Bad Cruz(25)

She peeped behind Bear, joined by my father, who gave me a tired grin and said, “Hi, Nessy.”

“Hope you’re being nice to Dr. Costello, pumpkin.” Mom’s voice held a note of a warning. “He’s a stand-up guy. Doesn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle of this.”

That stand-up guy told people I was his cousin and we were passing sexually transmitted diseases to one another last night—before hitting on anyone in a skirt, I wanted to scream.

Instead, I told myself that I was currently riding this jerk’s overpriced internet package talking to my family, so it wasn’t like karma didn’t get him at all.

“Yes, he knows how terribly sorry I am.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “Where’s Trinity?”

My mother looked over to the other side of the room and winced.

Oh, goodie.

So Trinity was there and didn’t want to talk to me. Again.

I didn’t know what had happened between us, exactly.

I’d always been so close to my younger sister—even after I fell pregnant and became an embarrassment to my family—but in recent months, she’d grown detached, cold, almost judgmental.

It made no sense.

Trinity had always been the one to jump at someone’s throat when they said something mean about me.

She defended me with everything she had and maintained that people gave me a heck of a bad time, conveniently ignoring Rob’s wrongdoings. Some even said they understood him for not choosing to screw up his life and stay.

Trinity and I hadn’t fought, or anything like that to warrant the sudden way we’d drifted apart. Though, I had an inkling why she was reserved.

Dr. Costello Senior and his wife Catherine were arguably the most honorable citizens of Fairhope. While Trinity didn’t give a clap about what her classmates had said about me, Catherine and Andrew’s opinion was an entirely different matter.

She didn’t want me to mess it up with the Costellos for her sake—for her future as part of their family.

Which meant I had to make an effort with Dr. Satan. If not for myself, then for her.

“Gotcha.” I popped my lips around a scarlet lipstick. “She doesn’t want to talk. That’s fine.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk.” Trinity’s face invaded the phone camera, two stains of blush marring her cheeks. She looked otherwise pale and worried. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, was also dressed like a nun in an attempt to impress her future in-laws. “It’s just that…Christ, Nessy, Catherine is already such a pain in the…”

“Mass,” Bear completed for her.

He knew I didn’t like profanity.

“That,” Trinity agreed. “And now she is going around muttering mean things under her breath about us. Oh, Nessy, she is so awful.”

Something in my chest eased that she was talking to me again. Maybe it was just wedding stress?

“Look, I’m sorry. It was an honest mistake. What does Wyatt say about all this?”

I applied a third coat of mascara, waiting to hear a knock on the door and find a wrinkled-looking Cruz. So far, the morning had been blissfully Costello-free, but I wasn’t counting on that to last.

“He’s not saying anything.” Trinity sighed. “His parents are his idols. He’ll never go against them.”

“Sounds like a catch.”

“Don’t give me lip, Nessy. You’ve no right after the life choices you’ve made.”

Ouch.

“Well, hang in there, okay? I’ll make it better when I see them. I’ll apologize a thousand times. I swear.”

After hanging up and looking overly made up—I didn’t need a weekly therapist appointment to know it was a camouflage technique designed to protect myself from society—I strutted out of my room, swinging a little faux-fur purse.

I looked about as classy as a ketchup stain on a strapless cropped top and was perfectly okay with that.

After all, I couldn’t be accused of trying to bag a British royal on a cruise from North Carolina to the Bahamas.

I couldn’t find Cruz anywhere during breakfast, which contributed greatly to my sense of urgency to fix whatever I messed up between my family and the Costellos.

Afterwards, on my way to the pool, I strutted by a glass-walled library overlooking the ocean and spotted him sitting by himself, looking fresh as a daisy, wearing an entire outfit I’d seen on a mannequin the day before from the boardwalk in Prada’s window.

Black Bermuda shorts, a chunky navy top, and his big, bold watch.

He’d so spent the night in Cruise Director Lady Woman’s room. If anyone was giving anyone STDs, it was this gasstard. I made a note not to get anywhere near Gabriella Holland’s southern region when we did our bridesmaids’ fittings.

He was sipping an espresso and catching up on the news on an iPad attached to the table by a security wire.

Taking a few calming breaths, I pushed the glass door to the library open and sashayed toward him, stopping right in front of him.

Low elevator music filled the room, which was full with men of fifty-five and over. I wondered at what point in time, exactly, Cruz Costello had morphed from a dashing Q1 with steel buns to a Floridian pensioner.

“Did you know constantly reading the news is almost as detrimental to your heart as smoking?” I blurted. Because saying stupid stuff had always been easier than apologizing.