Page 139 of My Real Love Affair

Tonight was the right occasion.

I slipped it on. The silk felt cool against my sun-warmed skin. The fabric draped perfectly, falling across my hips in a way that emphasized every curve. It was elegant but sexy. Sophisticated but playful.

It was just right.

I turned in front of the mirror, examining myself from every angle. Any other night, wearing something this form-fitting would make me self-conscious. Despite my brand of body positivity, I would worry about my stomach or my thighs or a dozen other things that society had taught me to scrutinize.

But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted Austin to see me. Really see me. Wanted him to look at me the way he had on the beach, like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

I added simple jewelry. I didn’t want to take away from the beauty of the dress. I put on small gold hoops and a delicate bracelet. Again, nothing that would compete with the dress. I touched up my makeup, adding a bit more shimmer to my cheeks, a darker shade to my lips.

Then I reached for my phone, angling for a photo. This dress deserved to be documented. My followers would love to see me dressed up.

I stopped.

No. It wasn’t for Instagram. Wasn’t for my followers or my brand or the carefully curated image I’d built. It was just for Austin. For us.

I wanted him to feel special. He was the only one that was going to see me in it. Well, he and the crew. But I wanted him to know I wasn’t doing this for clicks. We were both stepping away from who we were supposed to be according to people who didn’t know us.

Smiling at the realization, I set my phone down without taking the photo. Some moments were meant to be private. Some things were too precious to share with the world. But I couldn’t resist checking my notifications while I was holding it. The phone showed a handful of messages. I scrolled through them.

My mom had sent three texts asking for more photos and reminding me to drink water. I sent back a quick selfie and a promise to stay hydrated.

Cleo had sent approximately fifteen messages, most of them memes and GIFs about yacht life. But the most recent one was a link to the Instagram account dedicated to Austin’s worst paparazzi photos.

Just reminding you what you’re working with,she’d written, followed by a string of crying-laughing emojis.

I clicked the link and scrolled through the latest additions. Austin looking disheveled leaving a nightclub. Austin with terrible bedhead at a coffee shop with black sunglasses hiding what I assumed would have been some horribly bloodshot eyes. Another one of him looking at the bottom of his shoe after obviously having stepped in something.

I laughed, shaking my head. God, Cleo was relentless. I was about to close out of Instagram when I noticed an email notification. From an address I didn’t recognize. Just a string of random numbers and letters.

The subject line was blank. But there was an attachment. A folder titled “Austin.”

I stared at it. My thumb hovered over the notification. Something about it felt off. Wrong. Like when you get a text from an unknown number asking you to click a link.

It was probably spam. A phishing attempt. Some hacker trying to get access to my phone and all my accounts. But why would they title the folder “Austin?” That seemed oddly specific.

It could be someone trying to mess with me. Send me something that would ruin this perfect trip in an attempt to plant seeds of doubt about Austin. Cleo would be more obvious. And she’d send it from her email account.

Whatever it was, if someone had to hide behind an anonymous email address to send it, I had no business opening it. I deleted the email, my finger decisive on the screen.

But my stomach was suddenly swirling with nerves. What if it was important? What if it was something I needed to know?

No. I shook my head at myself. That’s what they wanted me to think. Whoever “they” were. That’s how these things worked. They played on fear and curiosity and the need to know. It could be one of my followers that was jealous. Or maybe they thought I didn’t know about Austin’s past and were trying to warn me.

But I didn’t need to know. Whatever was in that folder, it could stay there.

I looked at myself in the mirror one more time, trying to recapture the confidence I had felt moments ago. The dress still looked beautiful. My makeup was still perfect. My skin still glowed. But the smile I managed wasn’t nearly as bright as the one I’d worn a minute ago.

There was a knock on the stateroom door. “Melody? You almost ready?”

Austin’s voice. Warm and familiar.

“Almost!” I called back. “Give me two minutes.”

I took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of anonymous emails out of my mind. This was my vacation. My time with Austin. I wasn’t going to let some random internet troll ruin it.

“I’ll be upstairs waiting,” he said.