Into You Series: The Complete Collection

12. Nia

CHAPTER 12

NIA

Present day

R amona insists we all go to a bridesmaid brunch the next morning, and I am more than happy to leave the hotel and go to a place that is any distance away from Ian.

To say last night was a disaster would be an understatement. And to think—I was actually sort of getting used to his presence again. But, in true Ian form, he opened his mouth and said something ridiculous and inconsiderate. Sometimes good looks simply can’t save a person.

The bell above the door dings when we walk into the breakfast eatery. It resembles just about every other restaurant in the local area: lots of seashells, wicker chairs, and a general musk of seaweed and coconuts—though that might be artificial. Are there even coconuts here? Do they put it in the vents and just let it waft around the seaside?

I fully expected Ramona to greet us with shirts saying #BridesmaidBrunch , but I was happily surprised to find her with only the black bag of stuff I dropped by her room yesterday. I made sure to take the dirty movie out and slip that under my pillow. Though now that I think about it, I wonder if housekeeping will find it. I exhale.

Grace settles in her seat with her eyebrows drawn in. “You okay, Nia?” she asks.

“Yeah, perfect.” I breathe out with a forced smile. The corner of her mouth tugs into a half-hearted attempt at returning the gesture, but her concern is apparent. I don’t even know how I feel. Upset? Angry? Flustered? Well, I have a porno in my bedroom that I bought due to pressure from a handsome man who makes me want to stab my eyes out. Well, maybe not my eyes since he’s pretty easy on them, but ugh , my emotions are too much for me right now. I’m a walking Cathy cartoon.

“How did yesterday go?” Grace asks.

“Ooh, yes!” Ramona says, pulling her own chair up to the sticky table, which I’m already consciously making an effort to not allow my elbows to rest on. This place oozes syrup from every crevice—the walls, the chairs, the tabletop. Even after the hostess wipes it down with a rag, the remnants of the syrupy meal prior to ours is glued to the table, and no amount of scrubbing with an equally sticky, damp, mop-water rag is going to rid us of its almighty reign.

I place a napkin in my lap. “Fine.”

“If you don’t tell me you’re the best of friends, I want nothing to do with either of you,” Grace says with a joking smile.

“It’s impossible to be best friends with Ian,” I say, glancing over to Ramona in hopes that she isn’t offended, but she’s already nodding her head solemnly in agreement.

“It is known,” she says, patting my knee with her eyes still closed, as if in prayer.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” I start, trying to defend him. I’m not sure why—he doesn’t deserve my defense after last night. But, admittedly, okay, sure, I had a teensy bit of fun with him prior to his asshole behavior. “He’s okay, but he’s still infuriating.”

“I’ll take that rather than you guys’ constant hate-fest,” Grace says.

“I’m sorry,” I respond. “He opens his mouth and I just— rrg!” I shake my fist in anger, and Ramona busts out laughing.

“Welcome to my life,” she says, wrapping her hair up in a haphazard fluffy bun.

“I’m sure being greeted by him after your car broke down wasn’t the best,” Grace says. I forget how absolutely wonderful she can be behind that fiery exterior.

I wave my hand. “No, don’t even apologize. I should be thanking you for the trip.”

“Damn right,” Grace says with a laugh, scooting the new water toward her and ordering us a round of mimosas, specifically making a point to order a fourth.

“Who is joining us?” I ask, looking toward the door.

“Oh, my cousin Corinne. She’s the third bridesmaid,” Grace says. “I didn’t want a lot of bridesmaids, but I would feel weird if she wasn’t here.”

“Oh, you’ll love her, Nia,” Ramona says. “She’s really interesting. Blonde like you. Very, very Khaleesi.”

“How can someone be ‘very Khaleesi’?” I’m suddenly aware that my Game of Thrones knowledge is lacking, and I can’t help but feel judged by Ramona’s gawking stare.

“Shame, shame, shame!”

“Okay, enough with the references,” Grace says, batting down Ramona’s hand, which looks as if it’s ringing a large bell at my forehead. “Oh, there she is!” Grace says, getting out of her chair and rushing toward the woman walking into the restaurant.

She looks strikingly similar to me with light blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, a braid trailing up the side. Her eyes, unlike mine, are remarkably blue. They’re not reminiscent of Ian’s ice blue, but they’re vibrant and captivating. She wears a long, flowing skirt and a tan crop top with a purple bralette peeking through. She immediately embraces Grace.

“Corinne!” Ramona screams.

Before I know it, they’re hugging, I’m being hugged, and it’s just one giant squealing hug-fest.

“It’s so great to meet you!” she says. “Not at all Greek like I thought you’d be!”

“It’s the name,” I say.

“ Love the name,” she responds, swatting her hand at me as she sits.

Of course she’s the sweetest person alive.

“Do you go by Polly?” she asks. Memories of Ian from last night begin drifting back. I have to exhale to push my angry thoughts to the dark corners of my brain.

“Nia, actually,” I correct with a fake smile. She does not deserve your anger, you jerk. Tone it down.

“Oh, sorry!” She grins sweetly. “I’m sure you get that mistake all the time.”

Ramona lets out a sharp laugh. “Ian’s the culprit for that.”

“Ian!” Corinne practically squeals, clapping her hands together. “Is he coming?” My heart rate increases at her obvious joy that he is present, but why? I am much too old to be playing comparison games with another woman. My feminist bones are mad at myself for even flirting with the idea.

“He’s at the beach with the guys,” Ramona says. “He’ll be so excited to see you again!”

“Oh, how long has it been?” Corinne says wistfully, her eyes glancing toward the ceiling. “Three years? Four?”

What does that mean? How do they know each other? Do they have a history? What does she know that I don’t? Admittedly, probably a lot. I only know him as co-worker, lawyer man Ian. She probably knows him on a much deeper level, a more personal one. I gulp to keep my stupid irritation at this cute girl from invading my mind.

“It’s definitely been a while,” Grace agrees. I’m about to ask how Corinne and Ian know each other, but Grace is already taking the newly arrived mimosas and lifting hers. “Thanks for coming, you guys. I know Cameron and I are a lot of responsibility sometimes. We’re a mess and a half, but it means a lot that you’re on this journey with us.”

“Ew, gross,” Ramona says. “ Journey. ” She scrunches her nose and gulps down half of her flute before we can even toast. Grace clinks her glass against Ramona’s with probably a bit more force than is necessary.

“Your love is beautiful,” Corinne says. “We’re happy to be a part of it and to be cringing at your cheesiness together.”

“Hear, hear!” Ramona says, clinking her half-full glass with the rest of our untouched ones.

They spend the rest of the morning downing bottomless mimosas, which I’m fairly sure get less and less champagne as time goes on, but I’m continuing to drink my water. Grace seems to be on the same page as me, nursing water the entire morning as well. I’ve never been one for heavy drinking, and I’m sure even two small mimosas would have me knocked out by the end of the afternoon.

Corinne and Ramona have settled into a giggle frenzy by the time we’re heading back to the hotel. I escort the women up the elevator because they all insist on changing and going to the beach. When we walk down the hall, I hear a closing door and see Ian wiggling the handle of his room to ensure that it’s locked behind him. He’s much too handsome in his simple gray tee and striped beach shorts. Slightly below the hemline is the puckered edge of his scar, and even higher up is the section of the bathing suit that is leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It almost angers me to realize I’m staring at his crotch. Why did my stupid eyes immediately drift there?

I look up and see the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smoldering smile, and I relive every word he said last night.

Asshole. Remember he’s an asshole.

“You okay, Polly?” he asks, his eyebrows joining in the center. I must have been glaring.

“I don’t think she prefers that name,” Corinne says from behind me with a giggle.

Ian’s eyes dart away from mine and his face immediately brightens. His eyebrows shoot up and a grin spreads across his whole mouth.

“Corinne!” he yells, rushing over to her and wrapping her in a large bear hug. She’s just tall enough to look picturesque beside him. Yes, just two models waiting to pose naked on a beach. I feel sick at the thought. “Wow, it’s been…what? Three or four years?”

Why is everyone so hung up on the number of years they’ve been apart?

“Still a knockout,” he says, and my stomach drops.

“You’re exactly the same,” she says, and I feel like such a third wheel and the most na?ve woman in the world. I’m falling into the same trap as I did years ago. He was flirting with me and then found another younger woman.

What’s new?

“I should go,” I say, pointing my thumb to the door. At this, Ian’s expression goes from absolute joy back to concern. “I’ll meet you guys downstairs after I change.”

Corinne’s arms are still wrapped around Ian’s neck as I wave my goodbye. I unlock my door and close it behind me, glancing one more time at Ian’s mockingly ice-cold blues before letting it shut and eliminating my perfect view of his stare.

I exhale the moment I enter my room, resting my back against the door and closing my eyes. What am I thinking? What are these stupid thoughts ripping through my brain? Am I jealous? There’s no way I can be jealous. It’s just Ian. He’s the classic image of a tall, dark, and handsome man, but he’s also annoying, judgmental, and a complete, absolute tease.

And yet… how do he and Corinne know each other?

I hear my phone buzz in my purse, and I pull it out. Harry.

“Hi,” I say, relieved to have the distraction.

“Heh-lo,” he answers, a slight singsong tone to his voice. “How’s vacation?” he asks. I can hear clinking on the other line. He must be in his workshop.

“Just came back from brunch.”

He gasps. “Dare I ask if there were mimosas? Drinking during the day?” He tsks. “Who even are you?”

“I’m on vacation,” I say, bouncing down on the bed. “And I only had half a mimosa, so no worries, I’m still a prude.”

“A delightful prude, though.”

I think back to the sex shop with Ian…a prude who likes control…

“Why did you call?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“Well, I’m about to ruin that post-brunch high of yours,” he says. I hear a rolling sound and imagine him scooting out from under a car. “Guess who is staying on the couch as we speak?”

“It’s not my sweet niece, is it?”

“Guess again.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It’s Grant.”

My breath catches. “He’s home?”

“Yeah, and he looks like a mess,” Harry says.

“How bad?”

“Well…” He exhales for a moment, and I’m a second away from insisting he continue when he finally answers me. “From what he’s told me, his wife left him.”

“He still has a wife? Bless that woman.”

“Well, not anymore.”

“Why?”

“Why do any wives leave their husbands?”

“Please don’t tell me he cheated.” I know it’s true the second the words leave my mouth.

“Okay, then I won’t.” But there it is. My mouth opens and closes, trying to find words, but I can’t. There we go. I guess my oldest brother really was—well, is a prick.

Grant has always been a ladies’ man. He’s provoked girls with sentiments that remind me of Ian’s constant barrage of compliments, so why am I surprised? I remember being in elementary school and him half babysitting me at the park while handing a mixtape to some swooning senior clutching her heart over his sensitive “I’ll Be Yours Forever” persona.

“Oh, and not to make it worse,” Harry says, “but I’m pretty sure he’s coming down from some high.”

My chest drops and my head swims. Drugs have never been much of an issue in our family unless you count Mom and Dad’s recent foray into “medicinal” solutions with plants. Sometimes I look at their lone plant in the refurbished garbage can with a heat lamp overtop and think, Maybe it’s just parsley.

Maybe Grant just likes parsley.

“What? High? Since when?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says. “He said something about it last night but then he fell asleep. Eyes red, kind of out of it… I don’t know.”

I run my hand through my hair and shake it out. The buzz of a text breaks the silence, but neither of us can seem to find the words.

I haven’t spoken to my older brother in years. I couldn’t even tell you what he looks like now. Probably streaks of gray and some aging, but mostly a mystery.

“You’re really letting him stay with you?” I ask with a tone of reverence I’m unwilling to hide.

“He has nowhere else to go. Cara just started school, so she’s gone most of the day anyway. Plus, Mom and Dad don’t know about…the things.”

“That’s what we’re calling the problems of our mess of a brother? ‘The Things’?”

“It’s probably best to keep it a secret from them,” Harry says. “They’re just happy he’s home. Mom is even agreeing to relinquish the remote.”

“At least there’s that,” I groan, and Harry chuckles.

“Listen, I was just filling you in, but don’t worry about us,” he says. “He’ll definitely be here when you get back, so you can give him a stern talking-to then.”

“I’d rather punch him in the face.”

“Nia…” he warns.

“Fine.” I exhale. “I’ll talk to you later. Let me know if you guys need anything.” I feel another vibration of a text against my ear.

I look down at my phone as it returns to my home screen after the call ends. Texts come barreling through from Grace, and I’m unsurprised by the words.

Grace: KARAROKE!

Maybe karaoke will be a good distraction. I’m still trying to process whatever I just heard. It’s hard to not feel some sort of disdain for Grant. He’s always gotten everything he wants—every woman, every job, and every bit of success he can reach for. The rest of us Smiths are just as motivated, but it’s like he’s been blessed with something more, like he made some deal with the devil.

Tonight, I think I need to indulge in my own sins. I need a drink.