Page 32 of Marriage is a Shore Thing (Wilks Beach #2)

thirty-one

Geneva

It’s easy to find the ring box shoved in the back of Henry’s second desk drawer, right where Stacy said it would be.

Just to be safe, I take a picture of the mess of envelopes, pens, rubber bands, and an assortment of random receipts so I can put the box back exactly where I found it.

I didn’t prepare a decoy but instead have a note of my own for when I remove the ring.

With only the light from the hallway slipping into the room, I lift the box’s lid.

The ring is even more beautiful than Joanna described.

An intricate, looping pattern that resembles interlocking infinity symbols circles the entire ring.

Each loop is bordered with tiny, round-cut diamonds that add subtle sparkle.

Set within the larger loops are slightly larger diamonds spaced evenly around the band, creating eye-catching focal points.

It’s ornate yet elegant and would effortlessly complement the rest of my gold jewelry.

My palm presses to my racing heart when I realize how much I want this vintage ring, how much I want all of this to be real.

But that means I’d have to be honest about how terrifying that is.

It’s daunting to offer yourself up on a platter and hope that the person scrutinizing your soul deems you worthy.

Feeling suffocated, I rip off Vivian’s face covering and tuck it into my waistband.

My eyes close as I take several rounds of breath to steady myself.

When Van’s dimpled smile flashes into my mind, my scattered breathing evens out.

Every time I reveal another barbed part of myself, Van holds it in his hands like I just gave him a treasure.

Determination floods my bloodstream as I make a decision.

I’m not letting Van go unless he asks me to. I’m going to fight—for him, for us.

So what if I have a truckload of emotional baggage because my dad had two families and my mom only wanted me around to win beauty pageants.

You know what having crappy parents does?

It makes you resilient. It shows you how strong you really are.

And I’m tough enough to get out of my own way and grow.

I’m capable of accepting my past and choosing something different for my future.

I’m willing to strive to be a better person for Van, but more importantly, for myself.

My fingers are steady as I remove the ring and slip my note into the box.

After zipping the ring into a secure pocket in my leggings, I use the photo on my phone to put the box back exactly where I found it.

A victorious smile lifts the corner of my mouth until headlights flash through the front windows.

Footsteps run down the hall as the whir of a garage door opening breaks the silence of the large house.

I bolt to the study entrance and collide with someone much taller than Stacy.

Van almost looks like an angel with the warm light of the hallway haloing his blond hair, a flush to his cheeks, and his collared shirt pulled sideways. That familiar zing of electricity slips down my spine when our gazes collide, and instantly, I feel at home.

“Your phone disconnected,” he says, out of breath.

My eyes widen as reality slaps me in the face. Van’s here—in my father’s house. Something must be terribly wrong.

“Shoot.”

I’d been so focused on taking back the ring, I hadn’t noticed. And before I entered the house, I’d changed my alerts to silent because I’d gotten a few texts from Camille about the Mom and Me boxing class we’re working on together and didn’t want to be distracted.

“Yes, and—”

Stacy rushes into the hallway from her spot in the kitchen. “Hide.”

Van’s arms cage me, and before I know what’s happening, his body flattens me into a mixture of winter coats.

It should be a nice sensation, being wrapped in Van’s scent, but an uneasy tension makes my muscles twitch.

The door snicks closed behind him at the exact second a voice I haven’t heard in years booms through the hallway.

“Stacy? I saw your message. Are you still here?”

The unhurried footsteps move toward the closet until Stacy calls out from the direction of the kitchen. “In here, sir. So sorry to be here after hours. Did you happen to see my driver’s license?”

Van’s heaving chest is tight against my back, his arms still wrapped around my middle as we wait for the footsteps to recede. A wool coat itches my cheek, but I don’t move a millimeter. My blood sloshes around in my skull.

It takes entirely too long for Henry to move. Is he right outside the closet door? Is he planning on hanging up a coat? When we finally hear the click of his dress shoes walking away, Van’s chin dips against my neck.

“Hold on. I’m messaging with the hotel, canceling things. Your ID? No, I haven’t seen it.”

“Why is he here?” I whisper once it’s clear Henry is in the kitchen, chatting with Stacy.

“I don’t know,” Van murmurs, his breath puffing at my ear. “We’ll have to stay put until we can think of something.”

The space is tight, especially with every inch of Van pressed against me.

I usually enjoy being close to him, but everything is instantly too small.

The coats pressing in—scratchy and heavy—feel more like an impenetrable wall.

I try to take a deep breath, but my chest won’t expand.

It’s stuck. I’m stuck. My palms sweat within my nitrile gloves, and the urge to rip them off is more oppressive than the need to get out of—

“Breathe, darlin’.”

Memories overlap, almost as overwhelming as the panic swirling in my stomach.

Van at the bar in Vegas, that ghost of a smile on his lips.

Van leaning into the driver’s seat, coaxing me to eat wings at a park.

Van telling me it’s okay to accept help while gently detangling my hair.

Van in Joanna’s kitchen, washing dishes like he belongs there.

Van threatening another man in a nightclub, his hair and eyes wild.

“Geneva, breathe.”

“Gen,” I correct weakly, my forehead sagging on the closet rod. “Only my husband calls me Gen.”

His startled exhale tickles my neck before his lips find my temple for a gentle brush. My eyes fall closed, the sensation of being cherished like starlight in my veins.

“I’m going to give you some space.”

Van’s arms leave my waist as he leans as far back against the door as he can. It takes several rounds of focused breathing, but the incessant whirl in my mind subsides. I’ve never gotten claustrophobic before, but I’ve also never been trapped like this.

“Maybe it’s upstairs?” Stacy’s overloud voice draws my attention. “Can you help me look?”

“Why would your ID be upstairs when you always leave your purse in the kitchen?”

I clench the coat sleeve in front of me as they pass the closet before starting up the grand central staircase.

“I had to pay for my son’s football pictures that day and was waiting for the team mom to call for my credit card number,” Stacy lies. “I had my wallet in my jeans pocket.”

As Henry begins to mansplain that she should take more care with important documents, their voices recede.

When it’s obvious they’re tucked away upstairs somewhere, Van cracks the door and glances out.

I never thought I’d be happy to see the inside of my father’s new house, but I practically squeak at the beam of light slipping into the closet.

“Let’s make a break for it.” He steps back.

In my haste to get far away from the death-trap closet, I trip over Van’s shoe. My palms come down to brace my fall, but Van catches me around my waist just in time. I hover inches from the floor like Ethan Hunt in Mission: Impossible as the voices upstairs come to an abrupt halt.

“What was that?” Heavy footsteps move toward the upstairs landing.

I’m pretty sure my heart stops. The plan was to get out of this house undetected, but I mentally prepared for a run-in with dear old Dad.

What I didn’t anticipate was Van rushing in like some kind of hero—though, honestly, I should have.

I’m two seconds from wiggling out of Van’s sturdy hold, throwing my face covering over his head to protect his identity, and forcing him out the front door when Stacy screeches.

“What? What is it?”

“I think I just saw a rat crawl into your favorite pair of John Lobbs!”

The second Henry’s footsteps race out of earshot, Van sets me on my feet.

“Sorry,” I whisper, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “I know. Come on.”

We tiptoe down the hall toward the garage doorway, shutting it carefully back on its hinges once we’re through, then repeat the process on the external door as well.

As soon as we’re both in the darkness of the cypress trees, we sprint—hand in hand.

An inappropriate laugh bubbles in my throat, but I manage to keep it trapped.

Since Noah had shifted to the passenger seat, Van and I dive into the back.

“Drive,” I tell Brynn.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” She peels out as quickly as I usually do when leaving my driveway.

It’s not until we’ve exited the expensive neighborhood and are back on the freeway that anyone speaks.

“I assume you didn’t get caught, but did you get it?” Noah asks.

A guffaw finally escapes as I reach into my pocket, lifting the ring into the light that strobes from the passing streetlamps.

“Yes! What a rush.” Brynn slams the heels of her hands on the steering wheel. “That was so close.”

“I was two seconds from barging in and bringing the whole house down.”

“Good thing I made you wait.” Her eyes cut to Noah, but they’re teasing not defensive.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

My brother slumps against the window, but I don’t miss the slight curve of his lips.

“I can’t believe Van got to you in time,” Brynn says. “I thought for sure I’d need to listen for sirens.”

Reaching over, I intertwine our fingers on the backseat and meet Van’s gaze. “He did. He found me just in time.”

Van brings my knuckles to his lips before his dimpled smile brightens his face, and he lets loose an elated hoot.

I chuckle and surprise myself by howling along with him.

Noah and Brynn join in, and before long, we’re all hollering and laughing like lunatics.

The delighted look on Van’s face makes up for all those panicked seconds in the closet, a hundred times over.

“You did it,” he murmurs as Brynn and Noah excitedly talk over each other.

I squeeze his fingers before returning the ring to its secure pocket. “We did it.”

We’re still high on the excitement of our escapade when we pull into the short driveway of my cottage, and Vivian and Finn spill into the midnight darkness.

Van was right about this, about us all sharing in the victory after working together.

I’m beginning to think Van might be right about a lot of things—something about that genius brain of his.

Vivian hugs me the second I step out of the car, her forehead nearly colliding with my collarbones. “I’m so glad it worked. Your mom will be elated.”

For once, I don’t correct her. I usually do when someone in town refers to Noah as my brother or Joanna as my mother. But I’m beginning to finally believe that this is where I belong. This is where my family—my chosen family—loves me as fiercely as I love them.

“What did you leave in the ring’s place?” Finn asks, wrapping an affectionate arm around Vivian’s waist.

My chin lifts. “A note.”

Noah grins as he asks, “What did it say?”

The smile curling my lips isn’t just defiant—it’s justifiably righteous.

“You never deserved us.”