“Don’t get lovey or you’ll ruin my appetite,” his father grumbled, grinning. “We got pizza coming. I opened a good wine before the excitement, so we’ll do our slices up fancy.”
After dinner, Carlo asked his father to put Trey to bed, and he took Bina down to the beach. She loved to walk along the beach at night, and so did he. Especially now, after the season, on a weekday evening in September, before the weather had turned too cold, an evening walk along the tideline was among the most relaxing, peaceful things he could think to do. It had always seemed to Carlo that the beach at night made a kind of contentment that he could almost literally taste. It lingered on his tongue—the salt of the sea, the cool wet of the moon-brightened air, the musk of the sand. It was a peace that sustained.
They had the place to themselves. Carmen was home, and she waved at them through her living room window, but she knew not to intrude on their evening. They’d stop in on their way back to the car.
Bina was dressed in a bulky fisherman sweater and snug jeans, with little white sneakers on her feet. Her hair was caught back in a simple ponytail, and tendrils had come loose in the sea breeze. He had changed from his suit to vastly more comfortable jeans and a thermal tee under a flannel shirt, his favorite Timberlands on his feet. Not beach shoes, really, but the boots kept the sand out.
As they walked, he told her about his visit with Joey. She seemed to have taken a keen interest in his little brother; he figured that going through what they had together had forged a bond between them. She had said a few things, too, that made Carlo believe that perhaps Joey had confided in her in a way he had not with his brothers and sisters. He didn’t mind; in fact, he was glad of it. He knew he had not been there for Joey the way Joey had needed. Maybe none of them had. So if Bina could be a support for him, then Carlo was thrilled about it.
He told her, too, about his meetings in the city—Natalie had of course refused to move her life to Quiet Cove, but she’d given him some names of people she recommended. People who were qualified to help Joey complete his recovery and who lived in the area.
And work. He talked at length about work. This job was going so perfectly, Carlo could hardly believe it. He was beginning to wait for the reality check, because so far, working with Connelly was a dream. She asked about the upcoming announcement event, and he heard the hint of nervousness in her voice.
“I mean it honestly, Bina. I will understand if you don’t want to go with me. The media will be all over you, and there won’t be much I can do about it.”
“No. This is important for you. I want to be there. Only…may I choose my dress? Do you mind what I wear?”
The question surprised him—it confused him. It would never, never have occurred to him to even wonder what she’d wear, much less decide it for her. “Yeah, of course. Wear what you like.” As he was speaking, he understood that Auberon must have dressed her. Jesus, that guy was unbelievable.
Bina smirked, and that surprised him, too. “Good. I was thinking I should like to earn the media’s notice, if you don’t mind that.”
“You minx! You’re going to tart up, aren’t you?” He laughed.
“Do you mind?”
“God, no. Wear pasties and a fig leaf for all I care. Go for it. Shock the hell out of everybody.” What he was thinking was that he was going to be the most reviled man at that damn party, because whatever she wore, he would have the absolutely most beautiful woman in New England on his arm—and he would also be the man of the hour. James Auberon, down in his fiery hole in Hell, could suck a bag of dicks.
They’d walked for quite a while, talking, and as they crested a steep rise, over a cluster of large, wave-rounded rocks, Bina stopped, pulling lightly on his hand. He turned to her and saw her staring at a point up ahead. He swiveled back and saw her old beach house in the distance. Auberon’s house. It was vibrant with light.
They had not walked so far together since that first night.
He stepped back and put his arm around her waist. “You okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes. Only—there are memories. They hurt.”
He pulled her closer, and she let him tuck her to his chest. The house had sold quickly, but she had seen no proceeds from it. She’d taken only the bags she’d had with her, and those, Auberon’s attorney had had brought to her.
The last time she’d been in that house, the last time she’d even seen it, Auberon had hurt her badly. Carlo tightened his hold on her as that comprehension completed. “Bina. I love you so much.”