Page 64 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

ISAAC

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Mina said she needed time and I was absolutely going to give it to her, but I was beginning to wonder how much time. When she said time and space, I thought we might still talk. A casual text here and there or maybe coffee.

But it was radio silence. I didn’t text or call.

I didn’t want to violate our truce. But not doing anything was making crazy.

It wasn’t my style. I thought about staging some kind of accidental run-in.

Unfortunately, that was impossible to do when I didn’t have a clue where she was.

I had an insider at the Duvall estate. She wasn’t there.

Neither was Tori. I assumed they were still holed up at a hotel or maybe one of Hectar’s other properties.

He wasn’t telling me a damn thing. He put me in this mess and now he was just leaving me to flounder.

My phone chimed, notifying me of a video call.

I groaned. I assumed it was Kent. He was probably on his way over to drag me out of bed for another grueling session at the gym.

I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want to run on a treadmill or pump iron.

My only plan for the day was to take my ass to the couch where I planned on watching some lame reality TV while I stuffed my face with whatever I could get my hands on.

I reached for my phone, ready to hit the beat-it button when I saw it was her.

My heart stopped.

I sat up fast. Finally!

I swiped to accept, and there she was. My heart ached at the sight of her. I couldn’t believe how desperate I was to lay eyes on her. And damn, she was beautiful. And glowing. What the hell?

There was a sunhat perched on her head and the sparkle of turquoise water behind her. It wasn’t a green screen. She was on a beach. And not a local one.

“Hey,” she said. Her voice was calm. Serene, almost.

I blinked. “Hi.”

“You look like hell,” she added, one brow rising.

“You always knew how to make a guy feel special.”

Her mouth lifted in a small smile. “You been sleeping?”

I rubbed my hand down my face. “Define sleeping.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Not great,” I admitted. “Seeing you helps.”

She didn’t respond to that. Like she wasn’t sure what to say. That hurt. That had never been an issue for us before. We didn’t have to think about what to say to each other. We never stumbled over the right or wrong thing. She looked off-screen for a moment before refocusing.

“Where are you?” I ventured. I knew there was probably a good chance she wouldn’t tell me. She was obviously trying to get away from me and everything else.

She cracked a smile. “Jamaica.”

“Jamaica?” I repeated with surprise.

She shrugged. “I needed a beach. I saw a flight and bought two tickets.”

“Two tickets?”

I sounded like a parrot. I couldn’t seem to put together full sentences. I was afraid if I said too much, she would panic and hang up.

“Tori is with me,” she replied.

I was actually relieved. I hated the idea of her being alone. And Tori had a good head on her shoulders. “Good.” I nodded. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not alone. Getting some downtime.”

“I have a question,” she said.

I straightened. “Ask me anything.”

Her eyes narrowed like she was searching for the lie before it left my mouth. “Were you getting a job out of the contract?”

I felt the words before they even hit me. Like a punch to the gut. My heart dropped, then bounced somewhere near my knees.

Fuck.

“Mina,” I said slowly. “Yeah. That was part of it. In the beginning. I told you my brothers and dad were going to give me a chance. I don’t fit at the Bancroft businesses.

But this thing my brothers are doing, I can do that.

My dad is willing to invest and give me a branch, so to speak. But I had to prove myself.”

I saw the disappointment in her eyes. While she knew some of the story from the first time we talked about it, I might have left out a few pertinent details.

I honestly had not given it a lot of thought.

We had been so wrapped up in wedding planning and just being together that the job was no longer my priority.

“I didn’t say anything on the live stream because I forgot,” I said as I looked into her eyes.

“I wasn’t thinking about the job or my career or any of that.

I know that sounds insane, but so much has happened, and my head’s been all over the place, and the job just—” I sighed, dragging my hands through my hair.

“I guess I didn’t want it as much as I thought I did.

I was too busy thinking about how we were going to spend our time together.

My dad is going to be pissed, but I couldn’t give a shit about working.

Yeah, I’m a spoiled rich kid with a trust fun.

I don’t want to work. I want to spend all my time with you. ”

That was the truth. Maybe I’d chased the prestige, the seat at the Bancroft table, the chance to finally be one of them. But none of it mattered now. Not compared to her. The foundation didn’t need me. The family business didn’t need me. But she did. Our baby did.

She stared at me. My chest ached while I waited for her to tell me if she accepted my explanation. If she didn’t, it would finish me off.

“I believe you,” she said.

I nearly passed out in relief. But she wasn’t done.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said. “Trying to figure out where I got lost in all of this. What I want. What was real. I think… I think I was so ready to be loved and find love, I let everything else fall to the side.”

I held my breath. She was about to dump me. Again. Fuck me . I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t survive losing her.

“I think I’m ready to talk,” she added. “Really talk.”

If I hadn’t been lying in bed, I probably would have fallen. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear her say that.

“I’ll be back in two weeks,” she said softly. “Maybe we can meet up. Figure out how to move on.”

Move on. The phrase hung in the air between us, heavy and unclear.

Did she mean together ? Or separately ? I didn’t like the way it sounded.

Was she referring to us figuring out how to coparent?

That was not going to fly. I didn’t want to be a weekend daddy.

I wanted to be there for the pregnancy and every day of my child’s life.

But I had to take it slowly. I had to give her the control, after taking it away from her for so long.

I nodded, keeping my voice even. “Yeah. Okay. Two weeks.”

She gave me one last look. “I’ll call you when I land.”

Then the screen went dark.

I stared at the black rectangle in my hand like it might give me some kind of answer. But all it gave me was silence. Two weeks . Two weeks of what? Waiting? Wondering? Hoping?

“No. Hell no.”

The door had just cracked open, and I wasn’t going to sit back and hope it didn’t slam shut again. I was going to Jamaica. I had to get my woman. Maybe it was invading her peace, but I didn’t care. I had a feeling if I let this thing sit and fester, she was going to decide she was better off alone.

I called the hangar to see if any of the family jets were in town. I wasn’t surprised to find they were all gone. Of course. Everyone was enjoying the final weeks of summer. Taking their families on vacations to Disneyland or Mexico.

That meant I had to fly commercial. Maybe I could find a charter. I did a little Googling but there was nothing for right now. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. There was this crazy panic gripping me that said I needed to get to her.

I stumbled through the airline website and bought the first ticket. It wasn’t first class, but I would survive. I wasn’t a total snob.

I tossed some stuff into a suitcase, not giving it a lot of thought. I wasn’t going there to sit on a beach or enjoy a vacation. I was going to save my relationship with the woman I loved. The only woman I would ever love. The mother of my child.

The first flight was delayed out of JFK. Then we were rerouted through Miami due to storms over the Caribbean, where I missed my connection. I spent four hours in an airport lounge with stale coffee and a crying toddler while I tried to rebook.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of airport purgatory, I was crammed into a seat on a prop plane that looked like it had seen better days, possibly during the Eisenhower administration.

The interior smelled vaguely of old socks and desperation.

My knees were practically in my chest, and the guy next to me seemed to think the armrest was communal property.

His elbow dug into my ribs with every slight shift.

Just as I was trying to convince myself this was all part of some grand romantic gesture that Mina would find charming, the plane started to buck like a rodeo bull. The “fasten seatbelt” sign pinged on with an alarming urgency. Outside the tiny window, the sky had turned an ugly purple.

Then the crying started. Not one kid, but two. A symphony of wails from a few rows back that set my teeth on edge. It made me feel like crying too.

As if that wasn’t enough, a couple in the row ahead of me decided this was the perfect time to have a heated, whispered argument about who forgot to pack the sunscreen.

Their angry hisses and occasional raised voices mixed with the shrieking children.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if this was the universe’s way of telling me I was making a colossal mistake.

But the image of Mina, her smile on that video call, kept me from demanding the pilot turn this damn tin can around.

When I finally stepped out into Montego Bay’s humid chaos, it started pouring.

Of course it did.

A normal person would see all of these horrors as a sign.

But not me. I was determined. I was a man on a mission and there was nothing that would stop me.

By the time I grabbed a rental car and started hitting every high-end resort on the island, I looked like a stray dog someone forgot to bring inside.

I was wet. I was hungry. I hadn’t slept in what felt like two days.

But I wasn’t going home without her.

Resort after resort gave me nothing. Some of the clerks were polite. Some were suspicious. A few seemed almost amused. These people didn’t know me or my name. They couldn’t give a shit who I was.

“She’s not here, Mr. Bancroft.”

“We don’t disclose guest information, sir.”

“No, sir. I can’t help you.”

It wasn’t until the sixth place, an oceanside private villa resort built into the cliffs, that I found someone who actually listened.

I had decided to take a new approach—money.

I tossed down a stack of bills. The girl behind the counter looked like she was straight out of a travel brochure: braids, bright smile, patient eyes.

She raised a skeptical brow when I gave her my story.

“Your fiancée ran off to find herself, and now you’re chasing her down in the middle of a tropical storm?” she asked.

“More or less,” I said.

“You know this is a massive breach of privacy policy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know. I’m not asking for her credit card number. I just… need to see her. I need to tell her something.”

She studied me, eyes narrowing. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

A long pause. Then she let out a sigh and tapped her nails on the desk.

“Top floor. But if you knock and she calls security, I’m denying everything.”

“You won’t lose your job over this,” I said quickly. “I’ll make sure of it.” I slid the money across the counter and winked. “Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just go, Romeo. Before I change my mind.”

The storm raged on outside, rain hitting the glass like pebbles. I stood outside her door for a solid ten seconds before I worked up the courage to knock.