.”
He gives me a level look. “It’s artfully disheveled. It’s a look.”
I keep a hand on his shoulder and nod hello to my youngest brother. “Parker.”
“Good to see you, man.”
“Likewise.”
“Where have you been hiding this one?” He smiles at Faye, his hair bleached a dirty blond from the sun, and she laughs.
“Is Lily already here?”
“Yes, she’s making cocktails with Hayden. Would you each like one?”
“Yes, please.” Faye shoots her winning smile at my mother—the megawatt one, the one that could melt ice—and the effect it has on my mother is immediate. She smiles back.
“I’m so happy you’re here, dear,” she says. “Come on up, let’s show you around. And Henry, your father is by the grill.”
Something in me tightens at her words, at the look in her eyes. No doubt she’s heard about our argument. Dad hasn’t called or emailed me since I turned down the project in Chicago. I knew he’d be angry, but I hope he has the wherewithal to not take it out on Lily’s wedding weekend.
Dad barely says hi to us, his back turned, focusing on the lobster tails on the grill like he has to make sure they stay put. The rest of us drink Aperols in the sun, out on the porch, the soft sound of waves crashing below.
Faye takes the seat next to me around the table. “This house is beautiful, Mrs. Marchand. Absolutely stunning.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Mom says, but she’s loving it. She’s always been a sucker for flattery. “I’ll give you a tour after dinner.”
My family is the picture of politeness, but it’s clear that they’re curious. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve introduced them to anyone, and Parker and Rhys are both currently single.
My sister’s fiancé is sitting opposite Faye, occasionally shooting her bemused looks. “Don’t worry,” he tells her once, as the table devolves into a debate about the new construction project next to the marina. “They’re always like this. You’ll get used to it after a while.”
Faye smiles. “I don’t mind at all. I’m an architect too, actually. We could talk about developments all day.”
My father has barely spoken all dinner, but he immediately perks up. “You’re an architect?”
The table quiets, as it so often does when he deigns to speak.
“Yes,” Faye says, her broad smile still intact. “It’s what Henry and I first had in common. And I understand building runs in the family?”
She’s being charming and kind. If my father throws this back in her face somehow…
“Why did you choose architecture?”
It’s a simple enough question, but there’s nothing simple about him. He’ll inevitably find some way to spin her answer back around to critique, if not about Faye, then about me.
“I love it. Building structures that last, the shape and the forms. It’s art that we inhabit, functionality and beauty combined. It’s been with us since we constructed the first huts.” Faye’s voice is earnest. “It’s man’s attempt to tame the world into shapes, into recognizable forms, to make structures that last. There was never anything else I wanted to study.”
There’s no mistaking the clear passion in her voice. Under the table, I reach for her hand, and it slides into mine without hesitation. She means every word she says, but she’s also set up a situation where it can’t be turned against her without making my father sound like a philistine.
“That’s beautifully put,” Lily says.
Dad looks unmoved. “So you’re the new influence, huh?”
“Pardon?”
“Did you know about his trip to Chicago last week?”
I shake my head. “Dad, stop. We’re not discussing this.”
But he doesn’t stop, and neither does Faye. I can see the exact moment it clicks in her eyes—that my friend who offered the firm the contract is my dad. Something flares in them, the same kind of competitive anger I’ve seen so many times before, and I know it’s not Faye I need to protect. It’s my father.
She gives a slow nod. “I knew about his trip, yes.”
Dad slides his eyes from her to me, narrowing them into slits. “So your decision wasn’t even your own?”
“Yes, it was, and I still stand by it. But we can talk shop after dinner.”
“So you can insult me again?” He puts his wineglass down hard, the glass rattling, and the temperature around the table drops noticeably. Fuck. This was exactly what I hoped wouldn’t happen. My mother’s gaze flicks from me to my father, and my brothers are both gearing up for a fight.
This needs to be diffused.
“I gave you my honest opinion on the project, Dad. It wasn’t meant to be an insult, and it’s unfortunate that you chose to take it as one.”
His gaze zeroes in on Faye. “Did you think it was immoral too? That was the word he used. Immoral.”
If looks could kill, my dad would be dead from the one my mother shoots him. “Michael! Behave!”
I put my hand flat down on the table. “Dad, let this be the last we talk of it. Stop embarrassing yourself.”
“It’s a simple question,” he says, clearly unbothered by our demands.
Faye leans back in her chair and slips her hand out of mine, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t know the specifics, but I didn’t think it seemed like a good project, no. Your son is an expert at these things. I’ve seen the way his employees idolize him, even if they’re scared out of their minds of him, too. I trust his opinion. If he said it was immoral, then I’m sure it was.”
Dad’s eyes widen, and then he breaks into a surprised chuckle. “I understand why you brought this one home, Henry. Damn. Do you know he doesn’t own his firm? He has a co-partner.”
His voice is challenging, like he wants to provoke Faye again, but it still cuts. I know he thinks I should be further in my career by now—he runs me harder than any of my siblings. Always has.
“Come on, Dad, you’re being wildly unfair,” Lily protests. “Henry is the most successful of all of us!”
“Yes, and don’t I know it.” He shoots her a pointed look that makes Hayden bristle, before returning to Faye. “So? What do you think?”
“Well, sir, as you’ve pulled no punches here tonight, I’ll do the
same.” She puts down her napkin and smooths her hand over it, like she’s preparing for battle. “I think it was an exceptionally smart move. Together with Rykers, Henry can attribute double the number of prestige projects to his name. They can pull in more funding as a firm, not to mention Rykers focuses on different kinds of projects. They strengthen one another. I’ve been told you’re a very successful developer, but so far, I haven’t seen any of that business savvy in your comments tonight. If you’d like to really learn more about your son’s business, you should come to New York. That is if he’ll have you, after your rudeness. And that, sir, is what I really think.”
I’m in shock.
There was not an ounce of pretension in her voice; it was ringing with sincerity. Is that how she sees me?
The table is quiet, including my dad, who is just staring at her. Faye smiles sweetly and picks up her wineglass. “The meal is excellent, Mrs. Marchand. Thank you for inviting me.”
My mom swallows. “There’s sherry in the sauce. That’s the secret.”
“I’ll have to try that.”
Dad is drumming his fingers along the edge of the table, for all the world the picture of ease again. His linen shirt is open at the top, his thick hair the same as his sons’, but gray now.
I meet his gaze with my own and dare him to say anything insulting back. He’s been rude enough already to Faye, but if he decides to really lay into it…
He doesn’t.
“Well,” he says finally. “Welcome to Paradise Shores, Faye.”
The table releases a collective sigh of relief—that the tension is over, that I’m not about to storm off, that Dad isn’t going to retreat to his study, that this won’t become another battle.
Under the table, I find her hand again, this time just for a light squeeze. Thank you. Faye smiles down at her plate and squeezes right back.
After dinner, my sister insists on showing Faye around the house, and I follow dutifully, watching as all kinds of things are pointed out.
“Here is our dog, we used to have one… Atlas. And this is Henry, winning the Paradise Shores Junior Sailing Regatta.” They stop at a picture of me, gawky and gangly, lifting a much-too-heavy trophy in the air.
Faye grins. “Why am I not surprised you won?”
“Because I win everything.”
Lily rolls our eyes at me and keeps going, walking through the hallway between the dining and living rooms. “Not everything, Henry. I can beat you in Monopoly.”
I nod, but when she turns around, I shake my head at Faye. “I let her win,” I mouth.
We stop at the bookshelves with our diplomas. Three identical ones from Yale. Henry Marchand, School of Architecture. Parker Marchand, School of Management. Lily Marchand, School of Art.
There is none for Rhys, but Faye doesn’t comment. She just leans in closer and reads the fine print on mine. “You weren’t valedictorian? I’m disappointed.”
I shake my head at her and follow them through my childhood home, through the nooks and crannies, listening to them talk. Despite the outburst at dinner, there’s something at peace inside me, watching Faye with my sister. I want them to like each other. I want Faye to like this place.
I want her to like me.
“Come on,” I say finally. “Let’s grab a last drink. I think Parker was talking about cards.”
Lily threads her arm through Faye’s. “Henry’s just feeling left out. Has he filled you in about tomorrow night already?”
“No, he has not.” Faye wiggles her eyebrows at me. “What’s happening?”
“Well, it’s not really a traditional bachelor and bachelorette party, but Hayden and I are splitting up. The boys will go do something—I don’t want to know what—and us girls will be at mine in the evening. Do you want to come?”
“I’d be happy to. Thanks for inviting me.”
My parents have already called it a night, but the rest of us gather around for a few rounds of rummy for old times’ sake.
Hayden pulls Lily onto his lap and ignores Parker’s and Rhys’s grumbles. “Come on, I’m marrying her on Saturday. Cut us some slack.”
My sister puts a hand on his cheek, laughing. “They’re overjoyed that you’re joining the family, don’t you worry.”
It’s such a public display of affection—not one they usually indulge in—but I can’t fault them. Lily and Hayden have been in love for years and years, and it’s only recently that they’ve gotten the happy ending they deserve.
But as Faye sits down opposite me, my hands twitch to do the same: to have her next to me, near me. It’s a dangerous impulse. She’s as deliciously competitive with my family as she is with me. I watch as she beats Parker soundly.
“A very low bar to clear,” Rhys says dryly, and we all laugh. When it’s like this, all of us together… I wonder why I’m not home more often.
We play until our drinks run low, until the summer sun slowly sinks into the horizon, setting the ocean ablaze. Faye is a natural. She fits right in, laughing and joking, and I’m the one who has to call it a night.
“All right, all right,” I say. “We’re heading out. Lily—get some sleep.”
“Some beauty sleep,” Parker interjects. “Think about your upcoming nuptials.”
Hayden slaps a hand on Parker’s shoulders. “Don’t encourage her. I don’t think I could stand it if she got more beautiful.”
We all groan at the cheesy compliment, and Rhys frowns at him. “Low-hanging fruit. You already got your ring on her finger.”
Lily slips her arm through Hayden’s. “Flattery is always welcome, so shush. Thanks for coming, Faye. I’m sorry that they’re behaving so badly.”
Faye doesn’t seem to agree at all, though. She is a living flame next to me, our fingers interlaced, her smile broad and true. “Not at all. I’ve had a fantastic time. Would have been better if I’d have won that last round, though.”
Rhys shoots her a smile. “I couldn’t let that happen, not even for my big brother’s girlfriend. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. I’ll win next time, though.”
“Looking forward to seeing you try.”
I shake my head at their trash talk. “We’ll see you all tomorrow.”
The door shuts behind us and we’re alone in the warm evening air. Faye is still holding on to my hand, her skin warm and soft against mine, her fingers slender. I don’t want to let her go.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s walk along the beach back.”
“You sure? There are no lights.”
Her smile is still wide, and a little wild. “Scared, Marchand?”
It’s such a juvenile thing to say that I laugh. “No. I have the home field advantage here, in case you’d forgotten.”
“Oh, I definitely haven’t. God, your family is huge.”
“Yeah, we’re a lot of people. Careful there.” I steady her as we walk across the edge of our property, around the little driftwood fence Rhys and I built many years ago, and onto the public boardwalk.
“And you’re so beloved,” she says with a sigh, our hands swinging lightly between us.
The word strikes me like a shot. “What do you mean?”
“Henry, everyone hangs on to your every word. Your younger brothers look up to you, your little sister adores you, and your mom dotes on you.”
It’s good it’s dark, or the blush she’d joked about earlier would be blooming on my cheeks. Damn it, how did she manage to disarm me like this?
“I’m sorry about dinner,” I say. “I didn’t know my dad would ambush you like that.”
“You never told me he was the silent partner in the Chicago project.”
I sigh. “It didn’t seem important at the time. The project was still bad.”
“Is it okay, what I said? I wasn’t too harsh?”
“Too harsh? Faye, you were fucking excellent in there. I’m sorry, but… no, you weren’t too harsh.” Not at all. Nobody had ever stood up for me the way she did.
&n
bsp; “Is he always like that? Such a hard-ass?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
She shakes her head, dark silk flying. “That feels like such a crime. I mean, look at you! What parent wouldn’t be proud? If that’s the metric being used, then no parent could ever be proud of their child unless they were the first man on the moon or something.”
I’m smiling, listening to her go on. Her tongue is definitely looser with drink, but then again, so is mine. With the starlit sky above us and the soft waves against the shore, I feel more at home in Paradise Shores than I ever have before.
“You’re defending me. Again.”
She looks up at me in surprise. “I suppose so, yes. Not that you need defending. But… I just don’t get it!”
“It was sweet of you,” I say. “Back then, and now, right here.”
“Well, that’s why you brought me, right? Moral support, arm candy, and business partner, all rolled into one.”
Her voice is amused, but at her words, I feel none. She’s right, and maybe her words were only part of an act, but somehow… it had felt real.
“You’re awfully free-spoken tonight.”
“Should I not be?” She looks up at me, eyes luminous in the moonlight. “Are we being serious now, or playful? I never can tell when we decide to switch, you know.”
“You can’t? I’m trying to keep up with you, most of the time.”
She laughs, and the sound sends delicious shivers across my skin. I want to make her do it again. “You obviously don’t see yourself very clearly.”
“I think the same could be said for you sometimes,” I say, thinking about her offhand comments about just being an assistant.
“Let’s play a game,” she says, voice dropping a few octaves. It’s the same voice she used when she challenged me to the contract.
“You already know I’ll win.”
She shakes her head. “If played right, we both win.”
“I’m listening.”
“Get-to-know-Henry.”
I groan, and I’m rewarded with another one of her laughs. “It’s all we’ve been playing, Faye. I’m all played out.”