Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 99: Iguanas Don’t Reason

Chapter 99: Iguanas Don’t Reason

VANESSA BELMONT JANG

Nathan’s arm around my waist was the only thing keeping me from face-planting into the soggy remains of our honeymoon bed. The rum had officially upgraded from "warm buzz" to "why is the ceiling spinning?"

Ollie screamed.

Not the oh-God-we’re-going-to-die kind of screaming. No, this was the oh-God-Ollie-found-something-that-will-probably-kill-us variety. High-pitched. Thrilled. His whoops were followed by Leo yelling, "Don’t you dare, Oliver Benton King!"

Well, shit.

Nathan and I hurried downstairs.

The living room was—somehow—worse than we’d left it. Ollie was standing on the coffee table waving the coconut around. Holy crap. How much rum did my bestie drink?

Leo was watching his fiance from three feet away.

Probably because of the freaking iguana.

The thing was massive—easily the size of a small dog—and perched on the back of the couch like it owned the place. Its beady eyes locked onto Ollie with what I could only describe as reptilian disdain.

"Ollie," Leo said, voice strained, "put the coconut down. Slowly."

Ollie grinned, swaying dangerously. He shook the coconut like a maraca, and the iguana’s tail twitched.

Nathan groaned, tightening his grip on me. "We are not explaining an iguana bite to Ollie’s mother."

"What are you worried about?" asked Leo. "I’m the one she’ll shoot."

I should’ve been more concerned, but the rum was still in my system. I couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up as Ollie attempted a battle cry and nearly toppled off the table.

Leo lunged forward, catching him just as the iguana made its move—not toward Ollie, but straight for the half-empty bottle of rum on the floor.

It snatched the bottle in its claws, tipped its head back, and—

"Did it just—?" Nathan gaped.

The iguana took a swig.

Leo froze, Ollie still dangling from his arms. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

The iguana belched.

"I want him," said Ollie.

The iguana hissed.

"We are not adopting that thing," said Leo.

The iguana lunged.

"Oh my God, is it drunk?" I yelled. "Can iguanas get drunk?"

"Who cares!" Nathan grabbed my arm and we ran toward the other side of the room.

What happened next was a blur of limbs, screaming (mostly Ollie), and a decorative throw pillow being used as a weapon (mostly Leo). Nathan grabbed the nearest thing he could find—a fireplace poker—and attempted to reason with the creature.

Spoiler: Iguanas don’t reason.

Ollie had escaped Leo’s embrace and returned to the coffee table. He watched us run away from the angry dinosaur and then cheered us on as all three of us jumped onto the couch.

Ollie, undeterred by the fact that the iguana was circling the coffee table like a shark about to attack, grinned. "I’m naming him Steve."

Steve the Iguana hissed, flicked his tail, and then scurried up the stairs.

"Look, we can just give the iguana the house, right?" I asked.

"Yes," said Nathan. "We’ll give him the island, too."

"He’s exploring!" Ollie clapped his hands together, nearly toppling off the coffee table. "Okay. Here’s the plan. We lure him back with snacks, gain his trust, and then—"

"—release him into the wild where he belongs," Leo finished.

Ollie gasped, clutching his chest like Leo had just suggested drowning a basket of puppies. "You can’t just abandon Steve! He’s family now!"

Steve, as if on cue, chose that moment to reappear at the top of the stairs.

Clutched in his mouth was my brand-new super sexy lingerie that I’d planned to wear later in the evening.

"Oh, hell no." I pointed at the iguana. "Death to Steve!"

Steve flicked his tongue at us, dropped the lace teddy, and then bolted down the hallway.

Ollie squealed. "He’s playing hide-and-seek!"

Leo groaned. "He’s hunting."

What followed was the most absurd game of cat-and-mouse ever played, except the cat was a steroid-fueled iguana and the mice were four grown adults armed with a fireplace poker, a coconut, and bad intentions. Well, maybe that was just me. I wanted to kill that damned iguana.

"Steve won that round," I said as the four us sank onto the couch, breathing heavy (note to self: exercise more) as we tried to recover from the Great Iguana Chase.

Steve flicked his tongue at us, smug.

Leo pointed to the sliding glass doors leading to the beach. "We need to encourage him toward the exit."

With a collective groan, we peeled ourselves off the couch and began ushering Steve the Iguana toward freedom. Nathan nudged a chair toward the iguana, herding him toward the exit. Leo grabbed a broom (for encouragement, not violence, he insisted) and gently steered Steve’s scaly behind toward the beach.

I, meanwhile, cursed Steve and his appetite for very expensive lingerie.

Steve’s sharp claws clicked against the tile floor as we encouraged him to exit the house. His beady-eyed gaze darted around, assessing his surroundings. Or maybe he was trying to figure out a way to eat us. Were iguanas carnivores? That was probably a question we should’ve asked twenty minutes ago.

The salty breeze drifted in, and Steve scurried out the open sliding glass door. Relief washed over us as his long tail disappeared over the threshold. For a moment, he paused on the wooden deck, perhaps to gaze upon the destruction left by the earlier storm.

The wind tousled the fronds of the palm trees nearby. Steve seemed to consider his next move—whether to bolt into the lush foliage or bask in the fading warmth of the day. Then, with a flick of his tail, he made his choice, darting toward the bushes with surprising speed.

We slammed the sliding door shut behind the iguana, locking him safely outside. The glass rattled in its frame, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I watched Steve’s silhouette vanish into the greenery, his natural camouflage blending seamlessly with the leaves.

The evening air was thick with the scent of salt and damp earth, a reminder that the ocean was steps away from the house Steve violated with his icky iguana claws.

"We need more rum," I said.