: Chapter 3

Of all of the angles in the world, corners are by far my least favorite.

Specifically, being backed into a corner, which is exactly what I am now, because my squatter has realized something very, very dangerous.

“Oh my god,” she gasps through a pant. “You’re Hayes Rutherford.”

After chasing the dog all over the damn estate, she and I are now in the study, which is where the infernal animal finally decided my phone needed to go.

The furry beast trotted in here and deposited it right beside the wireless charger on the desk as though it knows how to charge a damn cell phone.

I’m breathing heavily. My eyelids hint at swelling and my throat tickles and my sinuses clog as I snag my phone and shove it back in my pocket. The woman is bent over gasping for breath like the last place she ran was to an ice cream stand. Her towel is gone from her head, her hair a sloppy mess pasted to her skull with some kind of goo in it. Her skull itself is an odd red color, which is leaking onto her green goop and turning it an unnatural shade between sewer brown and repulsive, and her robe is gaping open almost as much as her mouth as she stares at the row of family photos on the built-in bookshelves currently at her eye level.

“Your name,” I order.

The dog barks as though it thinks it can answer that question.

I point at it. “And get that nuisance out of my house. Now.”

“You’re from those Rutherfords. The Razzle Dazzle Rutherfords.”

There goes any chance I might have of privacy while I’m here. My mother will know my whereabouts in approximately forty-two minutes, because a woman whispered my name—it’s like rubbing the genie’s magic lamp—and she’ll arrive with at least one eligible bachelorette in tow within four hours.

They’re all together for Jonas’s post-wedding brunch. Won’t take but a limo ride, a helicopter ride, and then a private plane ride for her to reach the small airport on the mainland, and she’ll charter a ferry herself to get here to me on the island.

“Your. Name.” I repeat.

“Begonia. I’m Begonia. Oh my god. I had your brother’s posters all over my wall when I was a teenager.”

My eyelid twitches. Begonia? If that’s her real name, I’ll eat my left shoe. “Begonia who?”

“Oh, are we doing knock-knock jokes?”

I try to breathe deeply through my nose, but my nostrils have swollen shut. “What’s your last name?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

“Or I can go through your purse,” I mutter.

She straightens, touches the gunk on her hair, then the gunk half-smeared off her face, and blinks shiny green eyes in my direction. “You’re the first person to ask me that. Sorry. I need a minute.” She sucks in an audible breath and fans her face. “Wow. Didn’t expect it to hit me like that. Sorry.”

There’s a madwoman loose in my house. What kind of person cries over being asked her last name?

A jilted bride, my new sister-in-law’s voice offers in my head.

A new widow, my uncle Antonio’s voice chimes in.

A woman who had amnesia and just regained her memory only to discover her friends and family thought she was dead and moved on without her, my cousin’s voice squeals.

Some days I dislike that my favorite family member has an addiction to Korean dramas.

Or she just discovered she was adopted and understands now why she’s always felt like she didn’t belong in her family, Keisha’s voice adds, and this time, I can picture her sly grin, because while she might be my favorite family member, she’s not above trying to play matchmaker like the rest of them. She’s also adopted herself—by my mother’s brother, though her romantic spirit suggests she’s more Rutherford than I am—and she’s an exquisite case study in nurture versus nature. She’s just like you, Hayes. She doesn’t fit. But she’s actually adopted, and you’re just weird.

I’m not weird, though it’s taken me years to shake off the label in my own head. I just don’t fit what people expect of a Rutherford. I like math instead of people. I’d rather read historical biographies than talk about the character arc of a romantic lead in a Razzle Dazzle movie.

I puked once getting off of a Razzle Dazzle Village roller coaster ride, which was photographed and filmed for all of the world to see, and the media liked painting me as the oddball for ratings.

God knows they didn’t get anything else clickbait-worthy from my family. Everyone else is too perfect.

They all fit the mold.

Even Keisha, who’s something of a disaster, though thanks to not having the Rutherford name, she’s not frequently linked to us.

But even she had a better media debut. Mine was accidentally being interviewed by a swarm of bloodthirsty paparazzi when I was separated from my family during a movie premiere when I was about six years old, and I got so flustered that I clucked like a chicken instead of answering questions until my father saved me.

I shudder at the memory and once again wish I were somewhere else. I should’ve gone to the house in Nantucket instead if I wanted to get any work done in peace, but the Nantucket house belongs to my mother, and I couldn’t have hit the first button on the alarm panel without alerting her to my whereabouts.

I stood half a chance here.

“Fairchild,” Begonia says. “My name is Begonia Fairchild.”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. “And that’s difficult to say, because…?”

Dammit.

I did it.

“I picked it after my divorce.” She flashes her bare left hand and a goofy smile while she blinks quickly. Is she flirting with me, or does she have something in her eyeball? “There was no way I could continue being a Dixon, and I never really felt like Bidelspach fit me the way I wanted it to, so I decided to be Begonia Fairchild. My dad would’ve liked it. He was way more the peace, love, and prosper type than my mom ever was. Give me fifteen minutes to shower and put some clothes on, and I’ll pull up that rental agreement for you and we’ll figure out what’s going on here. Did you want some cheesecake? I got enough for a party and I figured it would last me all week, but I can go get more if we eat it all this morning. Oh my god. You’re Jonas Rutherford’s strange older brother. I can’t believe I’m standing here in your house. And I didn’t mean strange in a bad way. That’s just—”

“Stop talking.”

“—what the teen magazines always called you. I’m sorry. That’s a bad habit. I won’t say that again.”

“You’ll shower, pack, sign a non-disclosure agreement stating that you weren’t here and you’ve never seen me, and that you acknowledge I’ll sue for ten million dollars in the event you break your word, and then you can leave.”

I’m being an ass. I generally dislike being an ass, but I’m beyond controlling my frustration and anger today.

I want to fucking sleep, because after I sleep, I have to dig deeper into some inconsistencies that I found in the Razzle Dazzle books right before Jonas’s rehearsal dinner the other night, when I was trying to distract myself from thinking about my cousin Thomas’s funeral and my new role in the company.

The dog whimpers and lies down, covering its nose with a paw like it knows it’s in trouble.

“It’s okay, Marshmallow,” Begonia says softly. She blinks up at me. “I truly am sorry. That’s rude of the tabloids to call you names, and I should know better than to repeat it. I’m a little flustered. It’s not every day that I—well, that I meet someone related to my teenage crush. But you probably hear that enough that it’s annoying.”

I don’t, actually. I’m excellent at avoiding people, especially people who would have crushes on my brother.

So yes, right now, it’s highly annoying.

I let my body language answer for me.

She straightens, touches her cheek, pulls her hand back to look at her green fingers, and grimaces. “Right! Shower, dressed, and I’ll make you some coffee and cheesecake while I sign that non-disclosure agreement for you and we figure out who’s staying and who’s going where. My lips are zipped. I won’t breathe a word. I won’t even ask for a picture. Cross my heart. And I’m sorry Marshmallow took your phone. He—well, he sometimes thinks he’s someone’s annoying little human brother instead of a dog.” She frowns. “Do you eat cheesecake? I know there are cheesecake pop stands on every corner at the Razzle Dazzle parks, but I guess that doesn’t mean you eat it, does it?”

I point to the doorway.

“Right. Upstairs. Right.” She takes two steps, then tilts her head. “Why are you here dressed like you came from a party? I’ve been here for two nights already, and the host on the vacation rental site must know you well enough to have not expected you, so—”

“While you’re showering, I’ll note all damages to the house and prepare a bill for you.”

She squeaks.

I point harder.

“You should know that the handheld spout in the owners’ suite shower was already broken when I got here. I made a note to report it to the host when I have cell service again, and I hardly minded, because the rain shower spout is the coolest thing ever. Who needs the handheld spout when you can pretend you’re showering in a rainstorm instead? Also, Marshmallow isn’t the first dog to stay here. I know most owners are picky about dogs staying in vacation rental homes, so it was amazing that this one said pets were welcome. We were a little surprised by the dog hair caked in all the runners on the stairs, but it wasn’t a big deal to us since we knew Marshmallow would be leaving some of his own. And—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Her chin wobbles.

Dammit.

I stalk around the desk toward her.

She backs toward the door, the dog copying her movements.

“March,” I order.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” she mutters while she angles toward the door. She’s not talking to me. She’s talking to the dog. You can tell by the way she’s started in with the baby talk. “Who rents a house like this for fifty bucks a night? It’s like that time we signed up to go sailing with that Groupon and got there and the captain was drunk and forgot he booked three hundred people on a boat built for seven.”

I stifle an annoyed sigh as she turns the corner and heads up the stairs to the main level.

“But that turned out okay, didn’t it, Marshmallow? I really wasn’t supposed to be on that boat that day. This will turn out okay too.”

Perhaps for her.

For me?

If I don’t find my emergency supply of Benadryl soon, this house won’t be where my mother and her eligible bachelorettes find me.

No, that’ll be the hospital.