When she emerged from the bathroom in a crisp white halter dress that made her look like she was born to sail around the Mediterranean on a super-yacht, he had to remind himself to breathe.
“You look nice,” she said, eyeing his linen pants and pale blue button-down.
“You look beautiful.”He said it before he could filter himself, then watched color bloom across her cheeks.
At the door, he caught her hand.“Ready?”
She laced her fingers through his.“Ready.”
As they climbed the stairs to the rear deck, Omar eased into character.Oscar Irfan was a successful entrepreneur, confident, madly in love with his wife.That last one felt a little too easy to inhabit for his liking.
The breakfast spread was obscene.He scanned the room, taking in the tropical fruits carved into elaborate shapes, the assortment of jewel-like pastries that looked like they’d been flown in from Paris, and the chef in whites standing behind a made-to-order omelet station.Marielle bypassed the mimosa-filled champagne flutes and the Bloody Mary bar and beelined for the row of French presses filled with fresh coffee.Omar catalogued exits, noted the positions of the two bodyguards stationed near the salon entrance, and registered the camera mounted discreetly in the rigging overhead.
Brad and Poppy were already sitting at a table.They each had a Bloody Mary and a plate piled high with food.And they both looked surprisingly fresh and well-rested considering how much they’d drunk the night before.Uppers, Omar guessed.
Brad wore board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned to reveal his hairless chest.Poppy had poured herself into a barely there bikini with a sheer coverup that concealed nothing.
“Morning, lovebirds!”Poppy called out, her voice too bright for this early.“Sleep well?”
“Like the dead,” Omar said, pulling out a chair for Marielle before taking the seat beside her.Under the table, he rested his hand on her knee—possessive, affectionate, exactly what Oscar would do.The tremor that ran through her leg was so slight he almost missed it.“That bed is incredible.”
“Right?”Brad forked a piece of French toast into his mouth.“Idris’s old man doesn’t do anything halfway.Wait until you see the toys.”
“Toys?”Marielle asked.
“Jet skis, paddle boards, scuba equipment, there’s even a whale harpoon.”He grinned.“The Secret Service won’t let me use that one.Apparently, it’s a ‘security risk.’”
As if summoned, the two agents appeared at the top of the stairs.They’d ditched last night’s khakis and polos in favor of tactical shorts and moisture-wicking shirts, but their vigilance was unchanged.Their eyes swept the deck, catalogued threats, and settled on Brad.
Omar clocked the assessment in their gaze—they were evaluating him and Marielle, too, constantly recalculating whether the Canadian newlyweds were who they claimed to be.He’d worked protective details.These guys were good.
No, they were among the best.Of course they were.They’d been chosen to protect the Second Family.Which made them dangerous, even more so than the half-dozen armed men inexplicably clustered together on the top deck.
Robbie—the one who’d tried to buy them drinks at the bar—gave a curt nod before both agents retreated to hover near the salon entrance.Close enough to respond to threats, far enough to give Brad the illusion of freedom.
“Pair of doom merchants,” Brad muttered into his coffee.
“Where are Idris and Hanna?”Omar asked, keeping his tone casual while his eyes tracked the guards’ positions, the agents’ sight lines, and the best route from this deck to the tender platform if they needed to evacuate quickly.Always assessing.
Poppy rolled her eyes.“Idris is on a business call.Hanna’s probably waiting for permission to breathe.”She caught Marielle’s expression and laughed.“Sorry, that was bitchy.But seriously, have you noticed how he treats her?Like she’s a pet.A really expensive, really pretty pet.”
Omar felt Marielle tense beside him.He squeezed her knee gently—half warning, half reassurance.
“She seems sweet,” Marielle said carefully, and Omar wanted to kiss her for gracefully sidestepping the potential mine.
“Oh, she is.That’s what makes it sad.”Poppy lowered her voice, leaning in conspiratorially.“Their families arranged it.Super old-school.Her dad runs some kind of investment firm—works with Idris’s dad.She didn’t have a choice.”
Brad shot her a look.“Maybe we shouldn’t be discussing other people’s relationships.”
“Why not?It’s not like it’s a secret.”But Poppy turned back to Marielle and changed the subject.“Anyway, you two seem like the real deal.How long did you say you’ve been together?”
“Oh, two years, I guess.Married a year,” Marielle said.
“A year of pinching myself,” Omar said.“She’s way out of my league.”
“Stop.”She swatted his arm playfully, then caught his hand and laced their fingers together.
The gesture was part of their cover.He knew that.She knew that.But the way her thumb traced small circles on the back of his hand felt like something else entirely.Something real.
