But Dakota had also saved her life.
Maybe that was the con. Maybe he was keeping her close to watch her. Maybe the dancing, the tenderness, the way he’d brushed wet hair from her face on the dive platform—maybe all of it was performance.
Or maybe he was exactly who he seemed to be, and she was losing her mind.
“Jayden?”
She blinked. Dakota was watching her, concern creasing his forehead.
“Sorry.” She forced a smile. “Didn’t sleep well.”
“The diving thing?”
“Something like that.”
He reached out. Squeezed her shoulder. The touch was warm, brief, devastatingly gentle.
“We’ll figure out who did it,” he said. “I promise.”
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He sounded like he meant it. Looked like he meant it. Either he was the best liar she’d ever met, or he was genuinely trying to protect her.
She had no idea which one scared her more. But either way, she needed armor. “We have a few minutes before the shuttle arrives. I’m going shopping.”
He raised an eyebrow, but she grabbed her pack and headed to the gift shop.
The small store was a disaster of koala keychains and reef-themed beach towels, but it had a small rack of women’s clothing near the back. Jayden grabbed a cream linen blouse and a pair of cropped pants—her tropical wardrobe wasn’t built for wine country.
She paid and found Dakota standing in the lobby, their baggage already loaded. He held two coffees.
She took the coffee he offered. “Thanks.”
“Loaded with cream and sugar.”
She stared at him.
“What?” He lifted a shoulder. “A good groom knows his bride’s flavor.”
Oh boy.
The flight to Newcastle was short and bumpy. Jayden spent it staring out the window while her brain chewed through the Spectre intel.
Gender-neutral names on the tour. Like Dakota.
The vintage train to the Hunter Valley waited at the station like something from another century. Polished brass fittings gleamed in the morning sun. Restored wood paneling, dark with age and oil, lined the corridor. White tablecloths dressed the dining tables, and crystal wineglasses stood ready at each place setting, catching light from the tall windows.
The air inside smelled of old leather and furniture polish and something faintly floral—the remnants of a thousand journeys, a thousand tourists, a thousand bottles of wine opened and enjoyed as the countryside rolled past.
Bonnie was practically vibrating with excitement as she herded them aboard.
“Wine country, everyone! Four tastings, stunning views, and lunch on board before we head to our accommodations for tonight. This is the crown jewel of our Hunter Valley experience!”
Jayden found a seat by the window. The upholstery was burgundy velvet, worn soft with age. Dakota slid in beside her—close enough that their shoulders touched, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. Playing the newlywed role with an ease that made her stomach flip.
“This is nice,” he said, and his hand found hers in the space between them.
She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t, really—they were supposed to be newlyweds. That was the cover. That was the plan.
So why did his touch feel less like a performance and more like a promise?
