by London James
"Look who it is," she says, eyeing Avery.
"Isabel, stop," I warn. "If you want to talk to me, you take it somewhere else and leave Avery alone."
"No," she says. "I'm actually glad she's here. This has to do with her, too. She was so stubborn and just couldn't believe when I told her she isn't special. Maybe this will help clarify things for her."
"Don't do this here, Isabel," I say. "At least try to have some class."
"You're lecturing me about class? Absolutely not. Everyone deserves to know who they have in their midst."
"That's the harvest ball," Avery says, looking at the picture on the paper Isabel is holding.
"Quick learner," Isabel says. "And you see him?" she stabs one fingertip into the middle of the image, smashing my face and the red mask covering it. "You might not recognize him because of his mask, but I'd know him anywhere. Especially since that mask is a favorite of his at gatherings in Calidonia." She shoots me a glare. "Real original, babe."
Avery's eyes haven't moved from the picture, and the masked woman draped around me as we dance. Our bodies are pressed close together, my mouth playing across the swells of her cleavage. My heart flips in my chest.
"This was the first night I got here," I say. "It was before I'd even said a word to you. It was just a spontaneous thing, a one-night thing that didn’t even end in sex. I didn't even find out her name. I'm sorry you had to find out like this."
"Did you hear him? Something else he's been keeping secret," Isabel sneers. "Why can't you just be honest with yourself, Owen? Be honest with yourself and everyone else. That's the thing. I don't care who you sleep with as long as you're married to me."
"You seriously think there's any chance of that happening now?" I ask. "After what you just said in front of all these people, at least eight of which are recording us right now, hi," I wave at the cell phone cameras documenting every cringe-worthy moment. "You think your reputation is going to be something my parents are going to want associated with them?"
"What a fucking double-standard!" Isabel explodes. "You can go out and screw whoever you want, whenever you want to, and it's perfectly fine because you're a prince, but if I do the same thing, then it means my reputation is destroyed, and I'm not worth marrying anymore?"
"Oh, please don't make that mistake. You weren't worth marrying long before you did this," I say.
"Just wait until your anonymous little booty call finds out who you really are," Isabel says. "I can't wait to see the look on your mother's face when the tabloids start in on Prince Amadeus and his anonymous fucking."
Avery takes a step toward Isabel. "It wasn't anonymous. At least, it's not now," she says.
"What do you mean?" Isabel asks.
"It's me."
Isabel scoffs.
"You think I'm going to believe you?" she asks.
"Avery, you don't have to defend me. Really," I say. "She talks a big game, but she can't do anything to me."
"I'm not trying to defend you," she says. "It's the truth. I'm the woman in the mask."
"Prove it," Isabel asks.
Avery reaches into her purse and takes out a small white envelope. She withdraws a picture from it, holding it out to Isabel. I see what it is an instant before she speaks.
“I finally remembered to pick this up this morning from the local photographer. This is me, Skylar, and Sebastian at the ball that night. Right as we were walking in the door.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Avery
I don't know what to expect from Owen's reaction, but I'm thrilled when he sweeps me into his arms. He spins me around, then sets me back on my feet and holds my shoulders as he looks directly into my eyes.
“It was you?” he asks.
I nod. “It was,” I tell him. Isabelle's face is bright red and crunched to the point of us being sucked in on itself, but I can't resist one more little dig. “And if you want confirmation that I'm telling the truth. Check the top corner. She likes to print the names of everyone in event pictures on them. So if it shows up somewhere in a town scrap book or the newspaper it is already labeled.”
“This is...” he shakes his head and laughs.
“I'm sorry this is how we found out,” I say. “But I have something else to tell you, and I don’t think I can keep it from you now. I went to the doctor this morning because I’m pregnant. I've been telling you I felt so tired and sick and while I’m pretty sure it was the stress at first; when it continued, I decided to see my doctor. It never even occurred to me I could be pregnant and when I realized I must have gotten pregnant the first time we went to the island...”
Owen’s strong arms grab me again, and I squeal as he gives me another twirl. His hazel eyes sparkle like I've never seen them, except maybe when we were children. He runs his fingers back through his thick brown hair, unable to come up with words.
“It doesn't matter,” Owen says. “Nothing else matters. It was me that night. It was us. Exactly as it was always meant to be.”
Isabelle stomps one foot like a petulant child and lets out an angry snarl, but Owen doesn't even look her way. The crowd that's gathered laughs as she pushes her way through them to leave the village. I glance around and heat creeps across my cheeks.
“You might want to give your parents a call,” I say.
“Already?” he asks.
“The news is going to reach every person in Vidalia Isle in the next five minutes, and from there, there's no stopping it. If you want to hedge this one off at the pass, now would be the time.”
Owen laughs and gathers me close to him again, leaning in for a kiss.
“Let them find out,” he says. “One more scandal, for old times’ sake.”
We kiss again, and dozens of little camera clicks around me suggest my five-minute estimate might have been too generous. I wrap my arms around his neck and pop one foot back, just for good measure.
Just as I expected, when Owen and I walk into the restaurant for dinner that night, Hannah, Rick, Stacy, Sebastian, and Skylar burst into applause.
“I just want to point out that I am officially the first person to know,” Sebastian says with a self-important flick of his wrist as he takes a sip of his water.
“No, you aren't,” Skylar says. “She told us at the same time.”
“She was talking into my ear, which means she told me first,” Seb insists.
“I heard her talking through the phone. She told us at the same time.”
“It went into my ear first.”
I laugh and cuddle into Owen, sneaking a kiss onto the soft spot just beneath his ear. I know that makes his body shiver and wakes him up in ways that have nothing to do with alarm clocks and orange juice. My hand runs along his thigh beneath the table, and I want to slip it between his legs and feel for myself how hard my touch can get him. Two weeks without him buried inside me is far too much, and I don't know how much longer I will be able to stand not feeling his naked skin against me.
“Avery, can I come by Hometown Bed And Breakfast tomorrow and borrow your kitchen?” Hannah asks.
“Of course,” Avery says. “Anytime. What are you thinking of making?”
“This occasion calls for one of my favorite baking traditions. Every Mama-to-be I know gets banana walnut bread. It's good for you, and it's good for the baby. And Daddy can try a sliver or two if he insists.”
I laugh. “That sounds amazing. I love banana walnut bread. My grandmother used to make it all the time in the fall.”
“It's one of my absolute favorite things to make when the weather starts to get cool,” Hannah says. “Making it for this baby is also a good way to cover up some bad memories.”
“Bad memories?” Owen asks. “What do you mean?”
She shakes her head and laughs. “Oh, it's silly, really. It's just that the last time I made a banana walnut bread was the day of the murder. It was the first time of the season I was going to make it, and the whole house smelled incredible. I was eating the first slice whe
n I heard the news.”
I shudder. “I don't think that's silly at all. I hope making it this time will be what you remember now.”
Hannah reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Me, too. Oh! Speaking of baking. I took your advice and made sure all my pictures are on display somewhere that people can enjoy them.”
“That's great, I say. Where?”
She pulls a tablet out of her bag and quickly types in a few commands. “Right here,” she tells us proudly, displaying her website on the tablet. “I figure this way anybody who comes to the website considering a stay at Willow Springs will see all the pictures of me, and it might give them that boost.”
“That's a fantastic idea,” Skylar says. “I know when Sebastian and I added pictures to our website, it really increased business. People like to feel like they know who they're doing business with. If they're looking for a room to stay in and see that, they're going to feel at home before they even step foot in your bed-and-breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Hannah says. “That's really sweet. Here. Look. This is the famous making-banana-walnut-bread series.”
She laughs and scrolls through the pictures. My body tenses, and Owen squeezes my hand.
“What's wrong?”
I shake my head. “It's just so strange to look at those pictures and know what's going on.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone lumbering toward the table. Owen sees him at the same time and stands up to block his approach.
“We meet again,” Owen says.
“Get out of my way,” Chad slurs.
“Nope,” Owen says, pushing his chest, so he teeters back. “You're not getting anywhere near her. Especially not now.”
“How could you do this?” Chad asks, trying to lean around Owen toward me. “What we had was special. Look what I did for you, and the thanks I get is you getting knocked up by some guy because you like his crown.”
“Alright, that's enough,” Owen says. “We're going to go ahead and prop you in a corner so you can wait for the Sheriff to come siphon you up and squirt you into the tank for a while. How does that sound?” He starts away from the table.
I want to be embarrassed, but Owen’s protectiveness was just too sexy. Instead, my thighs burn, and my panties feel wet. Biting my bottom lip, I cross my legs, hoping the pressure will ease the need until Owen and I can get back to Hometown Bed And Breakfast.
“Well, that was uncomfortable,” Stacy says when Owen sits back down.
“I'm sorry,” I tell him. “That was just my ex. Still carrying a little flame for me.”
“It sounds like he might carry a little more than that,” Stacy replies. “Didn't you hear what he said? ‘Look what I did for you.’”
The shiver that rolls down my spine is no longer one of thrill at thinking of Owens touch.
“Let's not talk about that anymore,” Hannah says. “I'm starving, and I'm sure Mama and the baby could use something to eat too.”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“Let's celebrate,” Owen says.
The next two hours are spent eating and laughing, sharing stories and making predictions for the future. The energy is higher and more positive than I've felt it in so long, but I can't stop the tinge of darkness in the back of my mind.
There's a little voice telling me something's wrong. It feels like all the pieces of the puzzle that have been scattered across my brain are moving closer together, and some might have interlocked. I try to ignore it, to just enjoy being there with people I consider my friends and my family, celebrating the miracle of Owen and my baby.
Finally, it's time for dessert. I scan through the options and choose pumpkin creme brulee.
“That reminds me,” Skylar says. “Miss Betty still hasn't given me her recipe for pumpkin pie.”
“Miss Betty still isn't actually a relative of yours,” I point out.
Skylar sticks her tongue out at me and grins while I look down at the dessert menu again. The thought of Julie and the images of the sweets on the glossy page make something explode in my brain.
Thank you, Jessica Fletcher.
It takes everything in me to sit still and wait for dessert, then to eat it slowly enough not to make myself sick. I barely taste the creamy dish. My mind is somewhere else. When everyone's finished, I take Owen by the hand.
“I think I need to get home to bed,” I tell him.
Sebastian groans. “No,” he says. “We're all going to go to karaoke at the bar.”
“I'm sorry,” I tell him. “I'm just feeling exhausted. Skylar, record him doing Sweet Caroline for me. That way it'll be just like I'm there.”
We say goodbye to the group and split off in the opposite direction.
“Is there anything you need before you head home?” Owen asks.
“As a matter of fact, there's one stop we need to make.”
A few minutes later, I'm standing back in the lobby of the police station, staring at the Sheriff who is almost as confused as he was two weeks ago when I turned myself in.
“Avery, I don't think I'm following you.”
“I know, and I just need you to trust me. I'll give you all the information you need. Just call a press conference for tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Owen
"I know everyone in our little village has been deeply affected by the murder of one of our visitors, and by the aftermath that has followed. It's been extremely difficult for all of us to cope with not knowing who performed this heinous act. There have been a lot of questions and rumors. Unfortunately, that has resulted in questioning some of our own and losing the closeness and bonded trust that makes Vidalia Isle such an incredible place to live and raise our families."
The Sheriff glances up and pauses briefly, before continuing to say, "This morning it is with tremendous pride that I announce to you all that we have made a breakthrough in the murder of Mr. Mercer. The case has taken a very unexpected turn, and I commend those who thought fast and made important decisions to preserve the crime scene and critical evidence. This, in particular, includes the festival.
“I know it hasn't been easy for all of us to see it sitting empty there on the Village Green for so long. It's been a reminder of this dark time on our island and the loss of innocence and memories. But because that space was preserved, we have the opportunity to bring this case to a close and ensure justice is served. While I can't share full details at this time, I can let you know that the break in the case came from an anonymous source who offered insight into new evidence."
He sniffles ever so slightly. Then, he explains, "Apparently, this evidence is still on site near where the body was found, and it will clearly point to the identity of the murderer. The festival grounds remain strictly off-limits to all but authorized police personnel. A specialist team is arriving tomorrow morning to assist with the search and preservation of said evidence. We'll have more information for everyone as soon as that evidence is found and properly processed. Thank you very much for your time. I won't be taking any questions. Thank you."
The Sheriff finishes his speech and hustles away from the press conference table. His eyes lock on Avery when he comes into the small room where she and I have been sitting, watching the conference on a small TV in the corner.
“That was fantastic, Sheriff,” she says. “It was exactly what I need.”
“Are you going to fill me in now on why I just did that?” he asks.
“Not yet,” she says. “I'll tell you more later.”
“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” I ask when we walk outside and start back toward Hometown Bed And Breakfast.
“I don't want to say anything. Not yet. One thing you might not know about Vidalia Isle yet is that the island's most abundant natural resource is gossip. There's no such thing as a secret around here, not for long anyway, and I don't want the wrong ears sharing anything too soon. But if it all works out and I'm right, there’ll be one less secret in the village fo
r people to worry about.”
Later that night, I pull my coat closer around me to block some of the wind that whips up and creeps down my neck. The nights have gotten distinctly colder the last few weeks. Avery hunkers down beside me, and I reach out to wrap my arms around her, not wanting her to be cold. I'm extremely aware of my baby cradled within her.
I can't bear the thought of letting anything happen to either of them. Which doesn't seem exactly accurate when I consider that it's pitch black outside and I'm crouched behind an abandoned game booth, waiting for a murderer to show up at the Ferris wheel.
“You're sure about this?” I ask.
“Yes,” Avery says. “I'm sure. This time, I'm positive. We just have to wait.”
It's only a few minutes longer when she grabs my arm, and I see her finger go to her lips. She points toward the Ferris wheel, and when I look, I see a dark figure creeping through the shadows toward it. It stops and looks around, causing Avery to lean back against me to stay out of sight. After a second, the figure continues on toward the Ferris wheel.
The same barriers are there that were in place the evening the body was found. Police tape stretches across them but doesn't create any true resistance. The figure easily slips past and climbs up onto the platform.
“They're looking around,” I whisper to Avery.
She nods excitedly. “Exactly,” she says. “It worked. Just give it a few more seconds.”
The figure's searching becomes more frantic, and a tiny beam of light appears where they've turned on the flashlight on their phone but are concealing most of the illumination with one hand. Finally, Avery looks at me and nods. It's time.
She stands up and runs toward the Ferris wheel. Every muscle in my body aches to chase after her, but she gave me specific instructions to stay and watch over her. She promised she wasn't in any real danger, but I'm not taking that at face value. The first time she's in trouble, I'm there.
