Oh my God. That’s not Sawyer.
My jaw falls open. The nasty burn on his hand, the one he got earlier this week when he’d bungled dinner, is gone. But it had been there yesterday—I remember seeing it.
Which means the guy with Sawyer’s girlfriend isn’t Sawyer. It’s Sebastian. I wonder if the girl knows.
She laughs in delight when he kisses her neck again. “Stop it. I have to go!”
Maybe she does know.
As they break apart, they both notice me standing there, and the girl looks uncertain for a moment. She murmurs a hasty, “Hello” and hurries down the stairs.
Sawyer—no, Sebastian—glowers at me, then disappears into his—no, his brother’s—bedroom.
Okay then. Just minding my own business.
In the kitchen, I find the other twin eating cereal at the table. My gaze immediately goes to his left hand. Yep, the burn is there. Just to test the theory, I say, “Morning, Sebastian.”
“Sawyer,” he grinds out before shoveling more cereal into his mouth.
I swallow a gasp. Oh man. Are these boys pulling twin switches on Sawyer’s girlfriend? That’s ballsy. And twisted.
I pour my own bowl of cereal and lean against the counter to eat it. A few minutes later, Sebastian walks into the kitchen. As he passes the table, Sawyer murmurs, “Thanks, bro,” to his twin.
I can’t help it. The laugh pops out.
They both turn to glare at me. “What?” Sawyer mutters.
“Does your girlfriend know she slept with your brother last night?” I ask him.
His features harden, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he issues a warning. “Say one word about this and—”
I cut him off with another laugh. “Relax, little Royals. Play all the creepy sex games you want. My lips are sealed.”
Callum enters the kitchen, dressed in a white polo shirt and khakis. His dark hair is gelled away from his face, and, for once, he doesn’t look like he’s hit the liquor cabinet yet.
“Good, you boys are up,” he tells the twins. “Where are the others? I told them to be downstairs at seven-fifteen.” He turns to me. “You look lovely, but you might want to change into more proper sailing attire.”
I stare at him blankly. “Sailing?”
“Didn’t I tell you last night? We’re all going sailing this morning.”
What? No, he hadn’t told me, and if I’d known this, I would have snuck right out of the house with Sawyer’s girlfriend and stowed myself in the trunk of her car.
“You’re going to love the Maria,” Callum tells me, sounding excited. “There’s not much of a breeze out so I don’t think we’ll use the sails, but it’ll still be a fun time.”
Me and the Royals on a boat? In open water? I don’t think Callum understands what the word fun means.
Easton staggers into the kitchen then, decked out in wrinkled cargo shorts and a wife-beater, with a baseball cap hanging low on his forehead. He’s no doubt hung-over from last night, and I suddenly have visions of the boat bouncing on the waves while Easton pukes over the side all morning.
“Reed!” Callum yells in the direction of the doorway. “Get a move on! Ella, get changed. And wear the deck shoes Brooke bought you—she got you deck shoes, right?”
I have no idea because “deck shoes” aren’t a part of my vocabulary. I make a stab at getting out of this nightmare-scape he’s just painted for me. “Callum, I have a lot of homework—”
“Bring it with you.” He waves a hand and shouts “Reed!” again.
Dammit. I guess I’m going sailing.
* * *
The Maria is everything you’d expect from a gazillionaire’s boat. Boat. Ha. It’s a yacht, of course, and I feel like I’m starring in a rap video as I stand at the railing and sip on the flute of Cristal that Brooke slipped into my hand when Callum wasn’t looking. She winked as she did it, whispering that I should say it’s ginger ale if Callum asks, which he never does.
Callum was right—it’s gorgeous out on the water, and the Atlantic stretches out all around us, calm and beautiful.
I drove to the marina with Callum and Brooke, while the boys took Reed’s SUV. Which was a relief, because the thought of sitting in Reed’s car after seeing it rocking in the parking lot last night made me sick to my stomach.
I wonder who he was with. His sweet, pure Abby, I bet. I’m not sure it satisfied him, though. I’ve heard sex is supposed to leave you all loose and relaxed, but Reed’s entire body has been coiled with tension since we boarded the yacht.
He stands on the other side of the railing, as far as humanly possible from me and Callum without falling overboard. On the upper deck—which houses a dining area and a hot tub—Brooke is sunbathing in the nude, her golden hair gleaming in the sunshine. The weather’s not warm enough for bathing suits, let alone birthday suits, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“So what do you think?” Callum gestures to the water. “Peaceful, huh?”