Suzette set the phone down on the table, exhaled, then turned to Justin with a soft smile. “Well. That’s it, mister movie star,” she said softly. “You’re stuck with me.”
He tapped her chin with a finger. “I accept my fate. Permanent attachment to one Suzette Bosch. No complaints. Zero regrets.”
20
With Suzette tied up at the hotel the day after Christmas, Justin used the time to set a few things in motion. So far, no photos of them had surfaced, but he knew that grace period wouldn’t last. After talking to her, Suzette agreed with him that they needed to get ahead of the narrative. He spent the morning on calls with his publicist, shaping and reshaping an announcement until it felt right — succinct, revealing only what they were comfortable sharing. He’d still need Suzette’s approval, of course, even though she had said to do what was needed.
He added a single photo taken after their call with Essie yesterday, the one where Suzette had laughed at something he’d said, bright-eyed and beautiful.
When he read through the final version, it felt … true.
And incredibly exciting.
He had never announced a relationship. Never been in one important enough to announce.
But Suzette … he wanted the world to know exactly who he’d fallen in love with. And putting out an official release made onething unmistakably clear — he was serious about her. Serious in a way he’d never been with anyone.
A soft knock on the slider’s frame pulled him from the notes he’d been jotting down.
Then he saw her — and air simply stopped moving in his lungs. That crocheted halter top showing off her midriff, those faded jeans, those bare feet … and that smile. Hell, he’d never seen her wear anything other than a dress, but those jeans did something to him.
Admit it, old boy. Suzette could wear a paper sack, and you’d still be done for.
“Wanna play hooky with me?” she asked.
“If it ends with us naked and sweaty, I’m in.”
She snorted a laugh. “Tempting … but no. At least not yet. Right now, it’s a picnic and a dip to cool down afterward.”
At the mention of food, his stomach grumbled, reminding him it was a long time since their early breakfast. He tossed the pen aside. “Lead the way, sweet Suze.”
Instead of heading to the beach as he’d assumed, she led him down the balcony stairs to the small poolside patio, where a picnic basket sat waiting on the wooden table.
They shared a pleasant lunch — chilled rosé, a scrumptious chicken Caesar salad, and warm French bread — trading easy, inconsequential small talk by unspoken agreement, both deliberately skirting the proverbial elephant in the room.
Then Miem’s unmistakable, strident voice cut through the quiet, followed by the rumble of Anders arguing back.
“I told Anders not to disturb us,” Suzette muttered, setting her wineglass down. “And what is Miem even doing here? She was supposed to be out with Piet on the catamaran.”
Justin pushed his chair back. “Wait here. Let me find out.”
On the other side of the gate, Miem was waving her cellphone as if it were on fire. “They have to see this. Now.”
“Miem,” Justin said as he approached. “What is it?”
But he already knew. Time was up.
“My friend sent this to me,” she snapped. “She recognized Suzette.”
Justin gave Anders a nod, and the man unlocked the gate. Miem charged through immediately.
“Where’s Suzette?”
“Here.” Suzette appeared at his side, slipping her arm through his and leaning into him.
“You two are all over social media,” Miem accused.
Suzette’s fingers dug into his skin.
