I drag my fingers through my hair, at a crossroads. Lexi squeezes my shoulder—in warning? Who knows. For me, there’s trust between all of us in this small room, and with a shrug, I share. “I’m working on a side project while we’re here. When I told you these three months are my salvation, I wasn’t joking. You want to see?”
Roger’s eyes jump between mine and Lexi’s, probably sensing that he’s been let into the inner circle. “Of course.”
“Hmm…” Lexi hums. “It’s Tristan’s love letter to the ocean.”
My love letter to the ocean.
Nobody has ever seen my project in that light, not even me. But it’s exactly that: a love letter. It’s more than proving to Dad that I’m worthy, that I can excel in my life away from his expectations, in something totally independent of him. It’s a visual manifestation of my love for the place where I found inner peace after my family made my life hell. It captures a love that will stand the test of time, again and again.
I reach for Lexi’s fingers where they still rest warm on my shoulder and give them a squeeze. She leans over and kisses thetop of my head. My heart stalls at this sweet gesture. Was it for Roger’s sake, for keeping up the show, or was it an honest-to-goodness beautiful kiss straight from the heart?
I don’t know.
But Lexi’s ability to sum me up in so few words shows how well she knows me.
And that is scary as fuck.
Chapter Twenty-Six
LEXI
“The next one will be easier,” Jem assures me.
“I surely hope so,” I say, forcing my shoulders to relax. “But you breezed through it.”
“We’ve done this so many times, but you stressed about everything.” Jem looks around at almost all the staff gathered discreetly under the dining room awning, enjoying the live entertainment.
This wedding has been a challenge for me. I’ve never orchestrated something so special and intimate on an island in the middle of nowhere before. But now that I’m stepping back and seeing it all come together under Jem’s gentle hand, I can relax. There were some tense moments in that office, but everything is perfect. I could have gone for a tan on the beach yesterday, and it wouldn’t have mattered.
Deshni sidles up to me with a shy smile. “What do you think?” she asks.
“You and Sarika are amazing.” I squeeze her hand. I saw the bride for her pre-ceremony photoshoot, and she looked striking after Deshni and Sarika’s hair and makeup. The sisters’ talentsare on full display with the entourage too, and those two women are worth their weight in gold, given everything they manage for the spa and for the bridal parties at this wedding destination.
The sun is setting, and the ceremony is finally about to begin. Two more nights to go. After the wedding, some guests have a day of recovery before flying back to Europe. Some are leaving tomorrow. This wedding party is a small group, more friends than family. The various parents keep to themselves, but the bride and groom’s friends are a handful. I’ve seen Tristan only in passing as he’s been busy with the diving and afternoon whale-shark outings they asked him to guide. The guests are maxing their experience, and that’s totally understandable. If I got an all-inclusive trip to a wedding on Ne’emba Island, I’d make the most of it too.
Enter the ever-generous Matthias de Foch, who is walking his sister down the aisle—on a Persian carpet no less. Her flowing strapless dress flutters in the wind, catching against his leg and almost tripping him. They laugh together, and it’s a sweet moment. There’s no dad, and the mom isn’t exactly mingling. There’s a story there, but after my first encounter with Matthias, he’s kept his distance. Thank God for Tristan.
I look over to where Roger has stepped up next to Deshni, his fingers brushing hers. Everybody else watches the bride and groom, and I’m probably the only one to notice how Roger and Deshni first withdraw from the line of staff and then disappear into the foliage.
They might not be destined to be together, which breaks my heart, but at least they’re making the most of the time they have. At the thought, I close my eyes and battle the knot in my throat.
Where is my fiancé exactly?
Tristan is probably working. It’s as if he’s on a countdown that has put its foot on the accelerator. At night he works on hisTV series, whereas I am dead asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow. So many things to be grateful for right now.
Jem put us on the spot the other day when she said Tristan and I have looked like we had a tiff since we arrived. Are we that awkward with each other? Surely not. We’ve been trying to play our parts, but it’s becoming harder to believe there’s nothing more behind them. I love his gestures of affection, even if they’re for show. Even if they make my heart beat at an unhealthy rate, and even if they stoke that need in me that’s only been building since the night we scraped our past clean.
I mean, Tristan started this sexual thing between us with an invitation to shower with him on that morning that now feels like eons ago. He might have been teasing, but surely if it’s just about sex for him, and it’s just about sex for me, there’s no harm, no foul? I thought I made that clear when I said we’d be done when we say our goodbyes to Ne’emba.
I wipe a rogue tear that runs down my cheek. At least anybody watching me will think I’m moved by this intimate wedding.
Thatkiss…
I knew it would be like that—explosive. I can’t stop thinking about it. We might have cleared the air, but as we did, we filled it with something worse: desire, need, and a wish for something I can never have. I’ll always fantasize about being Tristan’s endgame, but he is the last guy on Earth to tie himself down.
An arm slips around my waist and pulls me back against a hard male chest. I close my eyes, the feel of him so familiar now, that fresh-shower smell when he comes from the dive center intoxicating.
“It looks amazing,” Tristan murmurs in my ear.
