A low table is set up in the middle of the sand, blankets all around it weighed down, I’m assuming, by sandbags. A bouquet of hydrangeas sits to the side. When we get to it, I pick it up and give it to her.
Amara’s eyes brim with tears. “Why are you doing this?” she whispers. But her eyes glance past me, spotting the cameras.
“We had to pick out dates, and when I learned that we had to come here, production asked me if I wanted them to set something up.”
She nods, pulling me in for a hug. She hides her face in my shirt, but I can feel her shake.
Before we can adjust, the music starts.
The same song that Amara walked down the aisle to.
“Are you kidding me?” she says through tears, looking around.
“Is that a happyare you kidding me,or an angry one?” I wince.
She slaps my chest. “I still can’t believe you remembered this is my song.”
“I remember everything about you like it was yesterday.” Itake her hand, leading her to the side before placing my hand on her waist. “This isn’t just for the show,” I whisper, grateful that they don’t have microphones on us at this moment. “I need you to know how sorry I am.”
Her brown eyes look golden in the late morning sun, her bronzed skin glowing.
Before I know it, she’s kissing me, peppering them along my jaw until she gets to the corner of my mouth. She pauses, pulling back to look at me.
But I can’t take it.
With a hand cupping the back of her head, I pull her back into me, my nose brushing hers before our lips clash in a passionate, controlled kiss.
As much as I enjoy it, I keep reminding myself that there are cameras on us. They can have this. They can’t have the passion from last night.
We’ve spent the better part of this experience faking a great relationship, but I want the real thing just for myself.
My fingers tangle in her hair at the base of her neck, tugging slightly, and she moans into my mouth, her hands running up the side of my torso, burning in the cold wind.
And suddenly, I want nothing more than to have all of her.
Every single inch.
I break from the kiss, looking around.
Fuck all of this.
Amara lets out a small scream as I scoop her up, making a beeline for the house.
“But the pastries!” she says, pouting. “And those beautiful flowers.”
“I’ll buy you your own personal bakery and thousands of those flowers,” I growl, slamming the door behind us and locking it. I head to the other door, ensuring it’s locked too.
Amara’s fingers wrap around my neck as she pulls herself up, kissing the tender skin. I feel myself growing harder andharder with want, and when I place her on my bed, she’s instantly lifting my shirt.
But she pauses, her eyes widening as she stares at my ribcage, and my veins turn to ice.
“What is this?” she breathes.
I shift nervously from foot to foot. “A tattoo…” I trail off, not knowing what more to say.
“Why would you get this?” She looks at me with confusion, an anger simmering just underneath.
“Because I needed to be reminded.”
