Page 18 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

seventeen

Van

The bubble had to burst. I knew that. I knew this day would come, but I’m unprepared at how much I want to revolt like a feral toddler at the prospect of leaving our little nest. Definitely not a love nest, but a friend nest?

We’re undoubtedly closer, but I’d love another week of keeping Geneva to myself.

“Tell me again about this,” I say, extending my palm so a firefly can bounce briefly off my skin.

It blinks its light, flitting to join the others over the area of clover that should only be seedlings but has already grown into thick groundcover.

Geneva is practically resplendent in the patio chair across the table, the soda water and muddled pineapple spritzer I made for her dangling from elegant fingertips. For a brief moment, I wonder if she’s noticed the change too.

Does Geneva realize that even though she’s wearing heels, a satiny black sleeveless blouse, and chic black trousers in preparation for dinner at Joanna’s later, she’s reclining with her legs leisurely crossed at the ankle?

Does she realize how much she’s shared about her past over the last few days?

Does she notice that neither of us has removed our rings?

We spent the last ten days secluded in quarantine, hidden away from the scrutinizing eyes of this tight-knit community and never once slid them off.

Does she realize that instead of scowling at my question, she gives me an indulgent smile?

Her brown irises look even warmer with little hints of gold flecking from the globe bulbs. I’d take a picture of her, but Geneva would roll her eyes at me before I could capture them accurately.

“The lore is that the island is magic. Not like in fairy tales, but small, more subtle things.” Her gaze shifts to where the lightning bugs make two interconnected rings in the air.

“Like this. Noah told you about the library gifting books, but things also grow incredibly well here. The gardeners of the island enjoy produce in half the time it takes to mature elsewhere.”

That knowledge washes over me, and I try to set aside reason to accept that things are slightly different here on Wilks Beach. I suppose I have the island to thank for Prunella, Stella, and Hank’s new feeding area.

But that makes me wonder about…

Unease tumbles in my chest as I scratch my ear. “What about wind?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does it”—tension tightens my spine, but I manage to get the word out—“speak?”

Her brows pinch like I’m insane, which honestly is laughable. We’re talking about things that shouldn’t even exist in a yard that seems to defy the laws of time while fireflies dance in concentric circles.

“I’ve never heard of that, but I can ask Carol.”

“No, it’s fine,” I mumble, pushing down the lump of pain in my throat.

The fireflies dissipate when Geneva’s phone pings with a text. “Joanna is ready for us.”

“I think we’ve done a good job of mostly sticking to the truth about Vegas,” I murmur as we wash the dinner dishes.

Or rather, I’m washing, the sleeves of my shirt rolled up.

She’s waiting with one hand on her hip and the other open-palmed to accept the next clean dish to dry.

Geneva makes the pose simultaneously impatient and alluring, but I miss my Geneva.

All of the softness she’d exhibited at home wisped away like tendrils of smoke the second we walked out of her backyard gate earlier.

When it’s just the two of us, Geneva is still snarky and whip-smart, but she’s also unguarded.

It should be physically impossible, but she’s even more breathtakingly beautiful when she lets me in.

Geneva snorts. “It’s not like I could say we got drunk, thought we were playing pretend, and accidentally ended up husband and wife.”

A few days ago, I’d thought she wanted that—to come clean, to have me out of her life.

“I think focusing on Elvis as our officiant, what the chapel looked like, and how fun it was was a safer bet.” I keep my voice low because though Joanna excused herself to find her grandmother’s ring, she could be back at any second.

Geneva’s dismissive huff makes me smile. I wait for one of her poisoned zingers, but she stares out the tiny window over the sink, lost in thought. When her fingertips whiten on the edge of the farmhouse sink, I bump her with my shoulder.

“Breathe, darlin’. You’re doing fine.”

Then Geneva sways toward me, her shoulder lightly resting on mine, and I drop a kiss on her temple.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world, the absolute right course of action.

But when Geneva’s chin snaps up, her eyes wide, I realize that though I’ve thought about it dozens of times, I’ve never kissed her before.

Our eyes meet for a halting breath before Joanna’s distraught voice distracts us both. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Geneva asks, all but running across the room.

“The ring. My family’s ring. I always keep it in the bottom drawer of my jewelry box, and it’s not there.” She releases a frantic breath. “It should be there.”

I quickly dry my hands and move to where Joanna is leaning against the door jamb like it’s the only thing holding her up. “Is there any chance that you moved it somewhere else? A sock drawer perhaps?”

“I—I don’t think so, but maybe?” Joanna says, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Okay.” I give her arm a little squeeze. “We’ll find it. Let’s all look together.”

The three of us spend the next thirty minutes overturning every purse, hatbox, and storage bin in Joanna’s walk-in closet.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Joanna mutters to herself, digging to the bottom of a built-in drawer filled with outdated workout clothes.

It’s a small space with the three of us in here, even though half of the closet is completely empty.

“Is there any chance it’s in one of these drawers?” I point toward what must be the His portion of the closet. The only thing on these shelves is a fine layer of dust.

“Those were cleared out years ago,” Geneva says, kneeling on the carpet, folding Joanna’s neon leotards into neat stacks. “When Joanna kicked my father out.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I looked through them?”

Her fingers nearly rip a leg warmer in half. “Not sure what good it would do. The only thing that man left behind were broken promises.”

Joanna’s gaze flits up to me, her fingers trembling slightly. “But maybe we should check? I never went through them.”

Geneva’s expression shutters, and she blinks at Joanna. “You didn’t?”

“No. I figured…” She shuffles toward the drawers, but it’s like watching a person walking against the force of a wind tunnel.

“Let me.” Geneva sets a hand on Joanna’s shoulder while sliding hers back.

It’s a posture I’ve seen before—Geneva preparing to go into battle for someone else. But in this moment—heck, in all future moments—I want to be the one to protect Geneva. Even though she’s fierce, even though she can handle everything herself, I want to be the one.

“I can do it.”

I expect an irritated glare in response, but Geneva’s expression actually softens. “It’s okay.”

Geneva hesitates in front of the drawer like she’s expecting it to be full of jumping snakes.

There might as well be tense movie music playing as she slowly slides the top drawer open.

Joanna clutches at my forearm before I sling a reassuring arm around her shoulder.

Unlike Geneva, Joanna is short, the crown of her head not even clearing my collarbones.

A tight exhale leaves Geneva’s nose as she turns around holding an antique burgundy ring box out to Joanna.

“I should be ticked that he meddled with my things, but I’m just so relieved it’s here,” she says with a light chuckle. “Here you go, Van.”

I let go of Joanna’s shoulder and take the box, struggling to keep my emotions from playing on my face. Holding this weathered ring box—something that’s been cherished for generations—my stomach bottoms out.

Suddenly, our fake marriage feels more cruel than kind.

To Joanna. To Geneva. To me.

My skin flushes hot, and I’m absolutely certain my ears are the color of beets.

A rough swallow squeezes down my tight throat as I realize I don’t want to give this to Geneva if it’s not real.

I can’t take Joanna’s family heirloom and pretend it means nothing.

My lips part as I lift my gaze, but the ring box slips from my shaking hands, falling open on the carpet.

The three of us stare at the paper that tumbles out of the otherwise empty box.

Joanna stoops to pick it up, reading, “Good luck getting this back.”

Geneva snatches the paper, scanning it quickly before crushing it in her palm. “That narcissistic, scheming piece of—” She cuts herself off. “I’ll be back.”

Her heels make three distinct clicks through the adjacent bathroom before I throw a forearm around her waist, lift her off the floor, and bring her back to where Joanna is hovering in the doorway to the closet.

I know I’m risking bodily harm by manhandling Geneva, but I don’t end up with an elbow to the jaw or a heel to the groin.

“Let’s think about this for a minute before we storm off to do physical damage,” I say into her hair, not releasing her quite yet.

A few seconds tick by before she nods. Only then do I let go and give her space.

Joanna’s lips move as she silently reads the note, a tear falling and blotting the ink. “I was just so happy to be done. He dragged out the divorce for years. You remember.” Her chin lifts to catch Geneva’s gaze. “It was awful. Why would he want to take this?”

“I’m going to get it back,” Geneva tells her, her hand settling over Joanna’s shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

“He’ll pretend he doesn’t have it. Even if we bring this to him”—she lifts the crumpled note—“he’ll claim he doesn’t know what we’re talking about. Going through the legal process to get this back will take forever.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s yours. He can’t take what isn’t his.” Geneva’s hands fist. “And if he doesn’t listen, there are other ways to get it back.”

“Okay.” I clap to get their attention. “As fun as seeing my new wife through a visitation window after getting arrested for assault sounds, I’ve got a better idea.”

Gorgeous, defiant, skeptical Geneva crosses her arms, but there’s no stopping my growing grin.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

I glance between the two women, hesitating a breath. “We’ll steal it back.”