“Mrs. Blakeman? Hello—hi.”
“I’m glad you answered, dear.” There’s a notable sternness in her voice beneath the faint Thai accent I remember. “I didn’t see a response to my email. That reservation works for you two, then?”
I swallow. “Uh, yes.” The death grip on my phone tightens against my face as I glance around for my laptop. Wait. What did I agree to? Why the hell didn’t I check my email first? My cheeks tingle from flames of deception. “We were discussing lunch plans.”
“Perfect timing. How about an impromptu round of appetizers downstairs? Join us. Our treat.”
“Oh, we’d hate to intrude.”
“No trouble at all. We’ve been eager to share big news with you all week. Once inside the restaurant, hang a right, then take the stairs. You won’t miss us. We cannot wait to finally meet the other Mrs. Jones that your mother has been raving about. Talk soon.” The call disconnects.
My mind scrambles. Declining isn’t an option, but neither is showing up with a wife. I’m quick on my feet; I wouldn’t be one of Seattle’s top saleswomen if I wasn’t.
Downstairs, I scan the front desk as I sneak past. Thank the sapphic gods. No sign of the not-so-sunny Sunny. My mood perks, and I adjust the flounce sleeves of my dress as I enter the restaurant. Recalling Mrs. Blakeman’s instructions, I pace past the tropical plants canvassing the room. Vibrant hues of fuchsia, sunburst orange, and crimson flowers paint the path forward. The restaurant shares the same aspects as the lobby—the calming aura, the spotless white marble floors and scents of fresh fruits.
I shiver at a chill in the air as I descend toward the bottom floor entering the immaculate underwater portion of the resturant. The water level rises along the gigantic wall-sized windows until it ends at the perfect angle, facing divine, crystal-blue water. Schools of fish swim through the vibrant coral reefs inside the aquarium tunnel.Dreamy,romantic, andmagnificentare understatements. I can only imagine the glorious sight during a sunrise breakfast. Without Olivia.
I slow my footsteps to a halt and stare in awe, imagining snorkeling alongside the Pacific wildlife as if I’m inside a kaleidoscope of joyous childhood memories. When I reach the last step, barreling laughter sounds to my left. I glance over my shoulder and groan. Not again. Sunny, who appears to be finishing a tour, just excused herself and is walking in my direction.
Charged with panic, I whip around, my arm crashing into a server holding a tray chock-full of colorful cocktails. In slow motion, a streak of blood-orange liquid paints the center of my dress. Thai words I don’t understand but can imagine strike the large room more loudly than the shattering glass, gasps, and clanking silverware combined. Posthaste, I excuse myself and jolt out of sight. Not sticking around to assess the damage, I turn the corner and enter a section with significantly fewer people—and places to run. Heart drumming against my chest and not knowing the exact moment my life transformed from an epic romance to a Tarantino film, I frantically search for the Blakemans. I halt, squeezing my sides to catch my breath, and think logically. They can’t see me like this. And what if Sunny approaches the table exigently demanding pen on paper?
I grab a pile of napkins and kickstart my prefrontal cortex, searching it for answers while I aggressively dab at my chest. Refusal to give any human the satisfaction of booting me off this island fuels me to locate a closet or long tablecloth to hide underneath. Seconds later, I spot a more suitable solution: a woman sitting facing the window.Alone. A solution that doesn’t include me being marked with scents of ginger, citrus, and shame while I hide like a child inside a coat rack.
After wiping the sweat teasing my brow, I check the stain again, which seems to have tripled in size. Nothing has gone as planned, and now, a complete stranger stands as my potential savior. I growl in frustration, flinging the pile of napkins onto the table.Look alive, Basil. With flared nostrils, I blow the frizzy flyaway hairs out of my face, smooth my ruined dress, and march toward the table.
Whisking past the woman from behind, I yank the open chair back and drop down, two hands slapping the table with a pronounced smack. “Listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But I need you to be my wife—”
What the hell?
“Caroline?”
She startles, the insanely attractive Caroline that I ghosted. Her eyebrows knit together, and her decadently full lips part as she studies me with the deepest brown eyes I've seen since I left her that hotel room. I trail the contours of her perfectly muscular shoulders underneath a tank top that I’ve never been so jealous of. Time stills as I lose myself in a world much better than the current one. Speechless, we stare until the heat in my cheeks scorches, causing me to blink. Right as I remember how to speak, Sunny wanders into the room, approaching the table with a smug grin on her face.
Oh no.
CHAPTER 6
CAROLINE
“B.H.J?”It takes me a minute to realize it’s actually her.
Her head yanks back. “What’s a B.H.J?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” I shake my head. “What are you doing here?” I point at her chest. “There’s a little something on your dress.”
After glancing behind me, she holds up her palms, whispering, “I’ll do the talking.”
She grabs my maroon jacket resting on top of my bag and slides into it, not bothering to roll up the oversized sleeves. The way she sinks into the chair tells me the staff member is no longer there.
“She turned around.” She takes an audible breath and our eyes meet. “Me? Why areyouhere?”
“Can I—” Ignoring my question, she examines my hand without touching me. “You're not wearing a ring? Good. So you’re here alone?”
It’s my turn to yank my head back. “Is it difficult to say, ‘Hi, I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’d love to buy you coffee sometime?’ It’s much better than your approach.”
“We already tried that. Remember how the other morning turned out?” She tilts her head, that cute right dimple on full display.
“Wow.” I scoff a laugh, recalling the spill on her clothes, ignoring the fabric’s tightness around her breasts. “Says the person who looks like she lost a battle with a blender. You have some nerve to bark demands. And you know what else? I bought you breakfast. I never buy anyone breakfast, B.H—damn it, what’s your name, anyway?”
