The Last Eligible Billionaire(83)

She knows who I am, and she knows my sister’s name, and that my sister is pregnant, and I just made the very worst comparison ever to turkeys and pregnant woman and I am making no sense, but everyone’s still smiling kindly at me.

Good gravy.

Whose life am I living right now?

Why can’t Hayes and I dash off to a little cabin in the woods and read and do clay art and talk and get naked and just have fun? How is he related to these people?

More importantly, how did I forget that he’s related to these people?

Breathe, Begonia. They run out of toilet paper at inopportune times in their bathrooms too. Just regular people. Regular people. Regular people.

“We’re so excited for her,” Peyton says. “And where’s Marshmallow tonight?”

“H-Hayes assigned Nikolay to guard him so he doesn’t ruin Fran?oise’s kitchen or redecorate the family portraits.”

Jonas laughs. “I love that furry beast.”

“He’s worth the daily Benadryl.” Hayes slips his arm around my waist and squeezes lightly. He’s been talking about me. He’s been telling his brother about me. And I don’t know if this is an act or if they’re all merely kind, but I’m getting a warm, squishy feeling in my heart.

They’re doing it for Hayes. Not for me.

I know they are.

But I love that he has people who’ll look out for him like this.

“Have you gotten to explore the city yet?” Peyton asks me.

I shake my head. “Just a little with Keisha.”

And then I remember who I am.

Am I world-famous and sophisticated and comfortable here? No. But I’m a people person, and these are people. “And what about you?” I ask. “How was the honeymoon?”

Her bright brown eyes light up. “Everything we needed it to be, though unfortunately too short.”

“We’ll take another one at Christmas,” Jonas tells her.

“You should try the Maldives,” Amelia says, reminding us all, again, that she’s still here. “They’re beautiful at Christmas.”

“Thank you. We’ll add that to the list to consider.” Peyton smiles at her, and my heart suddenly aches for Amelia. She’s being dismissed. Politely, but still dismissed.

And even I can see it.

No wonder Hayes doesn’t want to be here.

Even with the kindest of people, there are subtle social hierarchies and digs and rules.

And are Jonas and Peyton kind?

I don’t know.

I really don’t.

“Excuse us,” Hayes says to Amelia and his family. “I promised Begonia front-row seats to the feeding.”

“You won’t really have to fight the crowd,” Amelia says.

“Do they do tricks?” Peyton asks. “We’ll come with you. Jonas. Where’s your phone? Show Begonia the video of the sea lions from our trip to San Francisco when we were filming Deep in Love. Amelia, so good to see you again. Have your assistant ping mine. We’ll do lunch next time I’m in town.”

They do the cheek-kisses, and once more, I get a pang for Amelia.

I shouldn’t. She’s one more of the women watching Hayes like he’s a golden ticket, and even knowing she doesn’t want him for him—Hayes told me she’s involved with someone her family doesn’t like—I can’t help feeling sorry for her.

How lonely must it be to not know who your real friends are, and to be hunting for a husband for convenience instead of love?

I want to hug her and tell her to say fuck the world and go after what she wants, but it’s not my place, and I don’t think she wants to hear it from me.

Also, it’s not like I don’t know how hard that is.

I’m dating a billionaire myself, and my mother is still holding my ex-husband in reserve as her plan for my future when I screw it up with Hayes, which she’s convinced I’ll do.

And she’s not wrong.

I mean, that’s actually the plan.

Sigh.

Why can’t the world support people doing what it takes to make them happy, instead of what it takes to make other people miserable?

“Do you think they know how lucky they are?” Hayes murmurs to me a few minutes later as we’re watching the zookeepers tease the sea lions into doing tricks for fish.

“The zookeeper or the sea lions?”

“Yes.”

I slip an arm around his waist and squeeze it too.

He gets it.

He really does.

“I hope so,” I whisper.

Once the sea lions are fed, which involves a lot of squealing and pointing on my behalf and a lot of unexpected smiles on his behalf, he tugs my hand. “The interminable self-congratulating about saving a single sea turtle is about to begin,” he whispers. “Come with me.”

While the crowd around us drifts toward the tables set up on the other side of the sea lion enclosure, Hayes guides me away from the light. It’s a gradual departure, when no one’s looking, as if he’s done this before. He slips behind the catering truck, where there’s a break in the security line, and then we’re sneaking deeper into a darker part of the zoo.

Nothing is fully dark—not in the city—but the noises of the party are fading behind us, and I can feel the tension leaving him with every step we take away.