Page 22 of Sucker For You

“Guilty again.”

“Idiot,” she said with a huff, dropping her chin onto the top of Ethan’s head. “But that probably means you also spent last night at the bungalow—”

“A third time: guilty.”

“—with Isabel.” Though she’d dropped her chin, one eyebrow rose. Erin put down her mug with a deliberatethunkand glanced between them at their Loulou’s table. “You’ve met.”

“Yeah, we have.”

He didn’t think about transparent silk or wide, rainy eyes. Didn’t think about fingers brushing across his shoulder under drips of salt water. Didn’t think about Isabel prying an oyster from a tide pool, her smile luminous in the sun.

“Hmm.” A sly pucker angled Erin’s mouth.God, he loved his sister, but she could be so irritating, especially since she continued with, “That’s a fun narrative twist. It’s almost too bad that Chase already flew to Las Vegas—”

“What?” Isabel’s grip spasmed around the phone. “He left? T-today? Not tomorrow?”

Erin pulled a face.

Ethan’s grimace deepened. “That’s what he told us.”

“But—but he. . .” She swiped over Erin and Ethan’s video square, minimizing it. She scanned the texts she’d ignored earlier. Words blurred under her fingers. Then her chin jerked.Confirmation. “Y-yes. On a red eye flight, right after. . .”

“I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

“No, he. . . he—”

Wes didn’t mean to rattle the table when he set down his fork. But he did. “Chase? Ethan’s brother? What’s he got to do with anything?”

“He’s—”

A shake of Isabel’s head nixed whatever diatribe Erin might have kicked off. She released her phone. Her right thumb scraped obsessively across the diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand, though her voice was inflectionless when she said, “Dr. Chase Meyer Jr. is my fiancé.”

Silence.

For once, Wes was quiet—and acid surged in Isabel’s stomach around the few bites of granola and yogurt she’d eaten. If she moved right now, she’d vomit.Freeze. She could do nothing but sit. At least if she didn’t speak, she couldn’t make this particular situation worse. It was bad enough already, Wes frowning at speckles of syrup that had splattered the table when he’d slammed down his fork. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Keep silent, keep still, don’t interrupt, don’t make a scene.

“Is he still your fiancé?” Erin had no such reservations. Her tortoiseshell glasses wobbled, skidding toward the end of her nose before Ethan nudged them back into position for her. “You’re planning to go through with the wedding? Even after last night?”

Last night:September first.

Today:September second.

The Presidio Officers’ Club was booked for the thirtieth.

She had twenty-eight days left.

So how. . .

How had she seriously managed to convince herself to remain in Monterey this morning? To sit here while the minutes ticked past toward the expiration date on her visa, eating breakfast with Wes and reviewing footage of C-189? Chase had left California,and if she’d thought more quickly yesterday, been smarter, known how to react, what to say, what to do—but she hadn’t. She’d frozen then, just like she was frozen now, which meant that he was at BioPulse’s headquarters in Las Vegas twenty-four hours ahead of schedule—hours on which she’d depended—so how could she possibly fix things?

She couldn’t go to Nevada—

“Isabel.”Wes. His voice was very, very neutral. “Why does my sister think you might not go through with. . .it?”

He’d seen her ring. Ignoring it was impossible. But he hadn’t known about Chase. She hadn’t lied. She just hadn’t said anything. Now?

“Because—” from Erin on the screen.