“Good.” He reaches for the glasses of Prosecco and hands me one. “To us.”
I raise my glass and return his toast as I scramble for words that will make me sound unaffected. “To our partnership and mutual success.”
We sip, and the bubbles burn as soon as they hit my tongue. I choke up and barely manage to swallow. Tristan caught me off guard. This engagement ring is the most unexpected and romantic gesture ever, and in the same breath, it is possibly the most unromantic engagement moment ever—not that he popped the question or went down on one knee, but that goes without saying.
I herd my scattered thoughts and rogue emotions into a corner and glance down at the ring as it catches the light and sparkles. This must have cost him a fortune.Who the hell shops for engagement rings at the airport terminal?Now I know who.“This must have been seriously expensive, and I thought you were broke.”
“I’m now, flat out,” he says with a dry chuckle as he leans closer. “Listen, I’m selectively broke. I choose where to spend my money and in the next three months I’m still going to pull my university salary, get some funds from my social media stuff, and I’m not going to spend a single cent while at Ne’emba. Plus it was tax free.”
“What a bargain.” I take another sip and shift in my seat. I would have been happy with a bottle cap ring. “You should keep the receipt and take it back once we’re done. Pump the money back into cleaning the oceans.”
“Lexi—” Tristan starts, but someone approaches our two-seater enclave.
We both look up in unison. It’s a woman with her phone in her hand, beaming. “Aww, that was so cute. I got it all on camera. Can I share it with you? And let me see the ring up close!”
Oh help. I swallow and hold out my trembling hand.
“It’s sogorge! You are such a cute couple! Can I Airdrop?”
“Eh, sure.” Tristan reaches for his phone, a weary smile on his lips. “Thank you.”
For a moment there’s a reprieve as the woman who’s witnessed our whole unromantic engagement sends the photos to Tristan’s phone.
Ever since that day I walked in on Mia Reed and The Head, I’ve been camera cautious. And now I’ve been recorded getting fake-engaged in Heathrow Terminal Five. I’m not superstitious, but this has black cats and broken mirrors all over it.
“You two haven’t kissed yet,” the woman says as she readies her camera for more shots. “I’m waiting for that moment?—”
I stand and reach for my bag. “Tristan, I bet they’re boarding our flight already, and we’re running late.”
“Yes. Yes, we are. Got a bit distracted there.” Tristan is up and grabs his things.
I shoot the woman my fakest happy-guest smile and make a beeline for our gate.
Chapter Eleven
TRISTAN
It’s just past two in the afternoon, and after a stop in Dar es Salaam, on the coast of Tanzania, we’re finally stepping out of the airplane at Pemba Island’s tiny airport. A trickle of sweat ambles down my temple—this heat is next level—as I look at Lexi. She’s showing the signs of two days’ nonstop travel: dark circles under her eyes, clothes a sticky, creased mess, and an itch of irritation as she breathes in the heat. Yep. Traveling in jeans to the tropics is never a good idea.
“Here.” I reach for her hand and offer an encouraging squeeze. She wants to pull free, but first impressions and all that. Best not fail off the bat at this fake-engagement business. “That’s us.” I hold on tighter and tug her toward the man holding a board with our names on it. He’s dressed in a white cotton shirt and stone-colored shorts and smiles widely as I make eye contact. “This is it.” I let go of her hand so we can both steer the carts with our luggage. “You good there?” I ask.
She audibly swallows. “Oh God. I think I’m going to expire.”
The closer we come to our final destination, the more tense Lexi grows. During the overnight flight she was fidgety as allhell, and neither of us got proper shut-eye. At one point I threatened to squeeze into her chair and wrap myself around her like a straitjacket.Thatfroze her for a second, and then she exhaled a long, hard sigh. She finally relaxed enough to fall asleep. The idea of faking an engagement was one thing, putting our ruse into action is stressing her even more.
“Relax,” I mutter under my breath. “Nobody here knows you from a bar of soap.”
“Can I remind you that my career is on the line, and you have a crazy deadline?” she huffs.
“Yes, but Nathan Beaumont isn’t meeting us off this plane, so we’re good.” I hold my hand out and look our African meet-and-greet straight in the eye. “Hi, Tristan Martinelli. My fiancée, Lexi O’Reilly.”
“Welcome! I’m Mike Shabani, your captain. Welcome to Beaumont Hotels.” Mike pumps my hand and then his gaze jumps to Lexi’s face before settling on her hand with the ring on her finger. “Lexi. Short for Alexandra? Welcome!”
“Hi,” Lexi says with a smile, finally deflating. “I look forward to working with you.”
“Yes! Me too!” Mike’s enthusiasm seems entirely honest and sincere, and he’s all smiles. “Let me help you with that.” He takes hold of Lexi’s luggage cart, which is stacked with my things. “You don’t travel light, huh?” He laughs.
I chuckle. “I’m the guilty one, not Lexi. Those crates are full of diving equipment.”
