“You entered us to win a honeymoon, didn’t you?” she squealed, squeezing my arm with her free hand. “An island in the Caribbean. Oh Nicky, it’s amazing!”
“H-hold on…” Shit. Now I was going to have to actually do something like that. “I haven’t—” I flipped the card over, reading it carefully. “We were nominated? Hang on a second, Megan, I didn’t do this. I don’t even know what it’s talking about. I’ve never heard of this place.”
Her face fell, but only slightly as she pulled the envelope back to her and read over it, her green eyes darting back and forth across each line of text. My mind swirled with possibilities.
“Then how did we win? I didn’t do it.”
“I don’t know,” I said skeptically, moving around beside her as I wrapped the towel around my waist. We read the invitation together again. “Could this be one of those timeshare things? They get us on an island, and we have to listen to sales pitches for days?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. What good would that do? Are you sure you didn’t do this? Maybe you’ve forgotten.”
I scoffed. “I would’ve remembered something like this. Besides, the trip’s in less than a month. We won’t even be married by then. It wouldn’t make for a very good honeymoon.”
She twisted her lips. “Well, I think we should go either way, don’t you? We can’t say no to a free vacation.”
I couldn’t believe she was serious. It sounded ridiculous. People didn’t just give you a free vacation without there being some sort of catch. Beautiful, naïve, Megan. “I don’t know, sweetheart. It could be a scam. I’ll have to do some research.”
She kissed my cheek. “You will, though, won’t you? We have a few days to respond. If it’s real, we’re going, right? It’ll be the perfect way to get away and de-stress before the wedding. We need this, Nicky.” She purred my name, leaning in to kiss my lips, though my eyes were still trained on the paper in her hands.
“I’ll look into it, but no promises, okay?”
She pushed her lips into a pout. “Sometimes good things just happen, okay? We shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She reached down, pulling my towel from my waist and placing Winston on the ground. “Now, why don’t you finish getting ready. We’re going to be late!” She squealed again and handed the envelope to me, pulling out her phone. “I need a new bathing suit… Do you want one? You didn’t get a new one last year, did you?”
I murmured something, not even sure what answer I gave her as I flipped the paper over in my hands, looking for the catch. It couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. But how was I going to prove it? And why had we been chosen in the first place?
Chapter Three
Natasha
The front door slammed, and I recoiled, my body tensing at the sound from the kitchen.
“Nolan!” I screamed, shutting off the faucet so he could hear me.
“Huh?” came the response, passive and barely listening if I knew him at all.
“How many times have I told you not to slam that door? You’re going to break the glass.” I turned around, drying my hands on a towel as my son entered the room. “And take off your shoes when you come into my house.” I groaned. “If I hadn’t done it myself, I’d swear you were raised by farm animals.”
He watched me, his expression turning from apathy to irritation. “You act like I just do it to annoy you.”
“Sometimes I think you do,” I snapped. “And pull up your pants unless you want me to buy you a belt.”
He jerked his sagging jeans up with one angry fist, a wrinkle forming on his forehead. “What’s for dinner?”
I scoffed, turning back to the dishes as I scrubbed the plate caked with ketchup harder than necessary. “Whatever you want to fix yourself, I guess.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
I sighed because the problem really wasn’t with him and he knew it, but I wasn’t about to admit it right then. “What’s the matter is that my son can’t seem to treat this beautiful house I pay for him to live in with respect,” I said, my upper lip curled.
“Beautiful’s a bit of an exaggeration—”
“Excuse me?” I slammed the plate down. This boy was going to be the death of me. “What the hell do you know about—”
“What is going on in here?” Jaren demanded, walking into the room dressed in a sweat-stained white T-shirt and jeans. His forehead gleamed with sweat as he laid his toolbox on the kitchen table. “I can hear you two arguing from outside.”
“We weren’t arguing. I was informing your son that he needs to take his shoes off before he goes traipsing across my floors. I just shampooed the carpets last week, and between the two of you,” I glanced at my husband’s grease covered shoes, “I’m already going to need to do it again.”
Jaren looked at me, then at Nolan, his lips pressed together with a sigh. “Just take your shoes off, son. Do as your mother says. Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be.”
“Dad, I just walked in. If she’d just asked—”
“Why should I have to ask? You’re seventeen years old! I’ve been telling you your whole—”
“Enough,” Jaren said, holding out a hand to stop me mid-sentence. “Do what you’re told, Nolan.”
Nolan’s head leaned back with an irritated sigh. “Whatever, man, this is bullsh—”
“Language!” I chided, cutting him off.
He disappeared from the room and, when he was far enough away, Jaren sank down in a chair, untying his boots and plopping them on the floor. I watched the dried mud fall onto my freshly swept tile. “You know, if you actually made an
