eleven
. . .
Heath opened a bleary and reluctant eye, squinting against the glare of the sun pouring into what he’d taken to calling his birdcage.
The small sleeping porch was at the back of the house, just across from the bedroom, and had a lovely view of the water and one of the island’s numerous beaches. It also sat directly in the sun’s path, and could easily double as a microwave, thanks to his forgetting to close the shades before passing out exhausted the previous night.
He rolled onto his back with a pitiful groan and threw an arm across his eyes. Dinner had been amazing. He’d gone to a fancy restaurant or two in his lifetime, but the understated elegance of the dishes at the resort was otherworldly. Possibly because of the freshness of the ingredients, but the family was so delightful, it was impossible for anything to disappoint. All he knew was he’d been on cloud nine when Isabella finally dropped him at the villa well after one in the morning.
What an utterly delightful woman she was. Stunningly intelligent, witty, and her stories! He’d laughed so much, his ribs still ached. It had been ages since he’d had that much fun.
Which, of course, was the problem.
He groaned again and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the most perfectly squishable pillow. He wasn’t supposed to be having fun. What sort of man was he if he broke his oath on day one?
The night was simply an anomaly. He couldn’t very well decline a personal invitation from the owners. Even the most stalwart knight occasionally had to bend to authority. Plus, it would hardly do for the newlyweds never to be seen together. For the sake of their story, he’d had to make an appearance.
God, but this marriage of convenience was proving to be incrediblyinconvenient for him.
Going forward, he would decline all invitations and stick to the original plan. Let them think of him as antisocial. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Celebrations like theirs were far from his comfort zone, and as a dedicated introvert, he required substantial time to recharge.
Westin surely wouldn’t mind flying solo. He’d abandoned their vows within a heartbeat of Isabella’s arrival. Granted, the vows weren’t real, but the family didn’t know that. No one had specifically called out hishusband’swandering eye and tendency toward colorful euphemisms, but surely they’d noticed.
Christ. Even his fake relationships were disastrous.
Thank goodness Westin had left right after the dessert course—a scrumptious sorbet topped with fresh cream and berries. He’d expected they’d leave together to maintain appearances, but Westin had insisted he stay and enjoy himself once Isabella promised to see him home in one piece.
An admittedly premature departure for a man who’d boasted of his partying prowess, but also a relief. It was better for his sanity that Westin kept his distance. The man was a distraction. Anunwelcomedistraction.
He was also an impossible personality to pin down. Everytime Heath thought he had things figured out, Westin did something unexpected, and he was back to square one. Was the man a heartless womanizer? Using his money and looks towoo and screw? A phrase he’d seen used on a forum that made his English degree shrivel. Or was he a jilted lover seeking succor?
Much as he’d like to, he couldn’t begrudge the man wanting some affection after having his heart broken. That was assuming Westin was telling the truth, and he actually had a heart. He’d said he was a lawyer, after all, but hadn’t specified what sort.
Maybe he was saving orphans from deportation, or maybe he let career criminals skate with racketeering charges. It was entirely too easy to envision him swimming laps in a pool full of money. One of several methods to maintain that ridiculously perfect body.
It doesn’t matter, Heath reminded himself.You’re not here for friends and fond memories—or to seek your own succor.
What Westin got up to wasn’t his business, though he might suggest the man have a bit more discretion. Flaunting himself like last night would only call their relationship into question. What would the family think if they were outed as liars?
He hated to think of tarnishing Isabella’s opinion of him. She’d been so lovely and welcoming. All the more reason to lay low, he decided, pulling himself up to sitting with a stretch and yawn. If any mercy existed in the universe, there would be caffeine awaiting him in the kitchen.
“Have fun last night?”
Coffee and Westin both greeted him from the counter as he shuffled into the room. He took a steaming mug with a grunt of appreciation and let the aroma bathe his senses in promises of coherence.
Westin chuckled while watching his ritual. He was leaning against the kitchen’s small island with a cup of coffee of his own and a newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him. Hewas clearly allergic to shirts, having on only a pair of charcoal grey lounge pants that clung to his ass and thighs in a way that did terrible things to Heath’s brain chemistry.
Worse, the glasses perched atop his head were not for the sun. They were for reading, and the slim silver frames made his eyes glitter when he perched them back on his nose.
Be strong.
“I’m surprised you didn’t stick around.” He didn’t specifically say,to make more of an ass of yourself with Isabella,but he felt it was sufficiently implied.
“Food and wine plus travel equals tired,” he said, not looking up from the paper.
Heath peered closer and saw it was theWall Street Journal.“I didn’t think physical papers existed anymore.”
“They only print enough copies for posh hotels and aged heiresses in need of bird cage liners.”
