“So, this is pretty much what the guest rooms look like,” Don says. “This is bigger, though, as you have this extra sitting room to the side, over and above your outside living area.” He pauses to take off his flip-flops and wash his feet in a foot basin at the door. “For the sand, you know.” He leads the way into the room, and we all dip our feet and trail behind him through the covered outdoor seating area. “Here’s the kitchenette for coffee and so on, but meals stay in the staff canteen to keep it contained. We don’t want to develop a cockroach problem.”
“Cockroach problem?” Lexi croaks, her tired eyes blinking.
“It’s common in the tropics. Just don’t tempt them with food,” Miriam says. “This way to the bathroom.”
We follow into the open space behind the dividing wall. “The toilet is separate, but here you have the bathtub and outdoor shower,” she says. “Twin basins, and a walk-in closet with a safe and a door you can lock.”
“Perfect. Exactly what we need. Very spacious.” I’m rambling now, but Lexi hasn’t peeped a word. She’s staring at the massive bathtub, set in an alcove on a raised dais. Next to it are the only glass windows I’ve spotted in the whole place, offering a view of the thick tropical forest. Candles line the windowsill.Fucking. Candles. Line. The. Windowsill.
“All good?” Don walks out of the bathroom back into the bedroom. “We were very comfortable here. Housekeeping looks after everything, of course. And you look after housekeeping.” He gives Lexi a smile, and her lips twitch up at the corners.
Oh babes, not the fake smile.She’s been stunned speechless.
“It’s fantastic,” I say as I try to guide everybody to the front of the cottage. We need alone time. As a last resort, I pull Lexi to my side in another awkward hug. I plant a kiss on her forehead. “We made it, babes.”
“We sure did,” she says, stiff as a plank as she pats my chest.
“And here’s your luggage. Perfect timing.” Miriam’s all-consuming gaze locks on the porters as they stack our luggage in one corner. “We’ll meet again at the general guest area in three hours? Dinner is served starting at seven, so if we meet at six, it will give you some time to take a rest.”
“Sure. Thank you,” I tell them. “We’ll find our way.”
Don laughs. “You will. Can’t get lost here. Just follow the walkway.”
As soon as Miriam and Don’s backs are turned, Lexi twists out of my embrace. With a suppressed groan, I watch everybody walk off. Finally we’re alone, with only the piercing sound of a million cicadas and the gentle kiss of the waves on white sands coming through the few palm trees that separate our cottage from the beach.
I turn to Lexi, only to find her standing frozen, her face buried in her hands.
“You knew there was going to be a catch, didn’t you? Surely.” I wait for her to move, to peel her hands from her face, but she doesn’t. “Well, this is it,” I say as I wave at the most romantic hotel room I’ve ever seen. “Thisis the catch.”
Chapter Twelve
LEXI
The catch.
Shit.
The worst thing is, in the back of my head I knew this was coming our way. Here I am, with Tristan Martinelli, ensconced in what can only be labeledhoneymoon bliss. What a joke. But this is what I get for lying about being engaged. Serves me so goddamned right.
A shuffle sounds over the polished cement floor, which is cool under my bare feet. Warm fingers touch my own and slowly pull my hands from my face.
“You’re going to have to keep it together, babes. Otherwise we’re screwed.”
I stare up at Tristan, his dark eyes serious in the ill-lit interior of our… What the actual fuck do you call this? It has a roof, but it isn’t attached to the walls. Through all the open spaces, the ocean breeze shifts the air, and the quietchomp-chompof a fan that’s suspended over the bed is almost hypnotic. In this climate, the structure makes sense, as it’s cool and comfortable inside even though the sun is blazingly hot outside.
“Just say something, Lexi, anything.”
I pull in a sharp breath. “Don’t call me babes.” I shake my hands away from his firm hold. As much as his touch is comforting, it’s also dangerous.
He lets go and raises his hands in defense. “Right. What do you prefer? Baby? Babygirl? Doll face? Ma petite puce?” The last one he laces with a French accent.My little flea.“That should have the golden seal of Beaumont approval.”
“Ugh.” We are clearly both hot and bothered and winded by this only-one-bed-in-the-world’s-most-romantic-haven curve ball. I had one thought about this situation after my interview. Ever since, I’ve been suppressing the knowledge that bed-sharing might be coming our way, convinced I’d just handle it on the fly. That we’d wing it somehow. I brought this on myself, but winging things likethisis dangerous. I mean, honestly, does the bed need to look likethis? “This was such an idiotic idea?—”
“Yes, but we’re here now, and there’s no easy out—literally—so we’re going to have to stick it out, whether you like it or not.”
There’s no way off this island without a boat or a floatplane. And even then—“I need to shower.” I need to get away from Tristan and have a moment to adjust to this new reality.
“Go for it.”
