I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (40 page)

I never traveled to anywhere in the Caribbean before. In fact, I didn’t travel much at all since I ran from my parents’ home to live with Jahleel. Now this, the greenery, winding roads, impeccable climate, and carefree islanders on the roadside, standing by their stalls displaying smorgasbords of foreign fruits — most of which I’d never before seen or heard of — it all excited me.

The people seemed relaxed and unhurried, the vibe mellow. They walked, talked, and even laughed differently. Already, I loved it, and I hadn’t been there for more than half-an-hour.

Trevillo’s hands gripped my shoulders again, pulling me backward to him with force this time. “Seriously, Krissan, they drive like lunatics here, put your head in the car!” He chuckled as he said, “This is Jamaica: it’s downright awesome here, yes, but it’s no Utopia.”

Begrudgingly, I drew back and allowed him to power up the window. In no time, the air-conditioner eliminated the fresh island breeze from the confinements of the car, supplanting it with dry frigidness.

Leaning into his side, I dropped my head on his shoulder. I wanted to continue looking outside, but the boss ordered me to keep my head inside so … boo. “How many times have you been here?”

“Enough times to deaden that child-like amazement you now have,” he answered, laughing at me.

I smacked his chest and laughed, too.

“I’m constructing a resort nearby to where we are headed,” he continued to explain. “So I’m here quite often.”

“Where are we going?”

“My beach house.”

Floating on contentment, I sighed and let my thoughts slip. “JK always joked that the day he could afford to own a beach house in the Caribbean, is the day he’ll know for sure he’d made it.”

Trevillo froze up at the mention of Jahleel’s name, and I silently berated myself. High on contentment, I forgot for a moment the deep, jagged slashes still existing in our relationship that were fresh, raw and needed healing. But then again … “We agreed to — ”

“Yes, I know,” he snapped in a tight voice. “Pretend.”

That meant we should be able to mention Jahleel, Sarah, death, or pain without remembering what we were pretending to forget. It would be hard. But we’d get through it.

Trevillo receded into reticence for the rest of the journey, but I didn’t bother pushing any conversation since I was the one who spoiled the moment. Plus, the anxiety he exhibited since before we left San Francisco had yet to dissipate. Still, throughout it all, he held me close at all times as if he were afraid I’d poof into thin air if he let go.

Some twenty minutes later, the vehicle turned off a palm-tree-lined street and onto a narrow gravel road, and stopped a few minutes later in front of a thick, high wooden gate. The driver powered down his window, punched in a code, and waited for the gate’s slow opening.

Once the gates opened, the car rolled down a sandy path. On both sides were undulating blankets of verdant land with flocks of strong, blooming trees and sprinkles of flamboyant plants. The house came into view a few minutes later: a two-story beach house sprawled out in all its glory, gobbling up acres of land. I couldn’t see the beach entirely from the back of the car, but what I could see of the estate so far was beautiful.

“The beach is yours, too?” I absently asked.

“Yep,” Trevillo replied, sounding more like himself again. “Like it?”

“You kidding me? This place is amazing.”

The car came to a stop, and when the driver exited to open our door, three tall, serious-looking men and a rotund, middle-aged woman stepped out of the house. Two of the men went straight to the trunk to retrieve our luggage, while the woman stood smiling broadly at the entryway.

The third man, taller and more bad-ass looking than the other two men, held a commanding and somewhat intimidating presence. Striding confidently, he approached us as we moved toward the house. Despite his deathly serious demeanor, his grin, when he flashed it, was amicable and displayed his handsomeness. He had dark, neatly styled, shoulder-length locks, a clean shaved, oval face, and ridiculously white teeth.

Making wild movements with his hands, he grinned and greeted Trevillo in foreign words, “Wah gwaan, boss man? How yuh love surprise wi suh? Weh yuh a try do, ketch wi red-handed or something?”

Trevillo, understanding this broken language, narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why does my surprise visits unnerve you? Are you doing something here you know I wouldn’t approve of?”

The man gave a genuine smile. “Nah, man. Wi loyal. A you put food pon wi table, enuh. Yuh a di boss, straight. A death before dishonor.”

Turning to me, Trevillo gestured to the man. “This is Neville, head of my security team here — because in Jamaica, a trusted security team is essential. He stays here on the bottom floor with his wife. And the others — his sister and two brothers — attend to me when I ‘surprise’ them.”

“Hi,” I smiled at Neville. “Nice to meet you.”

He winked at me and spoke in words I could somewhat understand, “Same here, Empress. I swear you’ve got eyes that’ll make a Rasta trim his dreads, or make a shotta put down the gun. Dem real?”

Nose wrinkled, I looked at Trevillo, unsure of what to say, but he was laughing at me again — I wanted to punch him
.

“Outta my way, Nev,” he said finally, rescuing me.

Neville began laughing as he stepped to the side, then said to me, “A joke mi a mek, yuh hear, Empress? Mi know yuh eyes dem real.”

In response, I just nodded, because I had no idea what he said. Trevillo introduced me to the woman, Sally, who stood at the door and the other two men, Marlon and Dave.

Impatient for pleasantries to end, I bounced on my feet as I smiled and said hi to everyone, dying to see the beach.

Seeming to read my thoughts or reactions, Trevillo peered down at me and let out another laugh. He pulled me off into the house, saying, “
Okay
, let me take you to see the beach. You’re bouncing like a damn two year old.”

He led me through the house decorated in a neutral white and chocolate-brown color scheme — not what one would expect for a beach house in the Caribbean. Plush white chairs with dark-wood furniture, and large floor vases which held various types of vibrant plants gave a feel of the Caribbean within the homeliness of the house. And there was a huge framed photo of Bob Marley taking up a large fraction of the wall in the living area.

Passing through a wide, airy kitchen, Trevillo opened a sliding glass door that led out to a wooden deck sloping off into the sand.

We were there. The beach.

So. Beautiful.

I inhaled a lungful of air and sighed in contentment as I took in the breathtaking view. The sand was impossibly white, the water was impossibly clear, the sky was impossibly blue, and the skirting trees were impossibly green. Everything was just … impossibly perfect.

I could feel Trevillo’s searing gaze burning into me. “I’ve never seen you so … content. It suits you. I’m gonna have a lot of fun traveling with you.”

Squeezing his fingers laced with mine, I turned to look up at him. “Thank you so much for this, Trev. This,” I said, waving my hand out to the ocean view, “is priceless.”

Words unuttered, he only stared back at me, keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Let’s head upstairs,” he said after a while. “I’m feeling unusually tired. Think I’m jet-lagged.”

The words ‘
I want to stay on the beach and watch the sun set
’ formulated in my mind, but before my brain could command my lips to say them, Mr. Mind Reader added, “There’s a wraparound balcony upstairs and views from most sections of each room, including our bed.”

As he turned and started moving back into the house, I tugged his hand for him to stop. When he looked back at me questioningly, I assured him, “I love you.”

I didn’t anticipate his monosyllabic response, but I accepted it anyhow because, well, I loved him.

“Yeah.”

At some point in the middle of the night, I was shaken awake from a peaceful sleep. Eyes fluttering open, I blinked the man I loved into sight. He was standing at the side of the bed, looming over me with my cellphone in his hand, and he didn’t look pleased.

“Just answer this sister-fucker before I toss this fucking thing in the ocean. He’s been ringing nonstop.”

I blinked up at him. “But it’s not ringing now — ”

“It will in a second.” He thrust the phone into my hand and stalked off.

Watching his retreating form — in nothing but clinging white boxers — I crossed my legs and clenched them to quell the sudden ache and heat attacking me. So tall and masculine. Toned and sexy.

As he stepped out onto the balcony, he roughly shoved a hand through his hair. Leaning down, he pressed his palms to the balcony railing and looked out to the ocean.

I wished there was more I could do to help him get over whatever plagued his mind, but there wasn’t. I did all I could. Said all the right things. Assured him of my love. Pretended as he asked. But still, he was distant, detached. All that was left for me to do, at this point, was to wait on him.

The one victimized was me. Yet, seeing him and coming on this Caribbean getaway was curative for me, because
he
was the only one who was capable of healing me. All I needed was seeing him, getting assurance that I was still his, and I was better. Over it. Near death experience forgotten.

Alas, it wasn’t the same for Trevillo. He kept slipping in and out of himself. Talkative, confident sex god one minute. Reticent, anxious, and aloof the next.

Sitting up in bed, I stuffed a pillow behind me and leaned back against the headboard. The room was capacious and pleasantly airy, as it was faced toward the ocean, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and wide slide-doors that Trevillo kept open to permit the cool island breeze into the room.

From the bed, I heard the ocean crashing on the sand, the whistling sound of air passing through trees leaves, and the faint and somewhat annoying croaking of crickets. Brilliant stars sprinkled across the sky’s sheet of blackness, a half-moon looming close to the horizon, its glow reflecting in waves on the unsettled waters below.

It. Was. Heaven.

My cellphone had yet to ring since Trevillo handed it to me, so I shrugged and leaned over to set it on the nightstand. That’s when it decided to ring, Jahleel’s name flashing across the screen. I wasn’t sure I was prepared to talk to him yet, but his calls were making Trevillo irritated, so I might as well get this over with.

“Hi, JK.”

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, but I knew he was on the line. This was Jahleel.

“Bad girl … ” he trailed off, remaining silent for another moment, then, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, JK. It was a mistake. None of it should’ve happened. I never should’ve used you.”

A sigh flowed down the receiver, and I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic when he said, “Yeah. A mistake.”

“Will we ever be able to go back to having a normal, non-awkward relationship?” I asked.

He scoffed, and this time he sounded miffed. “How the fuck can we? You just upped and disappeared out of my life! I went from seeing you everyday to not seeing or hearin’ from you at all. Me and you, Krissy, we can get through
anything
. But we can’t do that while we’re apart.”

Taking a deep breath, I dropped the news that might possibly break us for good, “I’m moving out.”

As expected, there was silence. Long silence. But when he finally spoke, his response took me by surprise. “He loves you. So I know he’ll take care of you. I’m happy you’ve found someone to save you from yourself.”

“You really mean that?” I asked, mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, bad girl, I do.” He sounded genuine. Like, genuine genuine.
Wow!

“Thank you, JK,” I replied, smiling now. “That may be the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Ever.”

“Yeah, but, he can’t take you away from me completely. I need to be able to call you, see you, and hang with you. So,
you
need to let him know that. Or else, I’ll fight … I’ll fight dirty, and I’ll win.
You know it
.”

I knew he was dead serious. He fought his own parents to keep me by his side, and he’d won. Won us a house. Not only that, but if he’d been aggressive and less subtle with me, I probably wouldn’t have fallen in love with Trevillo. I would’ve chosen him, because, in the end, I always did. He knew it, and I knew it. But we skimmed around our feelings for each other and ended up letting other people in, prying us apart. For good.

So, even though the situation was sticky, precarious, and sensitive, I agreed. “I know. But it’s not easy for him to get over right now. So I have to give that issue some time. We’re actually in the Caribbean at the moment. You know, cooling off steam.”

“Where?”

“Jamaica,” I squealed in excitement. “It’s so beautiful here, JK. You’d love it!”

Again, he grew quiet for a long, long time, then, bam! “You’re marryin’ him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Whoa, where the hell did
that
come from?” I asked, fuddled. “I said I was moving out, that’s all. How the hell did marriage drop into this?”