6. Natalie

Chapter 6

Natalie

I havethe tiniest twinge of guilt for leaving the gym without saying anything to Heather, but I’ll see her tonight at the rehearsal dinner.

“Nat!” my dad calls.

Holding back my sigh, I turn to see him striding down one of the many pathways, his hand lifted, in case I wouldn’t see him twenty feet away.

I slow to a stop and trail my fingers gently over a flower while I wait for him to reach me.

Heather might have a cactus-shaped personality, but there’s nothing wrong with her taste.

This resort is stunning.

Tropical plants line the sidewalks that weave between the buildings. The food is good, the drinks are plentiful, and I’m sure the pools are great, but I’m focused on getting my ass in the actual ocean. Because this end-of-September weather is perfect for swimming.

“You guys done with the gym already?” Dad asks when he reaches me.

I nod. “Yep.”

I’m done with the gym.

And sweaty shirt man.

“Good.” Dad drapes his arm over my shoulders, dressed in swim trunks and a polo. “Come have breakfast with me.”

I want to get in the water, but… breakfast buffet.

“Alright,” I agree.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t be a relaxed breakfast with Dad. Instead, it turned into both of us on the phone, dealing with one work thing after another. Then my uncle showed up. Then Heather and her cronies. And my auntie. And more cousins.

My phone rings again, and I decide to take the opportunity to escape.

“I’m gonna take this outside,” I say, picking up my phone and my beach bag because, for the love of god, I’m getting in the damn ocean today.

Heather rolls her eyes at me as I lift my phone to my ear, but I ignore it.

Her attitude used to really bother me. My dad always told me it was just jealousy and nothing to do with me as a person. Which, as a kid, I never understood. Because it’s always been just been me and Dad, and she had a whole big family.

Then, as I got older and started to notice the differences, I realized the jealousy was over money.

But it’s not like I had anything to do with my dad becoming filthy rich. And it’s not like my uncle is hurting—they are more than comfortable. He just didn’t invest the same way my dad did. And he doesn’t work nonstop like my dad does. Like I do.

Which is why her continued attitude into adulthood is extra obnoxious. I wouldn’t have to work if I didn’t want to. But I want to. I want to contribute.

I listen to the person on the other end of the line as I weave through the tables in the massive restaurant and push through a set of doors that takes me back outside.

After setting my bag down on a bench, I dig around with my free hand until I find my sunglasses and put them on.

The white chunky frames float, so if they fall off in the water, I should be able to catch them before they become pollution.

Hiking my bag back up, I make noises of understanding while I trail around the pools, past an open-air restaurant, and onto the sand.

The tiny bits of earth instantly cover my sandals, so I pause and slip them off, slapping them against my thigh before shoving them into my bag.

I keep nodding along, reassuring the director of our New York offices that this new acquisition won’t affect their location, as I select an empty lounge chair underneath one of the colorful umbrellas.

Since none of the other beachgoers are near enough to listen, I put my phone on speaker and drag my cover-up off, shoving it into my bag next to the sandals.

The man continues to talk while I pull my hair loose from its bun and twist it into one thick braid before I start reapplying my sunscreen.

I put some on this morning, but since my day got hijacked, it’s probably time to add more. Overkill is better than sitting on a plane sunburned.

When the director takes a moment to breathe, I finally cut in. “I promise you, nothing will change in your day-to-day. You just gotta trust me, alright? If you’re still feeling this way in three weeks, we can talk again.”

He makes a noise of agreement, and I hang up.

I hesitate with my phone in my hand, debating if I should leave it sitting right on top of my bag. If someone wants to steal it and deal with my calls while I’m relaxing in the surf and sun, so be it.

But alas, a stolen phone would only make my life more difficult, so I shove it down below my cover-up.

Then I smile as my feet sink into the warm sand while I make my way toward the waves.