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Tyson was yet to appear, but no one commented on his absence as Laurent went over the menu for the evening while a waiter whisked away my champagne flute, which I was surprised to find was empty, then filled my wineglass with a chilled white that was crisp and dry on my tongue.

Across the table, I noted that Jennifer covered her wineglass with her hand when the waiter approached.

“Is Tyson coming to dinner?” I asked as small plates of ahi crudo were placed before us.

“He’ll be here,” Cody said, spearing a chunk of fish with his fork. “But we don’t wait for him.”

“He’s on a liquid diet,” Jennifer divulged. “Stirs this nasty green mix some health guru gave him into alkaline water morning, noon, and night.”

I nodded, remembering the green sludge he’d been drinking earlier. “But he still drinks Coors Light?”

Allison’s sheath of glossy black hair gleamed in the candlelight as she turned to me with a wry smile. “I guess by comparison the green shit tastes good.”

Cody chortled, catching my eye. “One man’s piss—”

“—is another man’s wine,” I finished, raising my glass to him.

The shared humor at Tyson’s expense elevated the mood at the table enough that Jennifer took a stab at interrogating Samira and Gisèle about the paddleboard yoga class they’d taken earlier.

She didn’t get much out of them beyond giggles, but I had to admire her moxie as I swallowed a delicious bite of ahi and took another sip of my wine.

This was not my usual twelve-dollar bottle from Publix.

No, this was the good stuff. The sunshine-in-a-glass stuff, and I would have had no trouble drinking the entire serving in one gulp.

Which would be ill-advised, seeing as I was already starting to feel lighter in my seat.

Allison was again typing at her phone while Jennifer complained about how crowded the spa at Eden Roc had been today when the table quieted and eyes shifted toward the stairwell behind me.

The giddiness of the wine soured in my stomach at Tyson’s approach, his presence pulling at the fabric of the room like dark matter as he took the seat next to me at the head of the table.

Laurent placed a can of Coors Light in front of him, and he sipped it calmly while the table seemed to hold its breath. I didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes for fear my internal smirk at the Coors Light would mar my face, drawing Tyson’s ire.

After what felt like ages, Tyson spoke. “How are Alexander and Benjamin?” he asked, flashing his most charming smile at me, as though he hadn’t just threatened to ruin their lives half an hour ago.

I sensed the others relax as they registered Tyson’s mood as nonthreatening, but like a mother bear sniffing out danger, I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck at the mention of my boys. “Good,” I said, returning his smile without elaboration.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” he said with a laugh. “Show us some pictures! I’m sure Cody would love to see them as well.”

Cody nodded as he looked from Tyson to me, but I could see the unease behind his smile.

Mechanically, I raised my phone and showed Tyson the lock screen.

“They surf,” he commented, taking it from me to study the picture of the boys standing on the beach, surfboards under their arms. “Like you. I bet they’re smart, too, aren’t they?”

I nodded as he returned the phone. “They are. They’re hard workers.”

Jennifer reached for the phone. “Oh, they’re so cute!” she gushed.

“What are their favorite subjects?” Tyson pressed.

“Alexander’s a math whiz, Benjamin’s more of a science guy,” I answered.

His eyes lingered on my face as he nodded. “That tracks. Kind of like me and Cody. I’m the ideas guy, he’s got the business sense.”

“As does Allison, I’m sure,” I said with a smile in her direction.

Allison and Cody again locked eyes across the table, and Allison nodded ever so slightly.

“Speaking of work, I got the list of council members who will be at the hearing tomorrow,” Cody said, directing his voice at his brother.

“Hearing?” I echoed. Tyson hadn’t mentioned a hearing earlier—I would have remembered that.

“City council meeting,” Allison clarified. “It’s not really a hearing. Some assholes don’t want the De-Sal center marring their view. Though the footprint is barely the size of one of the yachts you see out there.”

“It happens every time we’re breaking ground,” Cody added. “Some of them are worse than others.”

As Allison signaled the waiter for another glass of wine, I couldn’t help but notice the sleek curve of her bicep. I would kill to have arms like that. “The richer they are, the worse they are, and this is St. Barth’s, so these should be pretty awful,” she said.

The irony of this group’s complaining about the awfulness of wealthy people was not lost on me. But this meeting might be a good opportunity to meet the developers Tyson claimed hated him. “Is the meeting open?” I asked.

Allison shook her head.

From outside came the sound of an engine as headlights swept the fogged glass slats in the front door. “That’s our car,” Samira said in French, rising.

“Where are you going?” Tyson asked, switching to English. He was still smiling, but something dark lurked behind his eyes.

“Into Gustavia,” Samira answered, sticking to French as she and Gisèle gathered their palm-size purses from the kitchen island.

“I don’t think so,” Tyson said lightly.

Samira put her hand on her hip. “We talked about this earlier. We’re meeting friends.”

“Who?” he asked.

“You don’t know them.”

He sipped his Coors. “Then they’re not your friends.”

“I’ll tell the driver to wait,” Gisèle said to Samira, starting for the door.

“Go ahead, Gisèle,” Tyson returned calmly. “Samira won’t be joining you tonight.”

Samira’s jaw dropped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Tyson stood. He didn’t have to threaten her. They both knew he had all the power. “We’re not having this conversation here.”

Gisèle stood unmoored halfway to the door, her pretty face crumpled at the idea of being separated from her friend. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can stay.”

“No. Go,” Tyson instructed, waving her toward the door with his hand while keeping his eyes trained on his wife.

After a long moment, Gisèle threw Samira an apologetic glance as she scuttled out the door, quickly waving goodbye with a pinched forehead.

Samira snatched her purse off the island, her face dark. “You don’t own me,” she levied at Tyson in English for everyone’s benefit. She grabbed a bottle of wine from an ice bucket and spun to march toward the stairs down to their room, Tyson on her heels.

“He kind of does, though,” Allison said under her breath once they’d disappeared down the stairs.

I felt a pang of sympathy for Samira.

Tyson had always been a blend of light and dark, but he’d kept his dark side tightly tethered when I’d known him, masked by the charming face he showed the world. Now it seemed the tables had turned.

The four of us who remained at the table didn’t speak again of Tyson once he had left the room, but words weren’t necessary to convey the feelings written on their faces.

Tyson might be paranoid, but he was right about one thing: Everyone in this house hated him.