by Lush, Tamara
A year ago, receiving a text like this would have sent my pulse racing at the thought of promoting a brand in Italy. Now, I’m somewhere on the spectrum between empty and vaguely annoyed. I imagine hobbling around airports and Italian cobblestone streets with my boot, fielding questions about how I injured myself. Nope. Not going to answer.
Another ping.
You are the best at promoting, tesoro. And gorgeous, too.
He follows up with a wink emoji. Ugh. Has he always been this fake? This sycophantic? Maybe he has, and I pretended not to notice. I click over to my email, where six new messages have sprouted, all from different companies, wanting to know if I’d like to promote their T-shirts, earrings, and in one case, sex toys.
A snort escapes my lips as I think about taking a selfie with Max while holding a vibrator. I’ve seen other social media influencers and their boyfriends do similar photos.
No way would Max go along with that. And I wouldn’t even ask.
It’s what I adore about him. He’s living life in the moment and not trying to “promote” anything. All he wants is to make some money for his family, drink a good beer, and watch the sunset.
With me.
When we’re together, I forget about everything. About my codependent parents, about my fake Instagram friends, about my fear of the future. With Max, life is real and so, so wonderful. It’s like he’s my good luck charm.
Take his idea of me exhibiting work in a local gallery. One called me today and asked for five photos.
I’m excited to tell him the news and shove all the rotten feelings about my parents into a corner in my mind.
Only positive thoughts from here on in.
When Max’s SUV pulls up, my mood soars. He parks in a nearby space and jumps out, looking handsome in a pair of jeans and a simple, white linen button-down shirt.
“Why are you here? I’d have carried you down the stairs.” He grins, and my fingers itch to work their way into his curly, golden hair.
I stand and take a few slow steps toward him. “No. Silly. I need to get stronger; that’s what the doctor said. So I walked down the stairs myself.”
He wraps his arms around me. “Maybe I enjoy carrying you everywhere. I like feeling needed.”
“Kind of inconvenient, though, isn’t it? I’m like a monkey on your back.” My voice comes out a tad snappish. Crap, I don’t want to be in a mood because of those texts, but I am. I press a kiss to his neck. “God, you smell good.”
He lets out a little growl. “You ready for Angus and Ginger?”
“I’ve noticed you and your siblings sometimes refer to your parents by their first names. Why is that?” I take his hand and start to make my way slowly to the SUV, nearly tripping on a squat hedge of tropical foliage.
Max’s grip on my hand tightens. “Dunno. We’ve always done that. I think it’s because the names Angus and Ginger sound so hilarious together. My parents…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head while opening the door.
I wait until he’s in the driver’s seat to respond. “Your parents, what?”
“They’re polar opposites. Mom’s a New Age hippie type, and Dad still has this punk rock rebel thing going on. The one thing they have in common is they follow their instincts. Always have. Especially about the resort. It was their labor of love.” He turns, and I wonder why he’s not starting the vehicle.
“Lauren?” Max asks softly.
My mouth suddenly goes dry, and my tongue sticks uncomfortably to the back of my bottom teeth.
“Yeah?” I tilt my head.
“I have some news.”
My expression—and mood—brightens. He’ll be thrilled about the gallery. “I do, too.”
“You first.”
“No, you.”
He rubs his nose against mine, then grins. “Okay. I wanted to tell you before we got to my parents’ house. I have news about the resort sale.”
“Oh! Wow! Amazing. You brokered the deal.” I lean in to kiss him. “I’m so proud of you. I know how important it was for you to help your family by selling the resort.”
His hands lightly cup my face. “Cupcake, it’s a bit different than I envisioned. My dad agreed to sell the resort. To me.”
I let out a small gasp. “You?”
He nods. “Natalia and I are going to run it. I’m taking out a loan against the equity in my New York apartment, which is quite substantial. I’ve decided to stay here on the island for a while. The rest of the year, at least. I’ll be going back and forth to New York a bit, but I’ll make this my base of operation. I’ll be looking for a house soon so I don’t have to live in a suite. Or with my parents.”
“Ohhh,” I breathe. My mind’s spinning with possibilities, but at the core, there’s one question.
What about us?
He leans in to kiss me with soft, sensual lips. When he breaks away, he puts his forehead to mine.
“Like my dad did when he first came here, I’m following my instincts. I think it’s destiny Nat and I run the place, at least for a while. We’ve got so many ideas for the business. How to take it into this century and really kick ass. Tate and Remy have agreed to help. It feels right, you know?”
I nod and smile. Suddenly everything falls into place. Max bought the resort and will stay here. I’ll live with Max and make a real life on Paradise Beach. Taking photos, making friends, spending time with Kate. Cookouts and kayaking and occasional weekends in Miami. Waking up to Max’s kisses every morning.
I let out a laugh because my heart’s so full.
“I love the idea. Congratulations,” I murmur, leaning in for another kiss. Tonight he smells like bay leaves and lime, spicy and masculine.
Max moans a little against my mouth, and my insides melt at the primal sound. “I can’t get enough of your kisses.”
We kiss for a few minutes, all slow and delicious. I can practically see love molecules flying around the car like fireflies.
Max nuzzles my cheek. “After Dad and I worked out the details, I had a great idea. One I couldn’t wait to share with you.”
I pull back and grin. He’s going to ask me to live with him. We’ll be picking out a place to live by next weekend. Visions of decorating a beautiful porch with flowers and pretty, tropical-print pillows spring to mind.
Maybe I’ll have a home photo studio…
“Tell me, babe.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and my whole body warms.
“Now that I’m running the place, I want you to handle the social media. I was thinking you could promote Paradise Beach Resort on your Instagram or whatever. Work your magic with us. And then open accounts for us and start posting pretty photos.”
Is he kidding? My stomach seizes up as if someone punched me. He wants my social media expertise? Oh, hell, not him too. The cruel irony of this after Gio and my dad’s text is too much.
My facial muscles feel like they’re melting, my expression falls so hard.
“What? You don’t like the idea? I thought it was great.” Still grinning, he presses the car’s ignition button, and the engine fires up. “There are so many gorgeous places around the resort, and since you’ve got, what, a million Instagram followers, it would be the perfect free advertising.”
I shift in my seat so I’m staring straight ahead, out the windshield. As we pass the island’s bookstore, the cafe, and Kate’s tiki bar, my eyes grow hot with tears. Sadness swirls, free-form, through my body.
“What do you think?” Max asks. “You in?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll consider the best way to approach it,” I say in a halting, robotic voice. “I’ll review what worked on prior campaigns.”
“Good deal. You’re so smart about this stuff. Oh, what was your news? Tell me. Oh, we’re here, this is my parents’ place.”
We pull into the driveway of a giant, three-story home. It’s painted a pale, tropical pink. There are porches on every floor, and it looks like something you’d see in a design magazine
. I’ll bet Mrs. Hastings has pretty pillows and wicker furniture, and the whole place smells like baking cookies and love.
Dread settles in my chest. I’m going to have to spend the next several hours sitting next to Max.
A man who wants me for what I can do for him and his business.
How have I been so wrong about him all these weeks?
“Lauren?”
“Hm?” I shake my head to clear the fog in my brain and grab my purse.
“What were you going to tell me?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Oh, it was nothing. The doctor called and said he reviewed my new X-rays. Said I’m healing well. Should be back on my feet soon.”
It’s all the truth. The doctor did call. And said I should be free to shed the boot soon.
Not soon enough for me.
Twenty-Two
Lauren
Dinner with Max’s parents goes smoothly—at least until Mr. Hastings brings out the after-dinner shots.
“A longtime guest brought us a bottle of limoncello from Italy,” he crows, holding up the practically glowing yellow liquid. “Who’s in?”
I snicker. Although I’ve been pissed at Max ever since he brought up the social media idea in the car, I’ve tried to moderate my temper and act exceedingly polite.
I wasn’t raised by wolves. Okay, I was, in a way. But before my mom became a pill addict, she taught me to always be a gracious guest if someone invited me to dinner.
I’m also trying to hold in my anger because Mr. and Mrs. Hastings are so damned sweet.
Well, Mrs. Hastings is sweet. She also made the best lasagna I’ve tasted outside of Milan, and her tiramisu is like a confection from heaven.
Mr. Hastings is salty. Cranky. Entertaining as all hell, especially considering the mood I’m in. He’s kept me laughing most of the night with his stories about being a singer in a punk rock band in the early 80s.
This is a man who truly doesn’t give a fuck.
He’d never act like Max and lead a woman on to further his business. The way Max has gone on and on tonight about the resort makes me think he’s not interested in a relationship with me at all.
How have I not noticed he’s a total, obsessed workaholic?
Mr. Hastings’ stories have mercifully allowed me not to pay much attention to his annoyingly handsome son, who did help his mother serve lasagna and do dishes. That part, I had to definitely ignore because it was too charming how he kept teasing her and laughing. Of course he looks happy. He’s getting to screw me and to use me for my social media knowledge.
Not only does he not want a relationship, he’s probably been leading me on this entire time.
And he’s breaking my heart. So, screw it, I’m getting drunk. Never mind I don’t usually drink and can’t handle my booze at all. I’ve had a few glasses of wine. Max gives me a puzzled look, because I almost always decline when we’re together.
“Me!” My hand shoots in the air. “I love limoncello!”
Mr. Hastings pours the liquor into four shot glasses.
“Only a taste for me, sweetie,” Mrs. Hastings says.
“Mom, should you even have any?” Max looks at his mom with a worried expression. “Your heart and all.”
Damn him for caring about his mom so tenderly.
“I can have a sip. For God’s sakes, Max.” Mrs. Hastings takes her shot, which has probably a tablespoon of liquid inside.
We all grab our glasses.
“To Lauren and how blessed we are to have her as part of our family,” Mrs. Hastings says, and my heart cracks open.
If only.
“To Lauren,” Max says. “She’s the best thing to come out of Damien and Kate’s shotgun wedding. A brilliant woman who is going to help us be the most kick-ass resort in Florida.”
I refrain from glaring at Max in front of his parents and swallow the syrupy, sour shot in one gulp. My throat feels like it’s coated in lemon drops.
“Imagine the social media promo with this beauty in a bikini,” Max continues, resting his hand on the back of my chair.
“What?” I snap.
“You can pose at the hotel in a bikini, like you have at other places. It’ll be incredible.” Max’s eyes sparkle.
“Yeah, that’ll bring guests here in droves.” I roll my eyes. Jerk. He’s only thinking about his resort, his business plan, and the benefits I can bring to both. He’s triggered my own personal emotional landmine, and I’m seconds away from detonating.
Us as a couple? We’re an afterthought. Or possibly not a consideration at all. It dawns on me that he’s been so judgmental about Kate and Damien’s quick courtship. Of course he doesn’t think we’re at a serious point in our own relationship.
The realization makes my lasagna and tiramisu-filled stomach feel like it’s packed with cement.
Mr. Hastings quirks an eyebrow in my direction. “Another shot?”
I nod, vaguely aware drinking because I’m upset isn’t something I should get in the habit of, especially since addiction runs in my family. But this raw, despondent feeling is too powerful, and trying to be pleasant in front of Max’s parents is like caging an angry tiger.
Nearly impossible.
I down the second shot, then nurse the third while listening to Max and his parents discuss Pete, the island alligator.
“I think it’s time to send Pete to the boot factory,” Mr. Hastings says. “He’s getting way too big.”
“Angus, shut your mouth. That reptile hasn’t done anything to anyone.” Mrs. Hastings strokes her husband’s arm, and he grabs her hand and lifts it to his lips. She and her husband are so effortlessly affectionate with each other. Like I’d hoped to be with their son. For decades.
Max shrugs. “As long as no one gets close to him, he’s fine. He still lives in that swamp near the golf course, right?”
Mr. Hastings nods. “But someone spotted him the other day, and he was far from the swamp. That’s what the mayor told me. And apparently they’re worried he was a bit too close to the dog park.”
I giggle darkly. “Don’t let Chunky near there. He’d be a delicious and meaty snack for an alligator. Where is the Chunk, anyway?”
Max turns to me with a mock horrified look. I sneer at him, and his expression turns to confusion.
He leans into me. “You’ve had too much to drink, haven’t you?”
I snort.
“Why do you care?” I whisper in his ear. “You’ve spent the entire night talking business.”
Max’s mouth twists. “Okay, I think it’s time we head back,” he says to his parents. “Lauren looks tired.”
“I’m fine,” I hiss.
Is he angry? Is he going to lecture me about drinking? Pfft. I hope he does, because I’m in a mood to fight.
Wobbling, I stand and thank his parents profusely.
“The dinner was amazing,” I pat Mrs. Hastings’ long, salt-and-pepper hair. “And you’re gorgeous.”
She laughs and embraces me. “You’re delightful. I’m so glad my son found you. Sometimes he’s so serious, and I think you’ll lighten him up. He needs it.”
In my tipsy state it’s hard not to tear up when she says those words in my ear.
“Dunno if that’s possible,” I murmur to her.
“Please come back, any time.” We beam at each other. “We can have coffee some morning on the porch. Or a cocktail at sunset.”
I blink back tears. If only I could sit with her and chat like friends. I love her effortlessly casual beach house. A few short hours ago, I thought this was my future.
But his one statement—take photos of you in a sexy bikini that people like so much—makes me realize how little he values me as a girlfriend. As a person.
If only he wasn’t using me. If only he wanted me for something more than help on his social media. If only he loved me.
I shuffle out of the house, Max close by.
In the car, I seethe silently as we roll along the empty Paradise Beach streets
.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” Max asks. “I saw a tear run down your cheek when you hugged my mom.”
I shrug.
“The dinner went so well. My parents loved you. Then you had a few shots and got pissed at me. I don’t understand. Does your ankle hurt? Is that it?”
“No. My ankle’s fine. And don’t shame me for drinking.”
“I’m not shaming you. You’re free to drink as much as you want. I’m trying to sort out what’s going on. What happened? I’m legitimately confused.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “For someone so smart in business, you’re not very intuitive.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
We’re at the resort now, and he pulls into a parking space near a door leading to the stairs up to our floor.
“Lauren, can you please explain what’s bothering you? You’re not giving me a chance to defend myself. I feel like I’ve been accused of a crime, and you’ve tried and convicted me while I’m still figuring out what the charge is.”
I undo my seat belt and whirl in his direction. “I thought you liked me. Oh, wait. I forgot. This is a fling. Not something permanent. Flings are okay, but quick, serious relationships like Damien and Kate’s aren’t.”
“I do.” He frowns. “Jesus. Of course I like you. I’ve spent the last several weeks with you, non-stop. Why are you bringing up Damien and Kate?”
“But you want to use me for my social media.”
“Yeah, because you’re great at it, and I’m clueless. I need help with the resort. What’s the problem?”
“See!” I cry, pointing in his direction. “You’re using me. Everyone uses me. I’m sick of it, and I’m not going to tolerate it anymore. You’re a fraud, like all of them.”
My dad’s text flashes in my mind. Gio’s message, too. A thick lump forms in my throat at the realization of how superficial my life has become. Dammit. Everything sucks right now.
I let myself out of the car. I’d like to say I flounce down the sidewalk and up the stairs, but being half drunk and sporting a broken ankle, I hobble. Fiercely, I’m hoping, but realistically I’m a pathetic sight. Fortunately, there are no guests at the resort yet, and Max and I are the only ones staying here.