by Liz Durano
If there's one way to make Heath's dimples disappear, what I said does it. His smile fades, and he frowns, and he's about to say something when a photographer shows up in front of us and asks to take pictures for the country club website. Heath pulls me next to him and grins at the camera while I do the same.
"Just find Blythe and get her out of Santa Barbara, Billie, and before you know it, this charade will be over, and you won't even owe me a dime," Heath mutters as he smiles for the photographer, who's now joined by two press photographers.
Ten minutes later, and I've emptied my second glass of rosé to distract me from saying anything more stupid than what I had just said, and holding the third one though this one I’m determined to be just for show. I usually don't drink, but then, there's nothing ordinary about where I am and what I'm here to do. I've somehow found myself being photographed more times in ten minutes than I've ever been photographed in my whole life, and I wonder if this is how celebrities feel like—bored, yet having to smile till their cheeks hurt and pretending to look like they're having fun.
I'm relieved when Heath has to leave my side, pulled to one corner along with Tyler and Harris by the corporate publicist for interviews with Business Wire, Washington Post, and a Santa Barbara society magazine.
I make my way outside where I have an unobstructed view of the polo match going on. I watch the players on their horses chase after a wooden ball with mallets, thinking that it truly is the sport of kings, just as I've read. Man and horse seem like one as they go chasing after a ball that travels between the horses' hooves from one end of the field to another. And all that time, they make it look so effortless. I see two female players, and I can't help but smile. Though I know nothing about the game, they seem as good as their male counterparts.
"Babe, you made it!” Exclaims a voice behind me as I feel an arm go around my shoulders, pulling me towards a man who is not Heath, doesn't sound like him, nor touches me like he does.
And neither does he kiss like Heath.
16
Show And Tell
By the time I exclaim that he's made a mistake, it's too late. Ethan has pulled me right up to him, and our lips meet in a crushing kiss before I push him away—and right into an angry Heath, who grabs Ethan by his upper arms and pushes him away from me.
"What do you think you're doing, Ethan?" Heath demands though I can see how both men regain their composure as quickly as it had dissolved seconds earlier. They know where they are, and already people are watching. Still, I can tell how Heath is barely keeping it together.
"What the hell is she doing here?" Ethan asks.
Standing facing each other, the brothers are like night and day. They both have the same nose and lips, but it's their eyes that make them different. Ethan is blonde with sky-blue eyes while Heath’s ocean blue-gray eyes are set against a thick head of dark hair.
"She's my guest," Heath replies, pulling me next to him, his arm holding me possessively around my waist as Ethan stares at me, his gaze going from my face all the way down to my feet.
"Now where are the letters?" Heath asks, his voice almost growling.
Ethan turns to face him as if snapped from a trance. "That's no longer your concern.”
"It is my concern," Heath says. "Those letters belongs to Mother."
"Let's just say she loaned them to me, Heath," Ethan says. "Who's to say she didn't anyway? Are you honestly going to ask her, hoping she'll remember?"
"I don't need to ask her, Ethan, because she was lucid enough to tell me that you stole them from her safe after she was kind enough to give you her engagement ring to give to Blythe, the same one that once belonged to Gran."
Ethan's jaw clenched. "Let's just say she was careless.”
"She wasn't careless, and you know it, not when there are cameras installed in the house,” Heath says through gritted teeth. "Now where are they?"
A photographer asks to take our picture and like seasoned pros, Heath and Ethan sandwich me between them, and smile as the photographer clicks the camera shutter. As soon as he's gone, both brothers separate and glare at each other again.
"I'll give them to you for a price,” Ethan says, a smirk on his face. “You're a businessman, Heath, so this you'll understand."
"And what, should I dare ask, is your price, Ethan?"
"Her shares—every single share she gave to you, or rather, sold to you by a buy-sell agreement after you declared her legally incapable of handling her affairs," Ethan says, chuckling drily.
Heath laughs, an amused laugh as he shakes his head. His hand still grips my waist like a vice and I down the rest of my rosé and give it to a passing waiter. I should leave, I can't. It won't look good to Heath, and besides, Heath never told me he declared his mother legally incapable of handling her affairs. Why did he leave that out during our talk on the plane?
“If you bothered to look at her living trust, Ethan, you'd see that she appointed me her trustee,” Heath says. “It’s my responsibility to ensure that her interests are protected.”
“You mean your interests?” Ethan counters. “After all, thanks to you, you greedy bastard, you own the majority of the company. So think about my offer, Heath. Her letters for her shares.”
“And if I refuse, would you expose those letters to the public and shame not just her but all of us? Even Jessica and her kids? You and I are their godparents, Ethan.”
Ethan doesn't answer, his attention now directed to someone right behind us. It’s Harris, and his face is now a bright shade of red.
"Are you aware that people have been watching you make fools out of yourselves the entire time? Probably even recording you?” Harris demands. “If your father were here—”
"But he's not, Harris," Ethan says, "and this is between Heath and me."
"As long as you boys are in a public event that Kheiron Industries is sponsoring, you need to remember that nothing is between you and Ethan—not when everyone's watching, and they've got ears everywhere," Harris says as Ethan and Heath continue to glare at each other. I'm reminded of kids fighting on the playground, before being separated by an adult. "Not only that, but you should be ashamed of yourselves, arguing in front of a lady."
They all turn to look at me as if realizing for the first time that I’m there, but I ignore them and face Ethan. "Where's Blythe? You said something about her not feeling well."
"Jet lag," Ethan mutters. "Jackson and Charlene are with her."
A red-haired man wearing a white blazer over a blue shirt and white pants appears behind Ethan. "The press is waiting for you, Ethan,” he says, eyeing all of us curiously, though his eyes widen when he sees me. “Blythe, I thought you were back at the hotel-"
"Her name's Billie. She is Blythe’s twin sister,” Heath says as Richard leans between the brothers to shake my hand, peering at me with amazement.
"Wow," he exclaims, his grip on my hand tight. "I've seen twins before, but not like this. You and Blythe should have a pictorial together! Shouldn't they, Ethan? Maybe we could call Elle or even Vogue? They would love that!”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, my smile frozen on my face. "So nice to meet you, but no, I'm not a fashion person."
"Could have fooled me," Richard grins as he scans my outfit. "Is that Isabel Marrant?"
It takes me a second to remember who Isabel Marrant is till Heath nudges me. "Yes, it is! Heath picked it out for me.”
“Excellent choice!” Richard beams. “I’ll need to remember the cut in case Blythe ends up buying the same thing, and you’ll both end up with matching outfits. It would be awkward.”
"Nice to see you again, Richard," Heath says, shaking Richard's hand. "I hope all is well."
"Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Richard replies. “Much better than you, I presume.”
Before Heath or I can say anything, Richard adds, “Did you know even the hottest models are here? We met them all last night, remember, Ethan, even Allorah-"
"Oh, look!" I exc
laim, pointing towards the polo field that's slowly being overtaken by a sea of people in polo-friendly attire. "It's divot stomping time! Guess that’s where you’ll find me!”
And with that, I'm off. I don't care if I'm walking to the field alone, but I can't be among that much testosterone flying around. And just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse, with everyone else having their agenda in full force, but Allorah is there, too. And that only means one thing. Andrew is with her.
Great.
I need to take a walk, and thankfully, there's a field right in front of me, three times the size of a football field. It's now filled with people who are much happier than the group I just walked away from. There are men with their light-colored trousers and white shirts and women wearing bright-colored dresses and wide-brimmed hats, stomping divots with their wedge heels and sandals while holding glasses of champagne, and laughing, and taking pictures that some of them immediately post online.
I tip a piece of turf grass side up, before nudging it to its corresponding hole in the turf. Then like everyone else, I stomp a divot back into the turf, an act that's both field maintenance to protect horses and their riders during the second part of the match, and a form of happy hour for spectators.
"That poor divot hasn't done anything to you, you know," Heath murmurs as I stomp the divot with my beige sandal. “You’ve been stomping at the unfortunate thing for the last two minutes.”
"Oh, this? We're just having a conversation," I say, as Heath reaches out to hold my forearm to keep me upright. "And they agree with me."
"About what?"
"About how I got stuck in the middle of men arguing while my sister's back at her hotel, apparently not feeling too well and I can't help but be worried about her. Instead there I was stuck in the middle of an episode of Men Behaving Badly."
"I apologize," Heath says, "I didn't realize it was that bad."
I pull my arm away from his grasp and walk to another divot that I spot, nudge it back into place and stomp at it.
"It wasn't bad bad," I say, shrugging. "I just hated being caught in the middle of it."
"Stop stomping for a second, Billie," Heath says, taking my hand, this time, his fingers interlacing with mine. The divot's back on the turf anyway so I stop. "Look at me."
I raise my head though I don't look at Heath's face. Instead, I focus on his shirt, and the nearness of him as he takes a step forward.
"I'm sorry about Blythe not feeling well. I heard that they partied the moment they arrived last night. That and jet lag must have been too much for her."
I look up at him, surprised. “Did you know about this last night?”
“No, I just heard about it from Richard, just after you rushed out here. They're all hungover—except for Ethan, who had practice this morning," he says, tilting my chin. "I'm sorry about what happened back there with Ethan. We acted inappropriately in public, of all places, and worse, in front of you."
"You got to talk to him," I say. "You know where you stand."
"I still don't have the letters."
"What will it matter now? For all you know, it's probably already been scanned, and there's no guarantee that even if you sell him your mother's shares that he still won't expose her letters anyway. Why he hates her so much to do such a thing, I have no idea."
"She sold me her shares; simple as that," Heath murmurs, his index finger still lifting my chin. "She could have picked Jessie or Ethan the moment she wrote her living trust and every trust for that matter. But she picked me, and that's enough to tell him that she favored me over everyone else."
"Jessica doesn't run a holding company," I say, "and neither does Ethan. And you didn’t almost run the business into the ground with bad investments.”
"You're right," he says, "but this isn't about the letters, Billie. It's not even about the shares necessarily." He lowers my chin and begins walking, still holding my hand.
"What is this all about then?"
"It's about control of the company. I could be Chairman of the Board, but if I'm not the majority shareholder, I won't have as much control as I do now. I could step down as Chairman right now, but I'll still control more than half of the voting interests of Kheiron Industries. By ensuring that I have more than 50% of the shares, it also stops the sharks from circling, the way they did when Ethan ran it," he says, stomping on a divot with much more calm than I did earlier.
“But I also made a promise to take care of her, Billie, no matter what," Heath says. "If it weren't for safeguards already in place that were designed to prevent Edgar to gain control of her family fortune, we'd be in the poorhouse by now."
"Would he have really spent everything?”
“On his vices, yes. He also loved to invest. But talking about men behaving badly; here I am doing it again, killing your buzz."
"We can always change the subject-” I pause, catching sight of a man a hundred feet away from us. He'd been holding his girlfriend's hand as she stomped on divots happily in front of the club photographer taking pictures of her. But now he's standing stock still like he can't believe what he was seeing—or who.
Heath turns to look at who I’m looking at, then returns to face me, his hands moving around my waist and pulling me closer. "Looks like you have an audience."
"I know," I say. "Richard did say she was here with other models."
"I wasn't talking about Allorah," Heath says, his gaze moving down my face to settle on my mouth. "Do you think Andrew deserves a show?"
My mind is screaming, nonono! You're better than that, but my heart is cheering, yesyesyes! Do it! "What do you think?"
Heath doesn't answer, at least not with words, for he lowers his head and kisses me. He has to tilt his head a bit for there's the floppy brim of my hat to worry about, but it doesn't matter for his mouth finds my lips, and I'm more than ready to enjoy his kiss, even if it's for the wrong reasons. For all I know, Andrew's turned away, and this kiss will be for nothing. But as Heath's tongue sweeps along my upper lip, before nipping my lower lip playfully, I figure, what the hell, I might as well enjoy it. And I have to say I do, for it's a long kiss, one that leaves me breathless and flushed when Heath draws his head back.
"Is that good enough?"
It takes me a few moments to answer him for my knees are threatening to turn into mush, but I manage to take a peek behind Heath's shoulder as I hold on to him.
"He may have to pick his jaw off the turf, so yes, I think that was good enough," I reply, giggling, for Andrew is staring at us, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Allorah is glaring at him, her hands on her hips.
"Why don't we get out of here?" Heath asks, his gaze following mine.
"Why? Where are we going?" I ask suspiciously. It was just a kiss, I almost tell him.
He grins, his dimples making another rare appearance. "It's not what you're thinking, Billie. I was thinking more of a place where you can be yourself, where we don't have to show off to anyone."
"Like where?"
"It's a surprise," he says, grinning as he takes my hand and leads me back towards the tent. He even winks at me.
17
Sand and Sea
As we return to the hotel so we can change into something more comfortable, I'm tempted to go to the front desk and pretend I lost my key card—or rather, Blythe's key card. After all, I have her identification cards and can show it to them if they need it. But as Heath leads me to the hotel lobby towards the stairs, I know he would never allow it, not when he's on a mission to take me somewhere else where he says I can be myself.
I slip into a pair of jeans, a vintage t-shirt and a chambray boyfriend shirt that I tie around my waist, and wait for Heath, who is getting dressed in the adjoining room of our suite. I remind myself to send Alicia a note of thanks. Her choices, so far, have been perfect.
When Heath emerges from his room wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt with a denim shirt and looking way more relaxed than he'd been at the afternoon tea, we can't help but chu
ckle at our matching outfits. I love that the dimples are also on full display as we make our way downstairs to the lobby where Wally and Fred are waiting for us. Outside, we all get into a Land Rover and head west towards the ocean.
It's almost four in the afternoon when we arrive at a Mediterranean-style estate overlooking the ocean in a secluded community called Hope Ranch. Though I'm sure that the house is gorgeous inside, probably with beamed ceilings and spacious rooms, it's the trail that leads to the private beach that catches my attention.
By the time I meet Heath's friends, Bob and his wife Lorna, an older couple I vaguely remember seeing at the polo club, I'm barely able to contain my excitement as they lead us to their stables. When they introduce me to a two thoroughbreds, Pie and Shadow, I’m excited beyond words.
"Have you ever gone horseback riding before?" Heath asks as he helps fasten the strap of my riding helmet under my chin.
"It’s been awhile, but yes, I have,” I reply as he helps me onto my saddle, his hands tight around my waist.
"I'll bring you up to speed in no time," he says, grinning.
Minutes later, with my shoes and my phone safe with Wally, I follow Heath along the trail leading to a private beach just below the bluffs. Behind us, Wally and Fred are riding their horses as well, though as usual, they're so quiet it's easy to forget that they're even there.
After thirty minutes of slow walking along the surf, with a slightly worried Heath riding next to me making sure I don't fall off my horse and hurt myself, I spring my surprise on him. I may never have ridden a horse on the beach before today, but that doesn't mean I've never handled a horse in a full gallop before today either. Suddenly, I spur my horse ahead of a startled Heath, laughing as Pie takes off like the wind ahead of him and Shadow.
Maybe I should have told him about those two years of English and Western riding lessons I took when I was 14 till I was in college in neighboring Penn Valley. But even if I never got to tell Heath all that, he realizes it quickly, and soon, he's riding right next to me, laughing with me as we race along the beach. It's a beautiful feeling to ride a horse, even more glorious when galloping through the surf along a secluded beach with a handsome man riding alongside me.