Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
After toweling off and getting dressed for the day, we amble off to the kitchen to make breakfast. But the second we enter the enormous room, I scream bloody murder.
“What! What is it!” Tucker, whose head was bent over his phone, immediately snaps into fight mode. His long, muscular body gets into a defensive pose as he wildly looks around, ready to protect me from danger.
Without a word, I point to the counter.
His face pales. “No. Unacceptable,” he growls.
I feel honest-to-God tears well up in my eyes. “How is he here?”
We stand frozen, staring at Alexander, who’s propped up against a basket of fresh pineapple. The housekeeper must have brought him, I realize. But why? Why would she do this to us? My distrustful gaze sweeps over the doll’s eerie white face and that tiny red mouth, lips pursed in a creepy smirk as if he’s harboring a sick secret.
I’m half a second away from channeling my daughter and throwing an epic tantrum when a short woman with dark hair suddenly appears. Wearing a pink pastel tee and white slacks, she comes rushing into the kitchen, her face creased with concern.
“What has happened? Everybody is all right?” Her voice is heavily accented, but I can’t place it. Most of the people we’d spoken to on the other island sounded French, but this woman’s accent isn’t quite that.
“Yes, we’re fine,” Tucker answers. “Sorry if we scared you. You must be Isa?”
She nods warily.
“I’m Tucker, and this is my wife, Sabrina. Thank you for bringing us pineapple! It looks delicious.” His gaze flicks toward the doll. “Um. Any idea how this thing got in here?”
Isa looks confused. “The doll? I bring him. Mister Dean said it was wedding present. He said it is a, what is the word, collector toy? You want me to take away?”
It requires every ounce of willpower not to pick up Alexander and smash his porcelain face against the side of the counter. But poor Isa already looks shaken up, and I don’t want her thinking she just brought fresh pineapple for lunatics. It’s not her fault. She was unknowingly doing the devil’s work, and I can’t be angry at her.
Tucker reads my mind. And since it’s programmed in his DNA to rescue a lady in distress, he flashes a warm, reassuring smile. “No, no, you can leave him here,” he tells Isa. “We were caught off guard, but don’t worry, it’s fine. Just a little joke between us and Mister Dean.”
A joke? Yeah right. There is nothing even remotely comical about the spirit of a dead Gold Rush boy trapped inside a weird doll. I still can’t believe Dean actually thought my sweet innocent daughter would like that dreadful thing. She was only eighteen months at the time. Who does that to a baby? Who does that to grown adults?
I take a breath. No. I refuse to let Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis ruin my honeymoon.
I paste on a reassuring smile and direct it at the shaken housekeeper. “Thank you so much for dropping off the fruit and the newspapers. That was very thoughtful.”
“I go to boat now.”
She still looks unsure, so Tucker once again casts his aw-shucks Texas-boy smile and drawls, “I’ll walk you out. By the way, I love your accent. I take it you live on the Dutch side of St. Maarten?”
Dutch. That’s it. I forgot our neighboring island has a French side and a Dutch one, each one offering two distinct cultures.
Isa relaxes. “Yes, I do.”
“Born and raised? Or did you emigrate from somewhere else?”
He’s still chatting with her as they disappear out the front door.
Leaving me alone with Alexander.
I try not to shudder. Why is he wearing red shoes? And why are they so shiny? I hate him.
“I hate you,” I tell the doll.
His blank eyes burn a hole in the very fabric of my soul. I almost expect them to blink. Logan swears he’s seen them move on their own, but the three unfortunate times I’ve been in possession of Alexander, he hadn’t done any brazen haunting.
While I wait for Tucker to return, I move Alexander from the counter—because that’s where human beings eat, dammit—to the credenza across the room.
My husband is on the phone when he returns, his features tight with annoyance. “It’s one thing to send him out of the blue on a non-occasion,” he’s saying, “but our honeymoon, dude? Have you no shame?”
“Is that Dean?” I demand. Tuck nods absently. “Put him on speaker. Now!”
Tucker swipes his finger on the screen. “You’re on speaker now. Sabrina has something to say.”
“Mrs. Tucker!” Dean’s asshole voice chirps from the phone. “Happy honeymoon!”
“Don’t you dare happy honeymoon us,” I snarl.
“Tuck says you don’t like mine and Allie’s gift. I’m hurt. Almost as hurt as I am about the fact that you didn’t give us an engagement gift.”