Thirty million dollars. That’s insane. I can’t even imagine it. It would mean paying off my parents’ mortgage, buying a new car . . . I wouldn’t ever have to bartend again. It’s beyond comprehension.
“And five million in a trust for Amythest’s mother,” Eric continues, looking to Vinny for confirmation. “For when she completes rehab. Summer”—he fixes his eyes on Summer—“you’re turning yourself in for pushing Amythest over the side of the boat.”
Her face crumples. Her mouth opens in protest, but no words come out. Tears spill from her eyes, leaving tracks of mascara down her face.
“That’s harsh,” John protests.
“What the hell do you care?” he scoffs. “She was screwing me behind your back every chance she got. Until she tried to kill me.”
John clenches his jaw.
“It’s not true,” Summer cries to John, placing her hand on his thigh.
Eric and John both ignore her. “She turns herself in; she’ll get five to ten for manslaughter, less if she behaves,” Eric says.
“A small price to pay for a life,” I add.
“You’ll see that she complies.” Eric raises his brows at his father. “Remember, if any of these directions are disregarded, or anything happens to Belle or me, or anyone we’re close to, the information I have will be sent to every relevant news outlet.”
“If you’d been this clever to begin with, you could have made something of yourself,” John says.
“Oh, I have, Dad.” Eric slaps a contract in front of his father and throws a pen down. “Your resignation.”
John stares hard at his son and then picks up the contract to read it over carefully. Eric sets a one-page document in front of Summer. “Your confession.”
She turns to me with tears in her eyes. “Belle, you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.” For just a moment, I see my best friend again, my confidante and ally, and my heart goes out to her.
But only for a moment. Maybe someday I’ll be able to forgive, but I can’t forget what she’s done. And I don’t want to. She’d toss me aside just as easily as she tossed Amythest off that boat. “Actually, Summer, I have our confrontation last night on tape. So, as it turns out, I know you would.”
I can feel others in the room turn to look at me in surprise as I take Amythest’s bejeweled phone from my purse and hold it up for everyone to see. But I keep my gaze locked on Summer’s, watching her features harden as she morphs back into the monster she’s become.
“And, John,” I continue, “in case you don’t recognize it, this is Amythest’s phone. The same one she used to record the, uh . . . shower she gave you.” Summer casts a nasty glance in his direction as he narrows his eyes at me.
There’s silence for a moment before John scribbles his name and tosses his contract at Eric, then spins on Summer. “Just sign the damn thing,” he spits.
Eric gathers the two signed contracts from the table and smiles at me. “Anything else you’d like, Belle?”
I fix my eyes on Summer, Amythest’s bone-chilling scream ringing in my ears. Part of me wants her to apologize—or more accurately, to grovel on her knees and beg for her life. I’m tempted to wrench that sparkling sapphire off her finger and throw it in the ocean. But no. That’s not who I want to be.
I make sure she’s watching as I walk over and thread my fingers through Eric’s. “I have everything I need.”
He looks at me, a grin spreading across his face. So I was right: the photo in his bedside drawer did mean something. We’ll have a long road ahead of us, but for the moment, I feel his fingers squeeze mine and I figure we’ll be all right.
“Eric.” Dylan rises from his chair and approaches his brother. I’d nearly forgotten he was there.
Eric considers him for a time before nodding. “We’ll talk.”
Dylan throws his arms around him. “I missed you.”
After a moment, Eric pats him on the back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the hall and notice that two buff guys dressed in black have taken up residence in the doorway next to Vinny.
John cuts his eyes to the men. “Unnecessary.”
“You have your men, I have mine,” Eric returns calmly. “This is the last time I’ll see you. My men will escort you on your plane—or rather, my plane, since Lionshare is now mine—back to New York, where there’s a press conference tomorrow to announce your resignation. The rest of Summer’s friends will be flown back commercial, and you should know that the NDAs they signed have been voided, as I am now the head of the company. I’m sure the authorities will want to talk to them once Summer turns herself in.” He glances at me. “We’ll be taking the helicopter.”
He leans in and kisses his grandmother on the cheek. “Merci for helping me make this meeting happen. Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime,” she says.
Final words I could say to Summer swirl through my mind as Eric and I exit the room, but they’re all vengeful or trite, and none of them do me any good. And so I leave without a backward glance.
We sprint across the gravel driveway and through what looks to be a rose garden, to where the helicopter waits on the tennis court, headlights blazing. A smartly uniformed pilot hands us up into the cabin, and the blades begin to turn.
The inside is plush with thick green carpet and creamy leather seats, three on each side. Eric presses a button, and a partition rises between the pilots and us. He slides into the seat next to me and hands me a pair of headphones.
I feel a slight sway as we lift off, and slip the headphones over my ears. Immediately the deafening thrum of the blades subsides and Eric’s voice crackles to life. We’re both laughing, giddy with relief.
I’m the first to catch my breath. “Jesus Christ, Eric, couldn’t you have told me Vinny was on my side all along? I was terrified.”
“He wasn’t,” Eric says. I raise my eyebrows. “Vinny and I were always cool, but he’d stopped working for my dad last year when his mom got sick. I didn’t know he’d gone back until you mentioned he was on the boat with you. And still, I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure how loyal he was to John. But the minute you threw out the sea urchin SOS, I knew I had to do something fast, so I took the chance and called him. I didn’t tell him about you until I knew he was on my side.”
“And your grandmother?”
“I’d been in touch with her this week. Once I shared everything, she was more than happy to help by arranging that meeting with John.”
He reaches under the seat and slides out a built-in icebox and bar caddy, from which he extracts a bottle of champagne and two flutes. But before he can pop the cork, I put my hand on his arm. “We need to call the Coast Guard, to make sure someone is actually looking for Amythest,” I say.
“Vinny’s on it,” he says. “And we’ll go in person in the morning.” He takes my hand. “I’m sorry you lost a friend.”
“Me too,” I say, my heart heavy. “She was—one of a kind. I think you would have liked her.”
His eyes rest on mine, the lights of Saint-Tropez glimmering out the window, and I know all my reservations about him were unnecessary. “Summer mentioned you kept a picture of me in your bedside table.”
He nods. “Because yours is the face I want to see every morning when I wake up.” He moves closer, a mischievous smile playing around his lips. My entire body tingles. His gaze travels to my lips. “Are you finally going to let me kiss you?”
I nod, and his lips are on mine. I melt into him, and the line between us blurs. I’ve imagined this moment so many times, it’s almost too much. Though usually when I imagined it, the helicopter headsets weren’t getting in the way.
“Where are we going?” I murmur between kisses.
“There’s a beautiful little hotel near Cannes where we can stay the night,” he says, nuzzling my neck.
All I want is to be alone with him, completely undisturbed. “We may need a few nights,” I say, again drawing his mouth to mine. “How far is it?”
He pops the cork on the champagne and pours us each a glass. I feel the now familiar fizz of bubbles in my throat, the residual sweetness on my tongue. “I have to tell you,” I confess, “I don’t really like champagne.”
He laughs. “You know? Neither do I. So we’ll change it out.”
Right. Because this is all his now. Or rather, the company’s—which is his. The repercussions of what just transpired are only beginning to ricochet in my mind. Thirty million dollars. That’s going to take a long, long time to sink in.
“To be honest, there’s a lot about this lifestyle I don’t . . . ” I pause, thinking of how to put it without sounding insolent. “That I don’t ever want to be a part of.”
“I know.” He gently caresses my cheek. “And you won’t be. We won’t be. I promise.”
“But now you have to run this billion-dollar company. How is it not going to devour your life?”
“I’m going to sell it.” He breaks into a smile. “To someone who’ll do the same amount of good with it that my father did bad.”
“Who?” I ask.
“You met him, actually. Charles Bricknell.”
My eyes widen with delight. “I liked him,” I declare. “And his wife. Marlena. She was fabulous. And their son, too.”
“Magic Mike.” He grins. Then, off my quizzical look, “Long story, better told by him.”
“But . . . you know them through your dad?”
“Sort of. They were never friends, but were in the same social circle. Marlena happened to see some of my art at a party at Grandview when I was in my teens, and took an interest. She’s the one who encouraged me to apply to art school and everything. Charles has wanted to buy John out for years so I knew he’d jump at the opportunity. I wasn’t sure he’d want to be involved with bringing him down, though, since he’d been one of his investors in the past. But once I had enough evidence from the servers on the boat to bury John, I reached out to Charles, and he volunteered to invite him aboard his yacht and record their conversation.”
I remember the discussion I’d heard parts of aboard the Tyger, through the office door. “So that’s why we were invited to Marlena’s birthday party last-minute.”
Eric nods. “They’re good people. I trust them.”
It gives me immense solace to think of John’s company in Charles’s hands. “Good.”
He raises his glass to me. “You did it, sis.”
I smile, feeling so many different emotions I don’t yet know how to begin to untangle them. What a difference a week makes.
Eric slips his arm around me, and I settle into his shoulder, our eyes fixed on the dazzling lights of the coast below. Yachts bob on the dark sea, blazing like stars in a moonless sky.
It’s all very surreal, this fresh chapter in my life. But you know, I think I could get used to it.
Acknowledgments
My heart is bursting with gratitude for all the wonderful humans without whom this book would not be possible:
To my parents, Frank and Celia, for introducing me to the magic of books and always championing my artistic endeavors. To my husband, Alex, for supporting me in too many ways to count, and for not counting. You are my happy ending. To my early readers, Alice, Maria, Ashleigh, Anne, Gillian, and Dina, for giving me the confidence to send this book out into the world. To Kathryn Stockett, for your generosity.
To the brilliant team at Levine Greenberg Rostan—and most of all my fabulous agent, Sarah Bedingfield. Thank you for your insight, encouragement, and friendship, for believing in me and guiding me from concept to completion, and for always having my back. And thank you for giving me a safe space to fail, because the space to fail is so necessary in order to succeed.
To my superb editor, Millicent Bennett, for your acuity, your expertise, your attention to detail—because the little things matter!—and for always making this process fun. You are the lioness guiding this cub of a book into the world.
To my fantastic film agent, Michelle Kroes at CAA, for your discernment and always knowing the right thing to do.
And finally, to the outstanding team at Hachette Book Group and Grand Central Publishing, for making the dream a reality: Ben Sevier, Karen Kosztolnyik, Beth deGuzman, Brian McLendon, and Matthew Ballast on the executive team; Andy Dodds, Kamrun Nesa, and Ivy Cheng in publicity; Tiffany Sanchez and Alana Spendley in marketing; Alison Lazarus, Chris Murphy, Ali Cutrone, Rachel Hairston, and Karen Torres in sales; Albert Tang, Brian Lemus, and Elizabeth Stokes for the beautiful jacket art; Kristen Lemire, Jeff Holt, and Marie Mundaca in production; Nancy Wiese, Joelle Dieu, and Francesca Begos in subsidiary rights; editorial assistants Carmel Shaka and Meriam Metoui; and Lisa Cahn for producing the awesome audiobook.
I am forever grateful for all of you.
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