I Do (Hate You) by Sienna Blake

James

I knew if I stayed in the villa, I would punch a hole in the wall. I went for a walk, praying I wouldn’t see anyone I knew.

God, I felt like an asshole.

But I was doing the right thing, right? Shell wanted love and marriage and commitment, and that’s what Rupert was offering her. I didn’t know if I was ready for all that or if I ever would be. Logan was right to warn me away from his sister. I was a total prick.

My walk didn’t have a destination. I was just avoiding anyone who sounded happy. Every time I heard a laugh, a pleasant conversation, or a voice I knew, I turned away and onto the next path before they saw me.

I didn’t recognize the tall, thin staff member coming toward me in the white shirt and khaki shorts so I didn’t veer off. He didn’t know me, so why should I bother.

“Hello, Mr. Kane.”

Goddammit.

“Hello, um…” I looked for a name tag but he didn’t have one. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

The kid couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. He was skinny as a rail with a thatch of unruly blonde hair. Memorable. But I couldn’t remember him at all.

“Peter. We met last night. Well, ‘meet’ is too strong a word. I guess you had quite the party and got um—excuse me for saying this—terribly drunk. I would have helped but your friend said he would get you home.”

Drunk? I knew I didn’t have anything to drink last night, and I hadn’t been fall-down drunk since college graduation. Peter must have seen me after I’d been drugged.

“Right. Yes, haha. I’m a little fuzzy on the details—being too drunk and all. Where was I when you saw my friend ‘helping’ me?”

Peter looked pleased that he could help a guest and pointed down the path. “Right over there by the groom’s villas.”

“Oh, of course. Thanks,” I said out loud but internally thought, What the fuck?

“You’re welcome. Anything else?” he asked.

“Actually, there is. I’m down here with a ton of friends and I was wondering which one of them helped me out last night. I think I owe them a big thank you.”

We both had a hardy fake laugh, me because I was trying not to sound suspicious and Peter because he was hoping I was a good tipper.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kane. I don’t actually know who he is.”

Shit.

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“It was kinda dark but…he had a big scar across his cheek. Does that sound familiar?”

“It sure does, Peter. Thanks.”

Clive. Fucking Clive.

Rupert’s bodyguard must have something to do with drugging us. He’d have no reason to.

But his boss might.