Annoyed with the situation and myself, I walk over to join my dad.
“It feels like the families have known each other for years after less than a week,” Dad says idly.
If only he knew the truth. We don’t know the
m at all. A house full of “servants” is just weird. Especially since this is just a vacation home. Bo pretending to be her twin sister? Also very weird. No one acting like she has a twin and going along with the lie? Epically weird.
And all of the said servants won’t mention the “sister’s” name… As though they’ve been instructed not to speak. My mother merely asked Jane what Bo’s sister’s name was, and Jane locked down like she was saving a pot of gold from thieving bridge trolls.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to ask Vince for any family information,” was her immediate, somewhat rehearsed reply.
My eyes drop to the sand bags just as Jane walks in and collects them.
“What are those for?” I ask her.
She beams up at me before taking them and putting them inside a cooler.
“Bo sends bags of sand to various people around the world.”
“That’s… I’m not sure what to say,” Dad says, moving beside me. “Why would she do that?”
“Because a lot of people are too ill to travel and have always wanted to put their toes in the sand in Hawaii, Mr. Marshall. Or Bora Bora. Or Mexico… You get the idea. The Jaggons-slash-Brendon family own a dream channel on the web. People always help each other out by sending sand to those who may never get the chance to travel because of an illness that confines them. It may not sound like much, but for some, it means the world. It’s one of the family’s many foundations.”
She turns and sashays away, while I lean up on my elbows, drinking in what she just said. Bo—my own personal enigma—is also a humanitarian?
“Your mother really will be pushing you down the aisle if she hears that,” Dad states flatly, but I can tell he’s trying not to smile.
“Bo isn’t what she seems,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been watching her like you’re waiting on her to mess up. Any particular reason why? She seems really incredible. And sw—”
“Do not say sweet,” I grumble in interruption.
He snickers while shrugging. “Very well then. So what’s going on?”
I start to tell him, but then I worry he’ll just confront her to “nip the problem in the ass” and I’ll never get real answers. I’ll only get manufactured ones that will magically explain everything.
I don’t want bullshit. I want the truth. I want to know what the hell is getting me played like this.
“Nothing. I’ll fill you in if I figure it out,” I say cryptically. I also grab a few of those zipper bags to fill up with sand.
Chapter 19
BO
Torture Journal. That’s what I’ll call it. I’ll make a torture journal that lists every detail of what Jax has been doing to me for the past four days.
Yep.
Right now, those seductive eyes are trained on me as he walks out of the ocean, letting the water drip down his skin-tight rash-guard shirt. He has the surfboard tucked under his arm, and he runs a hand through his dark, wet hair.
He looks like a commercial—for male and female wet dreams. Yeah…
Breathe, Bo. Don’t drool.
I wipe my chin because I’m doing what I’m supposed to not be doing, and then I finally breathe.
It’s painful.