Page 19

I must have miraculously fallen asleep again at some point, because I awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing and sun streaming through the sheer curtains.

I smelled pastries and heard voices. I was desperate for caffeine, but remembering Gisèle and Samira’s conversation last night, I pulled my computer into my lap and googled “Samira Maies + William.”

My jaw dropped as the screen populated with articles, mostly in French, from publications in Luxembourg, Belgium, and France.

William Nicolaus, Count von Turenberg. Dead in Hunting Accident

Samira Maies Questioned in Husband’s Death

Murder or Mishap?

Scanning through the articles, I discovered that William was the handsome fifty-year-old Luxembourgish count Samira had wedded at the age of twenty-two, a marriage that had lasted only four months before he was tragically killed in a hunting accident on his estate.

So my hunch had been right: Tyson had indeed manipulated the search results of his wife’s name not to include any mention of her first marriage.

But he couldn’t scrub the internet of every article written about her, which meant that if you knew what to google, all the information was still there. And it was a lot.

Not only had Samira been in the hunting party on the day her first husband met his end, she’d been the one to discover his body, slumped over a fallen log in the dense woods, the back of his head blown clean off.

Although she denied any part in William’s death, accidental or otherwise, and had been cleared thanks to the testimony of none other than Gisèle, who had been by her side the entire day, his grown children and ex-wife had been so sure Samira was responsible that they’d managed to cut her entirely out of any inheritance.

William’s death had eventually been declared accidental, with a close friend of the family asserting that whoever had mistakenly shot him might never know they’d been the one to end his life, but media speculation about Samira’s involvement was so rampant that she’d fled to New York, which was where she met Tyson.

Jesus. Samira had been a suspect in a murder—seemingly cleared only because of Gisèle, who plainly would do anything for her.

So why hadn’t Tyson mentioned any of this to me?

Once again feeling backfooted, I quickly pulled myself together and changed into a sundress, taking a moment to tone down my annoyance before sliding open the glass door and stepping onto the front deck.

The day was balmy and blue-skied, the sea at the bottom of the jagged hills sparkling in the morning sun.

Allison sat at the oak dining table eating fruit and scrambled egg whites, while Jennifer and Cody lounged on the low white couch facing the view, and Samira and Gisèle sipped espressos at the sleek island they’d desecrated the night before.

It was hard not to stare, considering what I’d just read—not to mention what I’d overheard last night.

Samira muttered something, and Gisèle looked at her with such tenderness that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Had they been lovers when Samira’s first husband was killed? And was Tyson aware that their romantic involvement wasn’t purely for his benefit?

“Good morning.” Laurent’s voice vibrated pleasantly in my ear.

“Good morning.” I turned, my fingers brushing his as he deposited a cup of coffee in my hand, made just the way I liked it. “Merci.”

“There are pastries, eggs, and fruit if you’re hungry.” His blue eyes held a hint of mischief. “Did you sleep well?”

I nodded, desperate to tell him Gisèle had spotted us. But that would have to wait. “The bed is comfortable.”

“The rooster didn’t wake you? I should have told you, there are earplugs in the drawer by the bed, and the clock is also a sound machine.”

“I had a pillow over my head,” I said. I could see the question in his face, and I let my gaze flit quickly to Gisèle. He understood. “But tonight that will be helpful. Thank you.”

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and I heard Gisèle’s purr, You like what I can do with my tongue . Heat crept up my neck and I quickly turned away.

“Morning,” Allison said as I approached the table. Her benign expression made it clear she had no idea I’d followed her to the club last night. “Laurent,” she called. “As soon as Tyson gets here, we’re ready to go.”

“Okay,” Laurent said, checking his watch.

His eyes flicked up and I turned to see Tyson prowling across the outdoor living space, his black hair swept back from his forehead, aviators perched on his nose.

My stomach clenched. Samira stood as he approached and met his lips with a kiss, while Laurent scooped a green powder from a jar and stirred it into water, hastening to deliver the concoction into Tyson’s hand.

Tyson stalked over to the table, where he lingered at the head, his hand resting on the chair back. He was smiling. It was unnerving.

“Good morning,” Allison said, her countenance impassive.

“It’s the vernal equinox,” Tyson said softly. He dropped a handful of polished black rocks on the table. “Keep these in your pockets today for grounding.”

I noticed then that he had what appeared to be the same sort of rock on a leather string around his neck, as did Samira. He had always loved his charms.

“Thanks,” I said, swiping a rock off the table and pocketing it as Gisèle did the same.

A trace of disdain marred Allison’s placid face as her gaze lingered on the rocks. “Let’s go,” she said without picking one up.

“We’ll dive tomorrow,” Tyson murmured. Across the kitchen, Laurent’s ears pricked up and he was at Tyson’s elbow in lightning speed.

“How many will be diving?”

“All of us,” Tyson said. “You’ll figure it out.”

“What time would you like to go?”

“The water will be clearest in the afternoon. We’ll need the boat. We can have dinner on board afterward, and spend the night.”

“Of course,” Laurent said.

“Did you bring your dive gear?” Tyson asked, fixing his eyes on me.

I shook my head. I didn’t get to dive as much as I liked and would’ve loved nothing more than to dive here in St. Barth’s, even if it meant diving with Tyson. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Go to Gary’s.”

“Gary’s?” I echoed.

“It’s a dive store in Gustavia,” Jennifer clarified, rising from the couch. “They have everything.”

I nodded, but from what I’d been told about the prices on the island, the idea of my being able to afford anything there was preposterous.

“Put whatever you need on my account,” Tyson said.

“Thank you,” I replied, surprised.

As he strode for the front door, I thought about calling out to him, pulling him aside to ask about Samira’s dead husband. But Allison and Cody were already following him out of the house, Laurent close on their heels. I’d have to find another time.

The second the door closed, Gisèle and Samira disappeared down the stairs, leaving Jennifer and me alone.

“That was generous of him,” I commented.

“He has his moments.” She took a rock from the table and rubbed her thumb over its smooth surface. “He was different, when you dated?”

I nodded. “I mean, he was ambitious, and morally flexible, and into this kind of shit—” I gestured to the rocks. “But he was also charming and fun. Even sweet, sometimes.”

“I guess success has really done a number on him,” she said.

I murmured agreement, but I knew she was wrong. It wasn’t the success that had done this to him, it was the guilt.