Brothers of Paradise Series

“None.” Rhys looks at me for a long time, eyes dark. But then his lips curve into a crooked smile. “I’ll take you sailing while we’re there.”

“I’d love that.”

“And it won’t be for more than a night or two.”

“Sounds great. I’m not working this weekend, anyway.”

Rhys grabs one of my suitcases along with his. “Paradise Shores is north of New York. A two-hour drive.”

“We’ll go with your brother, then?”

He nods again, and we head toward the sliding doors. “We’ll go,” he says.

And just like that, I’m whisked away into a large car, seated in the backseat while Henry and Rhys Marchand converse quietly in the front. Like slipping onto a different path, accepting an offer, and life shifts. The weekend unfurls in front of me with the promise of new experiences, instead of the one filled with laundry and studying I’d been expecting.

Excitement drums through my veins like a second heartbeat, and I wonder if that’s what life is always like around Rhys, if he regularly bends the rules of normalcy.

And I wonder how far I’m willing to bend with him.

“We’re staying here?”

Rhys pushes the door closed behind him and rolls my giant suitcase against the wall. The living room is tastefully decorated, the windows opening up to a view of the ocean.

“Yeah,” he says. “The cottage is for guests.”

“You guys call this a cottage?”RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

He grins. “You’re welcome to re-name it. Now, come on.”

“Where are we going?” But his hand is already on mine, and he’s pulling me toward one of the bedrooms. A giant master bed opens up before us. “Rhys…”

But he heads to the bathroom instead, nodding to the giant walk-in shower. “We’ve been traveling,” he says. “I need a shower. Care to join?”

I put my hand on the giant bed, pressing down into the soft mattress. It’s impossible to tear my eyes away from the cloudy pillows, the down in the comforter. With every passing second, my eyelids grow heavier. “This looks like heaven,” I tell him.

There’s a smile in Rhys’s voice. “It’s late enough,” he says. “Sleep off the jet lag. We have the whole day tomorrow.”

It’s a difficult choice, watching the tall frame of him silhouetted against the bathroom. But tiredness is fighting with me every step of the way, and the few hours of sleep I’d managed to snag on the plane were not enough. “Over twenty hours,” I tell him. “We’ve been traveling for twenty hours.”

He rests a hand on the doorframe. “Sleep, Ivy.”

“When’s your dad’s party?” But I’m already sitting down on the bed, pulling off my socks.

“Tomorrow evening.”

“Mhm.” I lie back, fully intending to take off my yoga pants, but first I have to test this bed out, like Goldilocks and her bears. Is this one just right?

It’s more than just right, and I close my eyes, just to get the full effect.

The next thing I notice is a room in darkness and someone large shifting in bed next to me.

“Rhys?”

“I’m here,” his deep voice comes out of the darkness, from my left side. I relax against the sheets.

“We’re sharing a bed,” I mumble.

There’s a pause in the darkness, a questioning silence. “There’s a guest bedroom. Do you want me to go?”

My yawn makes my reply near unintelligible, so I have to repeat myself, struggling to pull off my sweater at the same time. “No.”

“Good.”

I finally get my sweater off and climb back under the sheets in nothing but yoga pants and a camisole.

“I’m going to marry this bed,” I murmur.

“Not if I propose to it first.”

“Dibs,” I mumble, reaching out to find warm skin, shifting beneath my fingers as he moves closer.

His voice is the last thing I hear. “Thank you for coming with me.”

I don’t reply, drawn down through the layers of sleep to where unconsciousness beckons.

Rhys

The ocean is a calm presence outside the cottage’s windows, and the sky a tentative blue above it. For every photograph I edit, I have to look up to the vast expanse of blue beyond, as if to make sure I’m not dreaming.

I’m really in Paradise Shores, and Ivy is here.

Such a thing had felt unimaginable, just a week ago, but here we are. Her and me in my sister’s old house, with her living right next door. No doubt Henry told her last night that I’d brought someone. No doubt she’ll be here as soon as she can, knocking on the door with curiosity burning like candlelight in her gaze.

I step away from my laptop, the motor in the external hard drive humming, to peer into the still-dark bedroom. Ivy isn’t sprawled where I’d left her, and I hear the shower running.

I pour her a cup of coffee and return to my laptop, to the image I’m editing. She’s standing on the beach in St. Barts, her face upturned to the rays of sunshine and her feet buried in the turquoise water.

The surroundings are gorgeous, and I reluctantly up the saturation, the glossiness, until it looks like a travel photograph. I’ll have to meet Ben halfway here if I’m to have a shot at winning this bet.

Ivy emerges into the living room in a fluffy robe, hair wet down her back. “I can’t remember the last time I slept this long.”

“Jet-lag knockout.”

“Completely.”

I pull her onto my lap and she settles there gracefully, leaning back against my chest. “Are you editing?”

“Yes.” I flick through some of the photos, all from St. Barts, and nearly all of her. Walking past beautifully colored houses, dancing on a square. They showcase the best the place has to offer, all with her as the protagonist.