Olive looks out the window, wide-eyed. “This doesn’t feel real,” she murmurs.
I smile, watching her more than the view. “It’s real. And we’re just getting started.”
We drive through a gated entrance tucked between jungle and coastline. The villa is hidden behind high white walls and thick greenery—secluded, exclusive, silent.
Until the gates open.
And she sees it.
The driver pulls up to a stone path lined with flickering torches and birds-of-paradise blooms. Our luggage is already being unloaded by discreet staff, but Olive doesn’t notice.
Because she’s staring at the villa.
And yeah—I kind of planned it that way.
It’s all open design, carved wood beams and sheer white curtains dancing in the breeze. The entire front of the villa opens to the ocean—like the building is reaching out to the sea. There’s a private infinity pool that disappears into the edge of the horizon, with two loungers shaded by oversized palms. The air smells like hibiscus and warm stone and something faintly citrusy I can’t name.
Candles are already flickering on every flat surface—low, golden glows casting shadows across polished floors and woven rugs. Tropical flowers spill from vases. A tray of fresh fruit and champagne waits for us on a teak table under a canopy of white linen.
And then there's the bed.
It sits in the center of the villa, raised slightly on a platform, draped in gauzy fabric and backed by a hand-carved wooden headboard. It’s massive. Indulgent. Sinful.
Olive is silent beside me.
Until she lets out a sound that’s part sigh, part laugh, part stunned disbelief. “Ash,” she whispers. “This is…”
She turns to me, blinking like she’s trying to process it all. “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
My throat goes tight, and not because of the view.
“You deserve it,” I say simply. “You’ve had a hell of a week. I wanted it to be perfect for you.”
She steps forward, barefoot now, and walks straight to the edge of the infinity pool. The turquoise water reflects the sky and her silhouette, and she stares out at the ocean like she might cry.
I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.
She leans back into me without hesitation.
“This is going to be the best fake engagement moon in the history of fake engagement moons,” she says softly.
I grin into her hair.
“Careful,” I whisper. “You might never want to leave.”
Her fingers slide over mine.
“I already don’t.”
And just like that, the chaos of LA, the cameras, the headlines, the mess of pretending—it all fades away.
Because right now, there’s only her and me.
And paradise.
23
OLIVE
