Brothers of Paradise Series

I don’t want to get out of this water. I don’t want to leave this island. “Okay.”

He looks down at his camera and puts the lens cover back on. There’s no way he’s going to admit that I did bring it, but the nonchalant way he says the next words still feels like victory. “I suppose we should eat something.”

I get up reluctantly, the warmth of the water dripping away into a slight chill. Dismissing him like he’s been dismissing me feels fantastic. “I have plans,” I say, thinking about the pool outside my patio, room service and the FaceTime call I promised my sister. “But thank you.”

And then I march straight past him.

Ivy

Rhys is waiting in the lobby the next day, arms across his chest. Admiring him is difficult, because it has to be when he’s not looking, which means I now have the perfect opportunity. He’s tall. A lot of men are, but when you’re as tall as me, the number who make you look up are vanishingly small. He’s one of them.

And he moves like the world is one big personal insult. Or perhaps like he’s the insult, constantly saying screw you to anything that might come his way, smiling ironically the entire time. Even the way he stands now, shoulders wide and arms crossed, like he’s daring the world.

I square my shoulders and head his way. Rhys sweeps his gaze over my flowing, floor-length dress. The red silk is cool in the heat, and the long split up my leg keeps the fabric moving with every step.

“You’re wearing that?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going into Gustavia, on a tour of the old town.” He’s speaking like I’m a toddler. “Not the Met gala.”Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

“Are you sure?” I ask sweetly. “I thought this was a ball.” And then I twirl in front of him for good measure, the red silk billowing out around me.

A muscle jerks in his jaw. “Ivy.”

“It had a note pinned in the label. St Barts, day two, town shoot. Would you like to see it? I think it’s still in my room.”

“No. Let’s just get going.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

To my delight, the man waiting by the car is one I recognize. “Étienne!”

“Miss Hart.” He tips his hat. “You look beautiful today.”

“Thank you. Will you be our tour guide today?”

“Bien sûr, I even volunteered for the job!” He looks to Rhys, whose scowl is growing deeper by the second. “And who is this? Your boyfriend?”

“Oh, he’s my photographer,” I say, barely keeping the smile out of my voice. I don’t dare look at Rhys, either, but he feels like a black cloud at my side. “Shall we?”

Étienne holds the door open for me. “After you.”

Rhys slams his and I have to turn my face toward the beautiful surroundings outside the window to hide my grin. Perhaps I could make annoying Rhys a game during the trip. If it’s always this easy, not to mention fun, I’ll be having a ball.

Étienne drives us in a loop around the island, pointing out beaches and coves he thinks we should see, often sprinkling them with anecdotes from his own experiences. Some are less appropriate than others-one beach is, apparently, especially good for lovemaking. Rhys snorts at that.

When we drive into Gustavia, he starts extolling the town’s virtues.

“Gustavia is unique in the world, because it has no… what’s the word… restauration rapide.”

“Fast food,” Rhys comments.

“Yes, exactly! There is none of that here. But we have a lot of fine dining. Many Michelin chefs.” Étienne turns onto a minuscule street in Gustavia, barreling down toward the sailboats in the harbor. I hold on to the door handle and look at Rhys.

“You speak French?”

He shrugs.

Right. What an answer.

“I will leave you here,” Étienne says, parking next to the central harbor in Gustavia. He hands us a business card. “You call me when you’re done and I will come.”

“The hotel is not that far, is it?”

“No. But the lady is in… talons hauts.”

Rhys frowns, glancing down at my feet. “High heels. Yes, that she is.”

I look down at the shoes in question. They’re fairly low heels, and they’re wedges, too. I want to kiss the agency stylist who thought of that little detail.

“Thank you, Étienne. We’ll see you later.”

“Good luck!”

Rhys doesn’t look at me when we’re the only two left in the calm harbor. Gustavia’s colorful houses and small streets beckon just yards away, and a palm tree next to us waves in the breeze.

“I’m ready,” I say, shaking out my hair. The hair stylist this morning had styled it straight, and it hangs in a golden waterfall down my back.

Rhys turns his camera over in his hands, looking over the settings. “Good for you.”

“Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.” There’s liquid sugar dripping from my voice. “All I’ve ever wanted in life is your approval.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a nuisance.”

“More compliments! What have I done to deserve this?”

He starts to walk away, but I keep up easily, even in my talons hauts. “The call sheet says we’re to shoot me walking on these streets. Interacting with local culture. Eating lunch.”

“I’ve read the call sheet too.”

“Awesome, you’re literate. See, I can give out compliments too. But you’re heading in the wrong direction.”

“Am I?” If my voice had been sugary-sweet, Rhys’s is desert-dry. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes, you see, blue is ocean.”

“How are you so energetic? Did you eat an all-sugar breakfast?”