Love the One You're With (19 page)

“What the fuck?” Owen stepped out of the hot tub, sloshing water all over the sandstone patio.

“Well, you should have answered your phone. Or looked at your texts,” Avery retorted, briefly losing patience. She knew Owen
was having some issues with Remington, but she
really
didn’t want to play family therapist. There was too much
real
work to be done.

“Sorry, Avery. We were hanging out in the hot tub, so we didn’t have our phones.” Jack clambered out of the hot tub too, looking
perfect and taut in a green Eres bikini that matched her eyes. “But that’s great, right?”

“Yeah, great,” Avery said, stalking back into the hotel room. Her mother was getting married in less than twenty-four hours,
her brother was having some freaky Oedipal crisis, and her best friend was obviously only here to hook up with her brother.
Fan-fucking-tastic.

Avery walked back into the villa, feeling deflated. The dresses were hanging on a clothing rack in the center of the room,
making it look like a boutique outpost. She took one of the white garment bags and brought it over to the closet.

“Is that what you’re going to wear? Can I see?” Jack asked as she entered the room. She was re-tying her bathing suit top
around her neck, and Avery really hoped she hadn’t been topless in the hot tub.

“No,” Avery said shortly. Why did Jack always make everything about her? “I mean, you’re all wet. I don’t want the fabric
to stain,” she lied.

“Sorry!” Jack skulked over to the couch, leaving a trail of water in her wake. “And I’m really sorry I didn’t answer your
texts. Obviously, I would have if I hadn’t been—”

“Flirting with my brother?” Avery asked, whirling around to face Jack. It was annoying that Jack was going after Owen. But
that wasn’t even the problem. It was the fact that Jack a) had a
boyfriend
, and b) had
lied
to Avery about why she came down from New York. “Tell me honestly: Is that why you came here? For him, not me?”

“I came here because…” Jack trailed off. Why
had
she come here? It was true that she wanted Owen; with every minute they spent together, she became more and more sure that
there was really something there. But that wasn’t the only reason, and it certainly wasn’t one she was going to share with
Avery, when her friend was clearly in a mood. “My friends were being annoying, the stepbrats were driving me up the wall,
and J.P. was being totally predictable,” Jack answered honestly. “I just needed a change of scene.”

Avery regarded her friend. Jack sat on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked very small and vulnerable. Still,
Avery knew Jack was an expert in manipulation. “Is there anything I can do to help you now?” Jack asked, sounding defensive.

“No,” Avery said coldly. “I think it’s better if just family is involved.”

“Okay, call me if you need me.” Jack walked back onto the terrace, leaving Avery alone.

She felt momentarily bad, especially since Jack had such a fucked-up family of her own. But still
.
It was one thing to have a crush on her brother—a lot of people did. But to lie to Avery’s face about it… She seriously hoped
Jack was telling her the truth.

And she seriously should know better.

“She fucking decides to marry him tomorrow? Who the fuck does that?” Owen paced back and forth through the villa, trying to
make a trail through the T-shirts, empty beer bottles, and potato chip bags scattered on the floor. By the second morning,
Rhys had given up cleaning the shared space. He was half-asleep on the couch right now, while Riley picked out a song on his
guitar.

“Dude, that’s more notice than I had for my mom’s second marriage. She got married in Vegas to a bus driver.” Riley shrugged,
his guitar slung over his chest. “Besides, Remington’s cool. At least he supports the arts.”

“Whatever.” Owen didn’t want to hear it. It was one thing for his mom to be engaged. Knowing her, she’d probably never actually
get around to getting married. They still hadn’t even
unpacked
their NYC penthouse yet. But to get married
tomorrow
? And to have this former banker, this faux patron of the arts be, like, his
dad?

Daddy issues rear their ugly head.

“Owen?” a male voice called from outside.

“Busy,” Owen called, glaring at Riley, who was mid-step toward answering the door.

“I come with beers!” Remington yelled through the door. Great. So now he was going to be buddy-buddy with them. He might as
well just move into the guys’ villa and set up a beer-pong table while he was at it.

And that would be a bad thing?

“One second, sir!” Riley called, kicking some empty Kalik beer cans under the wicker coffee table. “What? We’re low on booze.
Especially the way you’re going through it,” he remarked to Owen, sliding open the door. Remington stepped over the teenage
boy debris. “I see the maid’s been here,” he cracked lamely. Owen refused to look at him.

“So, your mom is making us official,” Remington said, sitting down on the love seat and glancing around as if he expected
Owen to give him a high five or something.

“It’s certainly a surprise,” Owen said stiffly, balling his hands into the pockets of his board shorts. He sort of felt like
hitting Remington in his self-satisfied face.

“Congratulations, sir!” Rhys leapt up and stuck out his hand, and Riley quickly followed suit.
Traitors.

“Thanks.” Remington pumped Rhys’s hand enthusiastically. “Riley, I’d be honored if you and my little girl would put together
some music to set the mood. Also, I was going to take
Sounder
out for a spin, just for a little while before dinner tonight. I’d love it if you would join me.”

Owen frowned.
Sounder
? Who was that? A bimbo ex-girlfriend?

“My yacht,” Remington explained. “I keep it docked here, but I don’t use it much. Since I sold the property, I just haven’t
felt the call of the ocean. What do you guys think?” he asked, looking around hopefully.

“Well, I should work on a set list for the wedding,” Riley said.

“I’ve got to, um, do some stuff,” Rhys stammered. Quickly, the two guys walked outside, Riley taking the six-pack Remington
had brought with him. Owen smiled tightly. Great. Now it was just the two of them.

“Look, son—I mean, Owen,” Remington said, hastily correcting himself. He sounded more nervous than Owen had ever heard him,
even when he’d asked Edie to marry him. “I’m not your dad. I think you’re a great guy. Let’s just get to know each other.
I do have some great Cuban cigars on board,” he offered.

Owen sighed. Any excuse was useless. Remington wasn’t going to leave him alone. “Okay,” he heard himself saying.

“Here she is,” Remington said proudly as he gestured to a thirty-foot yacht bobbing up and down on the blue sea. A driver
had brought them to the other side of the island, to a small marina filled with yachts, each one larger than the last. “Named
her after my first dog.” Owen furrowed his brows. His first
dog
? Honestly, this guy was so weird, he could kind of see why his mom liked him.

They stepped onto the deck, where a team of three skinny crewmembers wearing blue cotton shirts with
Sounder
embroidered on the breast in gold script eagerly greeted Remington.

“Good to be back,” Remington said with a twinkle in his eye as he led Owen to the cabin. There, he and another crewmember
busied themselves with the navigational system. “There are some beers and snacks in the kitchen. Grab whatever you’d like.”

Owen poked into the kitchen, which was stocked with oysters, Osetra caviar, rum, Oregon Coast beers, and mangos. At least
Remington had good taste in snacks. Owen cracked open a beer and walked unsteadily back to the cabin. Maybe he could fake
seasickness.

“I love these islands,” Remington said after a moment, not seeming to care that Owen hadn’t bothered to bring him a beer.
He turned and led them both to the stern of the boat and pulled out a few fishing rods from under a bench. “Hemingway did
too.”

“That’s great, sir,” Owen said gruffly. He couldn’t believe he’d left the hot tub with a bikini-clad Jack to talk about Hemingway.

“Here you go.” Remington passed him a pre-baited rod and reel and settled back on the cushioned bench. “I used to always want
to be a writer. Or an artist. That’s what I really love about your mom. She just goes after what she wants.”

“Um,” Owen grunted. The line on his fishing rod tightened. Maybe he’d catch a shark and it would eat Remington. His family
had been
fine
on its own for sixteen years. He’d been fine—more than fine—with just his mom and his sisters. And now this guy was going
to come in and give him some life lecture?

“You know, I thought I’d missed my chance at happiness. I met your mom when we were so young, and she was so vibrant, so alive.
I was terrified of her, mainly because I knew she wouldn’t put up with the money-is-power bullshit I was feeding myself. So
I married Layla’s mom, Alison. She loved money.” Remington shrugged, his blue eyes gazing out at the water. “The problem was,
she didn’t love
me.
”

“Sorry about that.” Owen took a long drag of his beer. He’d never really been into smoking pot before, but suddenly, he really
wished he was stoned. He had a feeling this conversation would be much more tolerable with a huge joint.

“So we got divorced. And I dated a lot. And I’m telling you, man to man, I loved it. Hated my job, but loved the way women
loved me.” He jiggled his fishing line into the water. Suddenly, it jumped. “Aw yeah!” Remington yelled, and Owen could just
imagine him scoring a touchdown in college. He quickly reeled the fish in. An ugly, brownish fish with steely-gray eyes flopped
helplessly at the other end of the line.

“Dogfish.” Remington shook his head ruefully. “These little fuckers latch onto anything put in front of them, especially if
it’s shiny. Can you hand me those gloves under the bench?”

Owen stood up and opened the top of the pine bench. He rummaged through until he found a pair of pine green rubber gloves.

“And, not only that, but their back fins can give you a gnarly rash if you’re not careful,” Remington explained as he carefully
unhooked the fish and threw it back into the water. Owen could just make out its body quickly wriggling away under the surface.

“Anyway, what was I saying?” Remington asked, leaning back and taking a large sip of the rum punch that one of the boat’s
mates had brought up to him.

“Dogfish are poisonous and like shiny objects,” Owen repeated. He knew he sounded like an asshole.

“Yes, exactly!” Remington said, as if proving a point. “And that was how it was with the women I was dating. They looked like
they were catches, but they weren’t. And then I realized, I didn’t want to catch dogfish. I wanted to wait. Maybe that’s why
I gave up fishing,” Remington mused. “Anyway, you’ve heard enough of this old guy’s story. What about you? What are you fishing
for in your life?”

Owen paused. In a totally wacked way, Remington’s fish metaphor sort of reminded him of his own life. He was tired of hooking
up with girls, then just moving on to the next. But Jack was different. He didn’t know what she was thinking or what she wanted
or if she even liked him. “I guess I’m still learning to identify the dogfish.” Owen cracked a smile. Maybe it was the sun
and the beers, but suddenly, shooting the shit with Remington didn’t seem so bad.

Just then, Owen felt a strong tug on his reel. Remington stood up, throwing his own reel on the deck. “Okay, just pull in.
I can steady you,” he said as Owen struggled to control the suddenly heavy rod. Using all of his arm muscles, he attempted
to twist the reel back as Remington held on to his elbow.

There, at the other end of his line, was a three-foot-long, pointy-nosed, gray-and-white fish.

“You caught a marlin!” Remington said, clearly impressed.

Owen grinned. That
was
pretty cool. Maybe this whole deep-sea fishing adventure wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. Maybe Remington wasn’t
so bad either.

Remington set to work taking the fish off the line. “That’s what we all wait for. Our marlins. And you immediately know when
you’ve caught one. And if you know what’s good for you, you don’t let it go,” he said sagely.

Owen nodded. He wasn’t sure if Remington was talking about girls or fish anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was so clear now:
Jack was a marlin. She was feisty and exotic and hard to keep up with.

And he’s obviously fallen hook, line, and sinker.

“Tell you what,” Remington said as a crewmember came over to take the fish. “I’ve already had a big wedding. I want this to
be about our new family coming together. Invite a couple friends from New York. My G5’s at Teterboro; they can be here tomorrow
morning, and I’d love to meet your buddies”

“Really?” Owen grinned and took another gulp of his beer. Inviting all his friends down to the Bahamas was a pretty cool idea.

As long as he delivers a Hurricane Hugh warning to those who may need it…

The walls of the Landing, the smallest and coziest of the resort’s four restaurants, were covered in gauzy white material,
making it feel like everyone was having dinner in a private tent. As soon as Chef Jean Luc had learned that Remington was getting married, he’d insisted on closing the Landing and catering a private rehearsal dinner for the family. Between his food and Yvette’s exacting eye, they’d created an ultra-romantic evening.

Avery smiled in satisfaction as she drained her third glass of Veuve. She felt ridiculously happy sitting next to Rhys, her tan, bare shoulder just touching his Hugo Boss–suited one. Above her, she could just make out stars in the clear night sky through the gaps in the palapa-thatched roof.

At the head of the table, Remington and Edie were feeding bites of chocolate soufflé to each other. A steel-drum band played in the corner, making it almost impossible to hear anything. The long, rectangular table was dotted at intervals with orchid-filled Lalique vases, obstructing the view of the other side of the table.