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CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Did you go to that restaurant I told you about? I swear you’ve never had better seafood," Morrison says on the phone.

"Are you high? It’s nine in the morning."

"I know, asshole. I meant last night, when you arrived."

"Stop acting like a mother. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, I already have one who gives me enough grief."

"I’m as maternal, paternal, parental—whatever the fuck you wanna call it—as a cactus. You know that. But you’re like a brother to me, you bastard. I’m worried."

"Why?"

"You never take time off."

"Wrong. This break’s been planned for a while."

"With Jodie?"

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because she was still supposed to be your fiancéeright now? That’s what couples do."

"You know damn well we’d only be a couple for public appearances."

He laughs. "Breaking it off with her was the best decision you could’ve made."

I don’t say anything because I don’t make a habit of repeating myself. Jodie’s in the past. There’s no point discussing someone who’s no longer in my life. "So, what’s so special about that restaurant you recommended?"

"The food. The place itself is nothing like what we’re used to.

As soon as I bought the house in Cape Cod, I did some research on the best places to eat around here, and that one came up.

" He pauses for a few seconds before continuing, "Your mom’s losing it.

She called mine and had a full-blown meltdown.

I spent half an hour on the phone listening to her rant about how ‘we young people’ are so unstable in our decisions. "

"I don’t care."

"If that’s true, then why did you need to isolate yourself?"

"Did you not hear the part where I said this vacation was already planned? I can’t be away for long, but even before I knew there wouldn’t be a wedding, I was planning on getting away."

"So the day after slipping a ring on her finger, you were gonna leave her alone in Manhattan? Holy shit, LJ, you’re unbelievable. In the end, that little Lannister dodged a bullet. Anyway, I gotta go. You know if you want to talk, I’m a phone call away."

"For God’s sake, Morrison, stop playing love therapist. There’s no existential crisis going on here."

"And definitely no love."

"Exactly. You staying in New York while I’m away?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just to reassure myself. I don’t like leaving my family unsupervised for too long—especially if there are sharp objects nearby. Or pills, in my mother’s case."

He laughs again. "You don’t fool me, cousin."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"You care about our family, especially the inner circle. Every time we talk, that heart of yours coated in ice almost tricks me, but then I find a crack. A little fracture that tells me there’s still something human left in you."

"Not much. Now leave me alone."

After I hang up, I wonder why I’m still wandering the streets of Provincetown instead of heading back to Morrison’s private beach for a swim.

I know the answer, though: I’m not the kind of man who knows how to relax.

Hedonism isn’t my thing. Every minute on this fucked-up planet is precious.

We lose patients every day in our hospital.

Life is far more fragile than most people like to admit.

That’s the only reason I haven’t returned to my cousin’s house yet.

Because even on vacation, I need to make the most of my time.

And it just so happens that the only way I can do that in this godforsaken place is by getting to know my surroundings.

It has nothing to do with the blonde girl I ran into this morning.

She’s the kind of young and optimistic person who usually gets on my nerves.

I don’t like the na?ve. Or the pure, for that matter—and this girl seems to have both traits in massive doses.

Pretty, sweet, with a face so transparent that if I were capable of empathy, I’d probably be moved by her innocence.

She noticed when I looked her over—and she didn’t hide her interest, either.

It wasn’t intentional. I don’t go for girls fresh out of high school, which is what she seems to be. My type is sophisticated women whose existential crises revolve around how to acquire the latest exclusive collection from the Paris-Milan axis.

Sweetness has never been on the menu for me, so it’s weird that I couldn’t stop looking at her.

I hate puzzles when it comes to how people make me feel. Usually, it takes me seconds to label someone as worthy of a second glance or not, and that applies to both men and women, even world leaders.

As I dodge some tourists, I think about those bright, curious, expressive blue eyes that mistook me for a fishing boat buyer. That alone should’ve been enough to make me stay away. Alexis has terrible perception. I look more like a serial killer than a fisherman.

When I first got close to her, I thought she was ordinary. Pretty but like millions of women around the world. The kind of beauty that’s easy on the eyes but doesn’t bring a man to his knees.

I have to admit, this time, I judged too quickly. Alexis is anything but ordinary. I realized that the moment she opened her mouth.

Behind that girl-next-door look, there’s restlessness. Her perfectly proportioned face, soft skin, expressive eyes, and proud little chin might seem peaceful at first glance, but those small flames flickering behind the blue of her eyes tell another story.

A good pretender recognizes another.

No one—not even my two best friends—really knows me. People might have a vague idea of what I’m feeling in some situations, but how I analyze every little detail around me? That part is mine alone.

Alexis comes across as a carefree young woman if you look at her quickly, but there’s something in her that grabbed my attention in a way most people never do.

A depth that doesn’t match her age.

She fakes a kind of nonchalance she doesn’t actually feel, like when she said she was used to this town and wasn’t in danger, even while standing exposed on a beach that would’ve been deserted if not for the fishermen.

If I had to bet, I’d say she’s the type to check the door three times before going to bed.

Cautious.

Yes, that’s the word. Even while showing clear interest in me, she was pulling me in with one hand and pushing me away with the other—like a game of hot and cold.

If it were any other woman, someone from my world, I’d say it was a calculated tactic to keep me intrigued.

But something tells me that’s not the case with her.

She doesn’t even realize she’s playing a game, which only makes me more curious to figure her out.

And that—that inconvenient desire—was precisely why I decided to end our conversation this morning.

I don’t play games with people who don’t know the rules. No matter how much their personality might pique my interest.