Page 24

Before

Somewhere south of the British Virgin Islands lies Nevis, a small, tropical island that—with its nearly thirty-six-square-mile footprint—is three times the size of Winter Park, Florida.

And until Will suggested we take a trip there, I had never even heard of it.

One Friday night, he called from the car to announce we were leaving in the morning.

“Pack a bag,” he said. “Or don’t. We’ll buy you whatever you want when you get there. I called in a favor with a party planner here in town—Autumn Kensington. She’s booked everything.”

I laughed a little. His energy was becoming contagious. “When will we be back? I have work on Monday.”

“Tell them you’re going to need the week.”

“That’s not really how that works.” I chuckled.

“Then, I’ll call the head of the museum. She’s a friend.”

It’s all just so easy when you’re Will Somerset.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks, even though I was standing in his kitchen when he phoned.

He had been staying in a hotel a mile from the Orange County Courthouse for some big trial.

Every morning, he reported to the courthouse for a grueling full day of trial, and then he went back to his hotel room to prep witnesses, text me good night, and go to bed.

All just to wake up and do it all over again.

But after two weeks of that cycle on repeat, all his hard work paid off, and he had won a king’s ransom for a client with a traumatic brain injury.

Will didn’t like to think of the end of any trial as a time for some big revelry.

He didn’t win the Super Bowl. Someone had been hurt.

But his advocacy meant that his client would be able to afford round-the-clock care, and that was good news.

Knowing someone would live a better life because of his help was the part of his job that he loved.

“Also, get dressed,” he added. “We’re going out to celebrate.”

I don’t know why I thought “we” meant Will and me. But as I met him in the driveway, he scooped me up, kissed my cheek, and said, “Come on. Fritz is hosting a little celebratory cocktail party at his house.”

Right.

I had never been to Fritz’s house before, but I had passed by it countless times without knowing it until now.

The Spanish Colonial mansion was hard to miss, situated across the street from the Winter Park Golf Course, a public course just a stone’s throw from Park Avenue.

This was one of the oldest and most storied parts of Winter Park.

If you headed south down the street, you could find the city’s oldest church, established in 1884, or the location of the condominium Kenneth Lay rented when he was still working for Florida Gas Transmission—long before his infamous Enron days.

Fritz’s property was huge—a monument to the Hall family’s generational wealth. On just over three acres of some of the most coveted land in the city, the main house was tucked back against Lake Osceola, behind a gated entrance and meticulously maintained hedgerows.

I was struck by how much of a party this was—the valets and white lanterns hanging from the trees signaled that this was more than a casual get-together. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought we were at a wedding venue.

Christ, Will. Don’t you know any normal people?

A smattering of applause and cheers erupted as we entered the courtyard, and Will rested a humble hand on his chest, waving them away with the other hand.

The adoration in the eyes of his colleagues was a mix of respect and awe, and before I knew it, I had lost Will to the crowd, leaving me standing on the sidelines.

“Nora?” a bubbly redhead trilled. “Are you Will’s Nora?”

Will’s Nora.

“I’m Nora,” I offered, my apprehension lacing my tone.

She clasped her hands together under her chin and let out a little squeal. “Oh, I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’m Autumn. Will has told me all about you. Gosh, does he think the world of you. Are you so excited about Nevis?”

Of the people I had met in Will’s world so far, she was the only one who seemed wholeheartedly pleased to meet me. Not suspicious or resentful, or harboring some thinly veiled disappointment. Just happy. It was like the first hint of sunshine after months of rain.

“Autumn.” She thrust an ardent hand out. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

I shook her hand with a smile, and she beamed back at me.

We stepped a little closer to the bar, and I reached for one of the signature cocktails that had been premade and left waiting for guests.

“Don’t drink those.” She shook her head and gently pushed my hand away from the offending beverage.

“I wanted to serve palomas, but Fritz insisted on sazeracs—absinthe and whiskey. Someone’s going to black out tonight, but it doesn’t have to be you.

” She looked at the bartender. “Two palomas, please.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You must plan a lot of these. I can’t believe how quickly you pulled all this together.”

Her expression went gravely serious. “Oh, I plan all of them. For the last decade. Vacations, parties, weddings. These people don’t socialize without me.

” She handed me my drink. “The timing was easy enough to predict. Juries never want to go past Friday, and Will winning was inevitable. That man’s a mastermind.

” She clinked her glass to mine. “He’s not bad on the eyes either. Here’s to you, girl.”

The Will Somerset hero worship is strong.

I quickly learned that standing next to Autumn at a party was like mainlining the town’s gossip.

She quietly pointed out which associates were most likely to black out tonight, which ones were on the chopping block for performance issues—there was a decent amount of overlap between those two categories—and which ones were secretly carrying on torrid affairs.

She had the dirt on the spouses, too, dishing freely on tummy tucks, shaky finances, and prep school admissions scandals.

The sheer volume of gossip she had on tap should have terrified me, but my mind was preoccupied with visions of sandy beaches.

—

Three days later, we were lounging by a private plunge pool, with me sprawled out on my stomach in a bikini, soaking up the West Indies sun and Will in his bathing suit, reading a book he’d picked up at the Museum of Nevis History.

“Did you know zoning codes here mandate buildings can’t be taller than a coconut tree?”

I lifted my head from the chaise lounge and squinted at Will. “Oh really, Professor?”

“There’s so much history here. Alexander Hamilton was born just down the road.”

“ Really? ” I tried my best to sound bowled over by this information when I was mostly just charmed by his nerdy enthusiasm. I climbed out of my chair and into his lap, putting one leg on either side of him.

“Did you know Nevis and the neighboring island, Saint Kitts, collectively used to produce twenty percent of the British Empire’s sugar yield?”

“That’s a lot of sugar.” I kissed his shoulder.

He set the book down on the side table and wrapped his arms around me. “I needed this.”

“The Four Seasons? Or the West Indies trivia?”

“You.” He pulled me close for an unhurried kiss. “We should stay a few more days.”

I frowned. “I have to work.”

“Quit.” The word came out of his mouth like it was the easiest idea in the world.

“To do what? Be your harem girl?”

“I like the sound of that,” he growled, nipping at my bare shoulder.

I pulled back. “Seriously, I can’t lose my job.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…my job? The thing I do for money? It’s the reason I can afford food and coffee and these bikinis that seem to amuse you.”

“So quit, and I’ll bankroll your lattes and your bikinis.”

How does his blasé tone still ooze charm?

“You’re not doing that.” I tried not to sound offended because I could tell by his tone that he was offering something he would be happy to do. Something that to him seemed like a foregone conclusion.

“Why not?” He opened his arms as if to showcase the exotic view around us. “Why do I have all of this if I can’t share it?”

He was being sincere, but I bristled. I had been through this with my mother.

Ramona used me as something of a litmus test for whether a suitor was playing for keeps.

And the men she chose provided for both of us financially.

Not out of kindness, but out of indulgence of her.

I was well versed in being a kept object, and I really didn’t want Will to think of me that way.

“Why not? Because I’m not your…problem.”

He pulled me into a bear hug and kissed my neck as he breathed, “What if I want you to be my problem?”

When I didn’t laugh, he leaned back and looked at me more seriously. “Take a few months off then. And then I’ll help you find a job you’re passionate about.”

“The museum job isn’t perfect, but it’s a start to something.”

“A start to what?”

“Are you trying to Pretty Woman me? Like dress me up and turn me into someone you can take to cocktail parties? Are you Richard Gere now?”

He laughed and took my hands, kissing each one. “I’m trying to take care of you.”

It could be that simple. He could take care of me. And then all of the shit that seemed insurmountable, like my dead-end career and my second job and the question of how I’d ever move out of my mother’s condo…it would all just disappear. I could stop fighting so hard and share his life with him.

It was easy to get swept up in the fantasy, but I told myself not to get carried away.

I had to keep my feet on solid ground. I couldn’t give in so easily.

I was still clinging tight to my pride and my deep desire to avoid following in my mother’s footsteps.

I would not and could not believe that a man was going to fix me or be the magic solution to my problems.

“Give me your phone.” Seeing the hesitation in my eyes, Will reached for my phone on the side table as if he could sense that, despite my protest, I was seriously considering his offer.

Ever the negotiator, he didn’t miss the chance to land a deal once a window of opportunity had cracked open.

“We’ll write the email to the museum together.

You won’t burn any bridges. Just tell them you’re taking a sabbatical. ”

“A sex sabbatical.” I rolled my eyes as I moved to take the phone back, but he already had the home screen open.

He paused as he opened my contacts. “Hot Mean Lawyer?” He looked up at me, arching an amused brow.

I laughed.

Had he never seen it before?

“Why am I in your phone as Hot Mean Lawyer?”

“When we first met, I just…” I waved a hand, pushing away the insecurities that still flared every so often in Will’s presence.

“It was just a little joke. After Mia almost hurled on my shoes and told me her friends were all scared you would sue them. I just…It was a little reminder to myself to have fun. Not to take things too seriously.”

“You think I’m hot?”

I laughed harder. “You know I do.”

“I don’t think I’m particularly mean, but it’s good to know you’re not taking things too seriously.

” He was teasing now, still looking at the screen as I held out my open palm for him to return the device.

“So it’s been like this the whole time we’ve known each other?

Every time I call it says Hot Mean Lawyer? ”

“That’s how a contact card works.” My palm was still open and out. “Now give it back.”

But he was typing.

“What are you doing?” I raised up on my knees to try to see the screen. “Don’t you dare quit my job.”

“I promise I won’t.” His voice was a little less playful than it had been a second before. “But I think it’s time I got a new title.”

“Hey, I kind of like Hot Mean Lawyer.”

“You might not be taking this seriously. But I happen to be very serious.” And as he handed me the phone, I could feel him watching my reaction. “Tell me what you think about this.”

His new contact card said: Husband.

“What are you—” My breath caught at the top of my throat.

I looked up, and he was tying his drink straw into a ring.

“Nora Davies.”

Is this real? If the ring is a straw, does that still make the proposal real?

“Mm-hmm,” I whimpered, wondering if it was possible to faint from happiness.

“I didn’t think I could ever be happy like this. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this light and hopeful about the future. Knowing you has brought me to life. And you have become everything that’s good about my life. And I want to spend the rest of it feeling that way.”

His eyes were soft and pleading, and I could see the hand that offered up the makeshift ring trembling just a little. We had been dating less than a year, and we had never discussed marriage.

“Marry me, Nora.”

It reminded me of the first time he asked me on a date—he was out on a limb again, asking a question he didn’t quite know the answer to.

“Yes,” I whispered. And then with a quiet giggle, “Yes, please.”

He pulled me against him and kissed me in a rush. Then he carefully slid the plastic ring on my finger. “I’ll get you a real one when we get home.”

I was still half weeping, half giggling when he kissed me on the forehead and said, “This next part is going to sound crazy. But hear me out. Marry me tonight.”

“Really? Seriously?” I felt giddy, like we were scheming some kind of secret mischief.

“Totally. Seriously.”

Cynics would have told you that this was the moment it all went to hell. I was too young. We didn’t know each other well enough. He was a workaholic. And we couldn’t have rushed into things much faster. We shouldn’t have rushed into things at all.

But we loved each other.

And so on the white, sandy beaches of Nevis, we got married. I wore a gauzy white dress I found in the hotel gift shop, and the concierge, who had agreed to be our witness, brought me a bouquet made of fresh flowers from around the property.

Then, we stayed in bed for days, living off room service and champagne.

And all the while, there was a tiny voice in the back of my head that couldn’t join in the celebration. A whisper of hesitation I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried. When the corner of my eye caught on the drink straw on my left hand, the whisper got louder.

It’s too soon. Too good to be true.

But he seemed so certain, so I let myself believe him.