by B. B. Hamel
“Have you ever been in a small plane before?” Ryan says in my ear.
“No!” I say back.
“It’s fun, right?”
“Not really!”
He laughs again. “Come on. You love it. And Ash is a great pilot.”
That elicits a thumbs-up from the pilot in question.
I sigh and let myself laugh. The trip doesn’t last long though, a little under an hour. Slowly Ash starts to bank the plane down, descending toward a medium-sized island at the very edge of the group.
The plane circles and circles, getting closer and closer to the landmass. I frown a little, trying to find the runway, but I don’t see it. I only catch a glimpse of a huge house, more like a compound with multiple buildings.
“Where do we land?” I ask Ryan as we get closer and closer. “Why aren’t the wheels coming out?”
Ryan’s grin scares the hell out of me.
“Ryan!” I shout. “Where are we landing?”
The plane’s getting closer and closer to the water. My heart’s racing in my chest.
“Hold tight for landing!” Ash calls back.
“What! Ryan!”
“Hold on, oh, god, hold on!” Ryan shouts, his eyes wide.
He’s laughing maniacally as the plane smashes into the water.
Well, maybe it doesn’t smash. It glides down onto its belly, spraying water up to either side of us. I have to hold onto the seat in front of me as the plane jerks and slows. It hits the water and rushes forward like a speedboat, grinding through the waves, until it slowly comes to a stop. I sit there, breathing hard and sweating.
Both men are cracking up. Ash is grinning at me over his shoulder and Ryan’s doubled over, practically in tears.
“You. Ass. Hole!” I slap him on the arm over and over. “Warn! Me! Next! Time!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, still laughing. He leans back in his chair and lets out a groan, his laughter slowly dying down. “Oh my god, the look on your face.”
“You really thought we were crashing,” Ash says.
“I don’t need the play-by-play, Ash,” I snap at him.
He winks at me with his one eye and turns back forward.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan says finally. “Honestly, it’s like a Boulton tradition to not tell our guests about the Sea Queen.”
“It’s great every time,” Ash adds.
“Ash,” I say.
He laughs and as the propeller starts to spin again. The plane starts to move forward, gliding along the water, floating and bobbing in the waves toward the island.
“It’s a flying boat,” Ryan says. “Sort of like a sea plane, but without the struts on the bottom. The whole plane is built to land on its belly and drift along like that.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Yep. But despite how it looks, the Sea Queen is in really good shape.”
“I go over it in detail before every flight,” Ash says.
“So we were never in danger,” I say.
“Exactly.” Ryan nudges me a little. “You okay?”
“I’m okay, but I think I’m going to punch you in the face when we finally reach land.”
Both men crack up again.
I lean back in my seat and look out the window. The plane is floating along on the water, moving inexorably toward the island ahead. It gets bigger and bigger and soon a dock materializes along the beach. It’s not a big dock, but there’s another plane already parked. That one looks nicer, a little bit newer, with the words Sea King splashed across the side in white paint.
We pull up and dock. Ash jumps out along with Ryan. Together, the men tie the plane off before finally helping me out. I glare at Ash who grins at me happily before he hops back on and gets our luggage out.
“It was a pleasure,” Ash says. “But I’ve got to get back. We have more guests arriving.”
“Thank you, Ash,” Ryan says. “I’ll see you later?”
“Of course.” The men shake hands then Ash gets back in. We stand on the dock as Ryan unties the plane. The propellers start up and slowly the thing chugs back out to sea. We stand on the dock and watch as the plane gains speed, slowly but surely, the engine screaming louder and louder, the water spraying up on either side of it until the thing tilts forward and pulls up into the air. Water spills down the sides and drops down behind it, like the spray of a jumping whale, and it soars into the air.
“Honestly didn’t think it’d make it,” I say.
Ryan laughs a little and puts an arm over my shoulders. I want to shrug him off, but we’re on his turf now and I need to learn to play along.
“Honestly, sorry about that,” he says. “There are a lot of… traditions in my family. That’s one of them.”
“Are they all so shitty and mean-spirited?”
“Yep.” He steers me down the dock. “Come on.”
We walk to the end and pull our bags along. There’s a rocky, bumpy path, and eventually he has to carry everything on his shoulders. I’m partway impressed by the size of his biceps but I’m still mad, so I refuse to stare for too long.
We walk up a short embankment, up some zigzagging stairs, and finally crest a little hill. Up ahead, the main house sits at the very top, the trees cleared from around it. The lawn is perfectly manicured and rolls in gorgeous waves in the wind, winding up toward the Colonial-style building. It’s beyond fancy, with arches and pillars and colonnades and more roof peaks than I thought possible.
“Welcome to the island,” he says. “We don’t really have a name for it. We just call it Isle Boulton.”
“Clever.”
“I know. I didn’t come up with it.” We walk up the grass and I wonder if he’s struggling with the bags. If it’s hard, he’s not showing it.
We get about halfway before people start coming down to meet us. They’re wearing simple black shirts and black pants, and for a second, I think they’re his family.
But I quickly realize they’re actually the staff.
“Thank you,” he says as a young man takes his bag. Another young man takes the other. They look like brothers, maybe a few years apart. They smile at me and start lugging the bags along as a third person stops and spreads her arms.
“The prodigal son,” she says.
“Hello, May.”
Ryan hugs the woman. She’s wearing the same dark shirt and pants, but her pants are cuffed and she’s wearing sandals. Her toes are painted a bright red.
“How are you, dear?” she asks him as they break off their hug.
“I’m fine. Very depressed to be home.”
“Lovely. Well, I’m glad you’re here, even if nobody else is.” She turns to me. “I’m May, head of the staff here. You must be Casey?”
I nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, dear. Did they do the water landing thing?”
“They did.” I glare at Ryan.
“It delights them every time.” She walks over and puts an arm over my shoulder. “Sorry about that, dear. They’re assholes around here.”
I laugh a little and Ryan grins. She steers us up toward the house, walking alongside.
“Your room is ready, Ryan,” she says. “But I thought you might like something larger, since you have a guest.”
“Not a guest, May. Fiancée.”
“So the rumors are true.” We stop and she looks at me for a second. “Are you sure, dear? Do you know what you’re getting into?”
“I think so,” I say, glancing at Ryan, but his face is unreadable.
“Well, I’ll say to you what I’ve said to every new member that’s entered the family for the last twenty years that I’ve been running this house.” She looks me dead in the eyes and squeezes my arms with her hands. I’m surprised by how firm her grip is. “Good fucking luck, my love.”
I laugh a little and Ryan groans. She walks on then, leading us toward a perfectly manicured pool. A blow-up giraffe floats lazily on the water, brightly colored and out of place in the
otherwise immaculate yard. There’s a magazine left on a pool chair, but I don’t get to see the cover as we’re hurried in through the back door.
“Mostly everyone’s here,” May’s saying. “Your parents are in their rooms, your brothers and their families are all tucked away, and the uncles and aunts are settling in. We have a few cousins on the way still and some other stragglers, but you’re not last for once.”
“Good for me,” Ryan mutters.
May takes us into a large open living room. There’s no television, but there are multiple little sitting areas with couches and chairs arranged in circles. There’s a bar against one wall, with a genuine bartender that waves as we go by. Ryan waves back
May leads us down a short hall and into an enormous, professional-style kitchen. There are multiple people working in uniforms, preparing food. It looks like enough food for an entire feast, like there’s going to be a banquet soon.
We move through and up a back staircase. She takes us up two flights before we step out into a hallway. It looks almost like a hotel, with multiple doors on either side, except a hotel wouldn’t have what looks like several original Picasso paintings hanging next to a Renoir that I swear I’ve seen in a museum.
“Here we go,” May says, opening the first door. “Best room in the house. Quiet, top floor, right next to the stairs so you can sneak into the kitchen.” She steps inside and our bags are already there. The two boys must’ve beaten us somehow.
The room is huge. There’s a sitting area to one side in front of a big, beautiful fireplace and a huge, four-poster bed. There’s another door, which I assume goes to the bathroom.
“Thank you, May,” Ryan says. “Who else is on this floor?”
“Sara and Earl are at the other end. Toby’s three doors down, opposite side, and Deb is next to him. Then I’ll put Mia, Anne, and Connie in the remaining rooms.”
“Don’t worry about those names yet,” he says to me, then looks back to May. “You know you’re perfect, right?”
“Of course, dear. You might not see me much, but I’ll be around. The others keep me busy.” She sighs and looks at me with a smile. “Good luck.”
Without another word, she swoops out of the room and the door slams shut behind her.
“Well,” I say.
“Well.” He walks over to his suitcase, grabs it, and carries it to the bed. He throws it on top and stares at it for a long moment.
“What do we do now?” I ask him.
He closes his eyes for a moment. I watch the tension in his body and I’m almost tempted to go over and touch him. I think maybe I can help calm him down if I just put my hand on his shoulder, or maybe kissed his cheek, just a little gesture. But then I remember that stupid water plane and I don’t move.
“Now we unpack,” he says. “And then we get ready for the clusterfuck.”
“Sounds like a dream.”
He turns to me slowly. “Listen, Casey. This is your last chance. If you want to back out… if you want to get away, I won’t blame you. I can have Ash take you out of here when he gets back later.”
I step up to him and take a deep breath. I slowly let it out.
The memory of that plane landing comes back, the fear I felt. Then the memory of May staring in my eyes and wishing me good luck, her voice full of sincere sadness. The red flags are all there, but damn it, I’m ignoring them all.
“I want that one percent,” I say.
He nods, almost like he expected it, and looks sad. “Well then. Let’s get to work.”
So I throw my suitcase on the bed next to his and we unpack our clothes together.
4
Ryan
Even if it’s good to see Ash and May, I still have a knot in my stomach the size of the Empire State building.
I shouldn’t have brought Casey here. I knew it was a bad idea back in New York, but now that we’re out on the island, it’s so obvious how this is going to get fucked up.
When we’re done unpacking, I call down to the kitchen and ask May to pass a message along for me. When that’s done, I shower off, brush my teeth, and step back out into the room.
For a second, I forget that I’m wearing nothing more than a towel until I spot Casey sitting on the couch near the fireplace, a book forgotten in her hand, staring at me with wide eyes.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re naked.”
I look down. “I have a towel.”
“You’re still naked.”
I shrug a little. I walk over, committed now, and grab some clothes from the drawer. I let the towel drop and glance at Casey, smiling a little bit. She’s staring at me, eyes wide, until she meets my gaze and abruptly looks at the floor.
“Can you not just wave your dick around?” she says.
“Oh, please. You were just staring at me like a starving girl at a buffet.” I hesitate before I put on my boxer briefs. “If you want to come over here, I’d happily get you off. I’m sure you’re tense from the trip.”
“No touching, remember?”
“That’s your rule, not mine.” I laugh and put on my underwear. “I’m decent now.”
She looks up and clenches her jaw. “No, you’re not.”
“My dick’s covered. I thought that was the problem.”
“Ryan.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I put on my jeans, laughing a little bit. Maybe bringing her was a bad idea, but I might as well enjoy myself.
She is fucking gorgeous, after all. And as much as she’s pretending like she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I can see the truth in her eyes every time she looks in my direction.
We didn’t fuck that day just because. I mean, it just sort of happened, we just sort of fell into each other, but we both wanted it. She still needs it as much as I still do, but at least I’m willing to admit it.
Doesn’t matter. I get dressed and we swap places. She brings her clothes into the bathroom with her, and once the shower’s done, she steps out dressed in jeans and a light sweater, looking completely put together.
“Damn,” I say, “I thought you’d be wearing a towel.”
She gives me a flat look. “We’re going to be in close quarters, so you’d better start behaving, okay?”
“Nah,” I say. “The rule is, I can’t touch. But I’m going to look. And if you ever want to leave the door open while you’re showering, I’d be happy to join.”
“Ryan.”
I laugh a little. Just as I get up, the little phone in our room starts ringing. I walk over and answer it.
“They’re ready,” May says.
I take a breath and let it out. “Okay.”
“I’ll let them know.” She hangs up.
I turn to Casey.
“Ready to meet my parents?” I ask.
She bites her lip. “Not at all.”
“Too bad.” I walk over to my bag and reach into a small zippered pocket. I turn back to Casey and take a slow, deep breath. I walk over to her and take her hand, which startles her a little bit.
I drop down onto one knee and look up into her eyes.
“Ryan,” she says.
“Casey. We’re doing this and so we’re doing it for real. Will you marry me?”
She stares at me, bites her lip gently, and then nods once. “Yeah. Sure.”
I grin and take the ring from my pocket. I slide it onto her finger. It’s enormous, stupidly big really. I went to the nicest jeweler I could find and asked them for the best ring they had in stock. It just so happens to fit her finger perfectly. It’s a single big diamond haloed with little ones.
She stares at it for a long moment. “This thing is absurd,” she whispers.
“Consider it a down payment.” I stand up, still holding her hand. “Do you like it?”
She takes her hand and stares at the ring for a long moment. “Yes,” she says finally. “I really do.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get going.” I walk to the door. She hesitates a second, staring at the ring still. I s
tep outside, smiling to myself, surprised at how quickly my heart’s racing.
She follows me into the hallway a moment later. I look both ways, terrified we’ll run into someone, but it’s empty. I decide to go the back way and so we descend down the stairs and into the kitchen. I take her past the staff, most of whom I don’t recognize since it turns over with some frequency. It’s hard to get people to want to live and work on an island all the time.
We go through a series of back hallways, past an indoor pool and sauna, past the gym and the rec rooms, past the smoking room and the music room and the listening room until we find another staircase. This one spirals up and we take it slowly.
I remember taking these steps up when I was a kid. They always fascinated me, especially what was at the top. I was always forbidden from going into my parents’ rooms, but I still couldn’t help myself. I’d sneak in sometimes when they were out and just look around, touching their personal things, trying to imagine the people behind the parent.
We reach the top landing and stop in front of a door. I knock on it gently before turning the knob and stepping inside.
The room is modestly sized, at least for the estate house. It’s a sitting room with a fireplace, the fire lit and cracking, filling the room with a pleasant wood smoke smell. There are chairs in front of it, a little bar off to the side, a small table, and a whole host of bookshelves.
My mother rises from a chair in front of the fire. She smiles at me and, for a second, I forget all about the nasty business that’s about to come. I walk over and hug my mother.
She’s thin, always was. Sheila Boulton keeps herself in shape religiously, never eats too much, and hates drinking more than a glass or two of wine. She’s a tough woman, always was, but she’s still my mother and I still love her.
“Ryan,” she says. “Welcome home.”
“Hi, Mom,” I say.
“You look tired.”
“Long trip.”
“Well. You’re here now.” She glances over at Casey. “Did Ash play the trick on her?”
