The Last Eligible Billionaire(43)

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Is Hayes as weird as the news says he is?”

“No. They just like to have something salacious to report, and he doesn’t fit the mold is as juicy as it gets, which makes him an easier target than the rest of the family. He’s such a nice guy, Hy. And—cone of silence?”

“I won’t say a word, unless it’s to Mom, and only under extreme duress if it’ll improve the situation.”

“His mom doesn’t like me, but he told her off for me.”

My sister gasps. “What the fuck’s wrong with his mom?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’m a suburban art teacher who’s recently divorced, can’t cook, and doesn’t know which fork to use during a seven-course meal, and he’s the world’s last eligible male billionaire. Of course she’s concerned. I would be if I were her. And did you see my hair?” I lift the phone to highlight the disaster that’s my short glowing hair.

It’s a disaster that I love, for the record, but I can still acknowledge that it’s a disaster.

Hyacinth growls at me. “His mother needs to know you’re a fucking catch. Shut up, Jerry! If you don’t like my language, take the kids outside and play a damn game with them! Sorry, B. He’s taking the kids out now. As I was saying. His mother’s had an awful lapse in judgment, and I’m sure she’ll see the error of her ways soon. So long as you don’t cook for her.”

I wince.

“Begonia. Tell me you didn’t.”

“I didn’t know I was meeting her and I got nervous and stayed nervous for the entire time she was here! But it won’t happen again. At least Marshmallow didn’t do anything crazy like find a vibrator in her luggage and deliver it to my room. That would’ve been awkward.”

There’s a beat of silence on the phone, coupled with a strangled noise from the balcony above me, confirming my suspicions that Hayes is listening in to make sure I don’t say anything he’ll regret, which I have clearly done, since I didn’t mean to mention that thing that I’m pretending didn’t happen.

Then there’s another beat of silence, both on the other end of the phone and also above me on the balcony, while neither Hyacinth nor Hayes asks how I know it was his mother’s vibrator, and yes, I know it was hers, and no, I’m not saying anything more about it.

I wince again. “You should see this estate, Hy. It’s on the southern tip of the island, so we can see both the sunrise and the sunset from the gardens, and Hayes rowed himself out here in a rowboat to get to me the day after Jonas’s wedding, because he didn’t want to wait for a ferry, and that’s hot. Here. Let me remember how to flip my camera, and I’ll show you the sky here. The sunset is so gorgeous tonight. Pinks and blues and purples…” I trail off while I try to remember the right combination of buttons to press to flip the phone around while not hanging up on my sister.

“Tell me you don’t have Giovanna Rutherford’s vibrator in your possession.”

“No. It’s back in the nightstand drawer in the guest bedroom, and you are not welcome here until it’s reunited with its owner, and do you know what else? Good for her. Now, can we please discuss how my boyfriend has the most delicious chest known to man? You think Jonas is hot. You should see Hayes without his shirt on.”

“Hair or no?”

“Yes. And it’s like, not just a token amount of hair, but it’s also not like a rug. It’s just right.”

“Are his nipples even?”

“Will you never quit mocking my poor high school boyfriend and his crooked nipples? That’s how his body was made, Hy. Knock it off.”

She wiggles her brows. “And his…?”

“Sorry, I actually had to sign a non-disclosure agreement about that part. It comes with dating a billionaire from the country’s most famous family, apparently.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. And if I had a little more money in my vacation fund, I might’ve hired my own attorney and asked him to sign one in return, agreeing to never mock my art or my cooking in the event that we break up.”

“Oh my god, Begonia. Only you. Fine. Tell me he’s at least treating you to the rarest oysters and albino lobster and gold-crusted chocolates that will make your poop glitter.”

I laugh. “No, but I think he would if I asked. But I don’t want the fancy stuff. I like just having lunch or dinner with him out at the cute little local places with all the funny people who tell stories about the times they’ve spotted him out here, or what they do in winter, or that time that a carton of lobsters spilled at the grocery store and they kept finding them in random places under the shelves.”

She smiles. “And once again, only you. Are you really just hiding out in Maine with him for the next forever?”

“No, he’s taking me to Paris next weekend to see Monet’s water lilies.”

She frowns. “But you were saving up for that.”

I wave a hand again. “I’ll find another dream to save up for.

“Another dream as big as seeing Monet in Paris? It doesn’t get bigger than that. And you were so excited about anticipating it for the next four years.”

“Two.”

“Begonia. You spent every dime in your first rainy day fund for Paris when you heard about Marshmallow and hopped a plane to fly halfway across the country to rescue him. You can lie to yourself about how long it takes you to save up for something, but you can’t lie to me. I’m your sister.”