Wrong About the Guy(10)

“Yeah. That’s just . . .” He shook his head. “You can’t go in there right now. You want to go back down and check out the beach? Wait for things to calm down?”

“I so do.”

We took the elevator back down to the lobby. As we were crossing through to the ocean side of the hotel, someone called my name and I turned.

It was Michael Marquand, Luke’s best friend and also his music and TV producer—the guy we all owed our lifestyle to. He was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and a Red Sox baseball cap, and was holding his six-month-old daughter in his arms. I exclaimed in delight and instantly reached for her. Mia eyed me with suspicion; it had been a couple of weeks since I’d last held her and she was ready to stranger-zone me. But once she was in my arms, I cooed at her and bounced her gently, and she relaxed.

“Where’s Crystal?” I asked. Crystal was Michael’s wife and Mia’s mother.

“She’s checking us in.” He gestured toward the front desk. “She always has a lot of specific demands, so I let her take charge.” He yawned. “I’m exhausted. Long flight. Someone didn’t stop screaming the entire trip, and for once it wasn’t me.” Michael was a tall, thin, wiry guy, who normally looked very handsome and a lot younger than his fifty-five years but tonight looked a little ragged.

“She’s being a very good girl now,” I said. Mia was the cutest baby in the world—big dark eyes and a fuzzy brown tuft of hair on top of her head.

“She’s just too worn-out from crying for six straight hours to cry any more.” He turned to George. “Hey, Jonathan! How’s it going?”

“Fine?” George said uncertainly.

I came to his aid. “He’s not Jonathan.”

“I’m his brother,” George added. “People get us confused all the time.”

“Thank you for pretending I’m not an idiot,” Michael said. “Hey, Ellie, I’ve got some good news.”

“Do you?” I said, blowing gently down at the baby, who batted her long eyelashes against the slight breeze. “Does your daddy have good news? Does he? Does he? What’shisgoodnews? What is it?”

“I really don’t think she’s going to answer you,” George said to me. “No matter how many times you ask her.”

Michael said a little impatiently, “Aaron’s coming to live with me!”

I looked up. “You’re kidding!”

“Nope. His mother’s husband got a job in Vermont, and Aaron said he’s not about to move to the middle of nowhere for his last year before college. He thinks LA will be a lot more fun. Crystal and I are thrilled.”

“Yay! Does he know which school yet?”

“Fenwick.”

I pouted. “I was hoping he’d go to Coral Tree with me.”

“Don’t worry, you two will still see plenty of each other. Do we have a room?”

This last was to his approaching wife, who joined us and kissed me on the cheek. “The baby looks so happy with you, Ellie. Would you minding holding her for the next fifteen or sixteen years?” She nodded at George. “Hello, Jonathan.” She turned back to Michael. “Megan’s still in the bathroom.”

“Megan?” I said.

“Our nanny.”

“What happened to Tiana?”

“She quit,” Michael said with a brief dark glance at his wife, who didn’t seem to notice. She was wearing skintight yoga pants, high soft leather boots, and a long cardigan over a low-cut top—I guess in theory it was all comfortable traveling clothing, but she looked pretty incredible. She was a beautiful young woman with long, straight dark hair and large black eyes.

Mia reached her arms out toward her mother. Crystal heaved a sigh, handed Michael her purse and the key cards, then took the baby and propped her up on her hip. “Megan doesn’t know which room we’re in, so someone has to wait for her.” Mia waved her arms and made some complaining sounds. Crystal rolled her eyes and thumped her on the back. “And here we go again. You’d think she’d be all cried out after that horrendous performance on the plane. I’ll take her on up. Michael, you wait for Megan. You know you want to. She’s very beautiful,” she explained to George.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Michael said wearily. “And she’s standing right over there, near the elevators. Let’s go to bed. We’re all overtired. Good night, Ellie. And good night—” He stopped. “I’ve forgotten your name,” he said to George.

“Are you serious?” Crystal said. “How could you forget Jonathan?”

“Because he’s not Jonathan,” Michael said. “This is his brother.”

“Oh.” She studied George. “Identical twins?”

“He’s eight years older than me, actually,” George said apologetically.

She pressed her lips together, then said, “Huh. Well, good night.” They left.

“You know what the easiest thing would be?” I said to George. “For you just to be Jonathan for the rest of the weekend. Especially since you don’t seem to like correcting people.”

“I couldn’t correct Michael Marquand,” he said. “He discovered Dense Keys.”

“Who or what is that?”