Page 31

MAKAYLA

“ H i, I’m here for my full-body massage,” I tell the blue-eyed receptionist at the resort’s sleek, outrageously luxurious spa. “Makayla Dwyer.”

“Sure, let me confirm,” she says with a warm smile, then taps at her screen. “The ninety-minute session. Excellent choice, by the way. You’ll love it.”

I smile back. “Glad to hear that.”

I’m still hazy from last night—not from the champagne but from hours of steamy lovemaking that left a sweet ache in every muscle. A massage feels like the perfect finishing touch.

“Right this way,” the receptionist says, guiding me into a private room. “You can undress here. Fresh towels are behind the privacy panel, and the masseuse will be with you shortly, Miss Dwyer.”

“Thank you.”

I shuck off my clothes, leaving only my panties, and settle facedown on the table. Moments later, a no-nonsense young woman arrives and efficiently preps the room. She cues up soft lounge music—little more than a whisper—then dims the lights.

“Just let your mind wander,” the masseuse says at one point.

“Oh, it’s wandering,” I giggle, already putty in her capable hands.

With a deep sigh, I melt into exquisite bliss as she glides down the length of my back, kneading away every knot of stress. My mind starts to drift, settling on the winery. I even fill her in, the words sliding out as effortlessly as the strokes of her hands.

“It’s an ambitious plan,” she says, her soft accent curling around each word. “Not easy for a woman to do on her own…”

“Honestly, I’m lucky to have the support of some truly amazing people. Granted, I bring plenty of know-how to the table—but there’s still a lot to learn. As for the business side, though, I’m far from alone.”

Alex, Kellan, and Oscar have thrown their full support behind me. It only makes me fall even harder for them, even though I probably shouldn’t. But we were always friends first. What came after now feels like a natural progression.

“Good. You need all the help you can get,” the masseuse says. “I do admire your ambition. Most people would just settle for a regular job…”

“Life’s too short, you know? It was heartbreaking to see all those acres left to weeds and who-knows-what.”

“And California—especially wine country—is breathtaking.”

“I can’t wait to get out there and take a look,” I tell her. “There’s an old house on the property—maybe something I can fix up so I can live on-site. I hope I’ll be able to see the rolling hills from there.”

“And someday, hopefully soon, you will see the grapes hanging, too…”

I hum softly as I slip deeper into my daydream. Tessa, my masseuse, tells me about her college experience overseas. I respond automatically, so relaxed in her skillful grip that I doubt I’m adding anything useful to the conversation.

The massage is over before I can even blink. “That was incredible. Thank you, Tessa.”

“You are most welcome,” she says, helping me sit up.

“I had no idea ninety minutes could slip by like that…”

“Time flies by when you’re feeling good, right?” she replies, and I laugh lightly, nodding my agreement. “Take as much time as you need to get dressed,” she instructs. “Once you’re ready, there’s a lounge just outside this door, to your left. You’ll want to relax and hydrate before you leave.”

Her advice sinks in, but my limbs still feel boneless. Perched on the table, I give myself a moment to drift back to full awareness. It takes about five minutes before I’m ready to try moving again.

T here are pitchers of cucumber water on a rolling cart to one side. I help myself to a glass before selecting a place to sit. Skylights pepper the ceiling, flooding the room with warm mountain sunlight. I close my eyes and lean back, enjoying the silence.

I’m hovering on the edge of sleep. I’m so relaxed I’m barely aware of my surroundings. I hear someone pass by, then return and sit next to me. Cracking one eye open, I discover it’s Melanie.

All the calm I’ve been nurturing goes right out the window.

“Melanie,” I say, hoping I sound friendly.

“I see you’re taking advantage of the amenities,” Melanie says. “This resort clearly has so much to offer.” She pauses and gives me a confused look. “I thought we were going to hit the spa together.”

“I’m sorry—it was a spur-of-the-moment decision to get a massage,” I say with a faint smile. What is it about her that sits so wrong with me? I can’t put my finger on it.

“I also hear you’re sampling some other amenities,” Melanie adds.

I don’t like her tone one bit. Her self-control—the absence of warmth in her eyes, the way she smiles only with her lips—sets me on edge.

“Other amenities?”

Melanie lets out a heavy sigh. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but I heard you guys last night.”

I close my eyes, not sure how to deal with this. My blood runs cold, then hot in the span of a few seconds. The fear of being found out settles heavily over my shoulders, and the smug look on her face rattles me even more.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

Melanie scoffs, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she leans forward. “I didn’t just hear you, I saw you. Your head was buried in one brother’s lap, while another was watching, and the third was pounding it out from behind.”

My eyes fly open, nausea climbing my throat. My breath falters. Pins and needles dance across my skin as I try to process every word coming out of her mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” Melanie waves one dismissive hand. “I know exactly what you’re going through. I’ve been there. With them. I know what the Anderson triplets are like. In fact, things got pretty crazy just an hour ago. I can hardly walk, if you know what I mean.”

It’s the wiggle of her perfectly tweezed eyebrows that damn near pushes me over the edge.

I swallow my rage. None of this makes sense. I want to believe it’s all a lie. My gut screams it’s a lie, that something is definitely off about this woman. Yet last night at dinner they all but ignored her—did everything they could to avoid her—while she… oh God. There’s history here.

And now that history slaps me with an uncomfortable possibility.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say through gritted teeth. “Frankly, my personal life is mine alone—it doesn’t concern you or any other Peeping Tom—or, in your case, Peeping Jane. I don’t know what you think you saw or how you expect me to react, but?—”

“It’s a well-known secret in their group, honey,” Melanie whispers. “And your brother is in on it. I took all four of them, once or twice. The Andersons and Bryan. And judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that they all share women sometimes. I’m guessing they never told you…”

My stomach drops. As scandalous as it sounds, even after everything I’ve done with Alex, Kellan, and Oscar, it’s not entirely impossible that Bryan might be…

oh God. Is it really such a stretch to think they might loop in their best friend?

It’s not exactly a topic that a brother and sister would ever broach.

“Bryan would never cheat on Callie,” I say. “They’ve been together for years.”

“There are no saints in this story,” she replies, one finger nervously tapping on the armrest between us.

“You’re just saying this to hurt me. There’s no proof and no reason to believe a word coming out of your mouth. Why are you doing this?”

People don’t usually come out swinging like this. Whatever it is, I want to get to the bottom of it because my brother is marrying into her family. I can’t very well burn bridges, not when Bryan is about to propose.

“Did I do something to piss you off, or do you not want your sister to marry my brother?” I ask, bewildered. “I just can’t understand why you’re being so cruel.”

“I’m not being mean.” Her voice drips sugar. “I thought you knew that the Anderson boys don’t ever settle down with one woman. Oh my god, did you think you were the only one?”

“No, I knew I wasn’t the only one,” I stammer, realizing too late I’ve just confirmed everything. I can’t take it back now. “It’s none of your goddamn business, Melanie!”

“Honey, they’re never exclusive.” She flips open a glossy magazine. “If that’s what you were hoping for. Sweet summer child…”

Does this brand of cruelty run in their family?

Should I be worried about Callie now, too? It doesn’t click, though. I’ve known her for years. I would’ve seen something, I would’ve picked up on the signs. Melanie went from zero to one hundred in less than twenty-four hours.

Still swaddled in the spa’s embroidered white robe, I march straight to the elevator.

By the time the elevator dings on our floor, I remember I left my clothes in the locker room. None of that matters—not here, not now. My heart aches as I step into the common area and find it empty. Yet again, my stomach sinks.

I need this to be a farce. A bald-faced lie.

It can’t be true…