“You like me for real?”
She wrapped her soft hands around my face. “Is my baby feeling insecure?”
The question hit different coming from her. Not mocking, not teasing—just genuine concern mixed with that knowing smile she got when she could read me.
“Nah, I’m not insecure,” I said, but my voice came out rougher than I intended. “Just... this is new for me. All of it. Having someone who wants to take care of me, who pays attention to the little shit. You buy me shit knowing damn well I can get whatever I want. Yet you insist on using your money.”
Her fingers massaged the hair on my beard, and I found myself leaning into the touch without meaning to.
“Lesley Grimson, the man who runs half of Coupeville, doesn’t know how to let somebody love on him?” Her voice was soft, no judgment in it. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It ain’t sad. It’s just how I was raised. You handle your own shit, you don’t depend on nobody, you don’t let people get close enough to—” I stopped myself before I said too much.
“Close enough to what?” she pressed, her hands still framing my face. “To disappoint you? To leave?”
I didn’t answer, but she saw the truth in my eyes anyway. But I was preaching to the choir, my wife had grown up and lived her life the same way.
“Baby,” she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. You understand that? This ain’t temporary for me anymore.”
“How do I know that?” The words came out before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way that made me want to take them back immediately.
She was quiet for a moment, studying my face, wondering if I was for real. Then she smiled softly.
“Because I’m standing in your closet at seven in the morning, about to pack your drawers and socks for a trip I know damn well ain’t just a vacation.” She leaned up and kissed my chin. “Because I got you, Lesley.”
“Coco—”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to my lips. “Let me pack for my husband. Let me take care of you. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved. This is about you just as it is about me. An exchange.”
I nodded. She kissed me once more, soft and sweet, then stepped around me, pulling clothes from hangers with the phone tucked to her ear like she’d done it a hundred times before. Ordering food, setting shit up, moving through our closet.
And watching her do that, choosing shirts she knew I’d actually wear, not giving a damn that she was half-dressed while barking orders at somebody on the line—I felt it hit me. This was no performance. This was what it felt like when a woman really fucked with you. When she wanted you comfortable, wanted you fed, wanted you straight.
A few hours later, we were downstairs waiting for my father. Coco looked flawless in that cream linen dress, legs out, fresh braids shining courtesy of Yaslynn’s plug. She had that bounce in her step, like somebody about to touch sand and sun for the first time in too long. I wanted this trip to hit right for her.
The Bentley pulled up, Pops stepping out first, sharp in his linen like he owned the damn island already. Then Karyn slid out behind him, smiling big.
“Colecion!” she beamed, voice too bright. “I’m so excited we’re doing this together. Girls’ trip to paradise!”
Coco’s smile stayed polite but clipped. “Paradise sounds right. And the company should be… interesting.”
That was my wife, never showing her full hand, never slipping. Graceful even when she was still feeling someone out.
On the ride to the airfield, I kept my hand on her knee, thumb brushing lazy circles while she eased into conversation with Karyn about the resort, spas, and vacation spots. By the time the jet came into view, Coco leaned into me, voice low.
“This is beautiful.”
“Nothing but the best for my wife,” I told her, and I meant it.
Once airborne, Karyn and Pops sat across from us, Karyn flipping through a travel magazine while occasionally pointing out activities to Coco. My woman curled into me, head resting on my shoulder, her perfume taking over the cabin.
“Thank you for this,” she whispered, her lips brushing my collarbone. “This is exactly what we needed.”
I pressed a kiss onto her hair. “You deserve it all, baby.”
The hum of the jet faded into background noise as I held her close, her hand resting on my thigh. I wasn’t just thinking about the island—I was thinking about the surprise waiting for her there, and how perfect it was going to be.
And truth be told, I was thinking about bending her over in that villa, too. About how the second business was handled, I was putting her ass in the sand, then the sheets, then anywhere else I wanted. She kept rubbing my leg, making it hard for me to focus.
