AllFreeNovel
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Because when you strip all the lies of this fake honeymoon away, we’re nothing to each other besides people who will have to work together when we get home. People who can’t afford to kiss for the fun of it.
Derek is perfectly sober now. His laughter dies and he sits up with a slight frown. “You think it was a mistake?”
“Yes! We can’t…kiss like that in our situation. Our lines are going to be blurred all over the place, and it just…it can’t happen again. In private.”
His head tilts. “In private?” he asks, a curious spark to his words.
Yes, you heard the loophole correctly, Derek.
“I mean…I assume we’ll have to…embrace at some point in public over this week. And I think that’s fine. But in here”—Ihover my hand over the bedding in a very Alexa Rose–type gesture—“no embracing. Talking only.”
“So we don’t get blurry.”
“20/20 vision only.”
He stares at me a minute and then grins, accepting my silent challenge.Game on.
“All right, love birds, we want this to be fun and not take up too much of your time today, and hopefully not end with Derek’s nose pouring blood and Nora passing out,” says Kamaya, with a little laugh. I can’t help but laugh too because the embarrassment has worn off and now I’m just left with a great anecdotal story for a party. “So we were thinking it would be fun to snap some candid photos of you two playing together on the beach. Sound easy?” says Kamaya, smiling happily to us, barefoot in the sand right next to the ever-quiet Alec.
But no. It does not sound easy. And up until this moment, I didn’t allow myself to think about being photographed. I’m not just being modest when I say I don’t take good photos. The moment a lens is pointed in my direction, I forget how to act like a human. My shoulders go rigid, and I sweat, and my smile looks more akin to a predator with rabies. I’ve been this way my entire life and I wonder if Derek remembers. My social media is all artful photos of my hand holding a coffee mug or my feet in snuggly socks. Everyone assumes it’s because I’m trying to be mysterious and creative. No. It’s becauseI look like a clown popping out in a haunted house when the camera finds me.
“Why don’t you guys go stand over there, just in front of the waves, and do that sort of lovey-dovey gaze you were giving each other on the boat yesterday.”
Derek and I glance at each other and our expressions are a mirror image: We were giving lovey-dovey gazes? But more important, my brain fixates on:Hewas givingmea lovey-dovey gaze? More and more signs are pointing toward Derek having feelings for me. And here’s the problem, I absolutely have feelings for him. That shouldn’t feel like a shock since part of me has never stopped loving Derek. But there’s a difference between having always loved a man you knew as your younger self, and reallylikingthe man you know now on top of that. It’s dangerous. It potentially complicates everything.
Derek and I begin walking down toward the water when Kamaya’s voice stops us. “Oh uh—sorry to be awkward, guys, but…” She gives an apologetic smile. “Mind losing the cover-up and shirt?”
Oh my gosh.
Not only did I not consider that I’d have to be photographed this week, but I also did not consider that I’d be photographed in my swimsuit that will be put in a magazine! Cool. Great. Fun.
“Righty-o, Captain,” I say. “But only on one condition. You see, I have cellulite on the backs of my legs and stretch marks on my inner thighs—”
“Oh, don’t worry! We’ll edit all that out.”
“No. That’s not what I mean. I have cellulite and Idon’twant it edited out. If you’re going to put my body in a magazine, I want it to be mine. I want women to see it and see themselves in the photo too.” Another thing my mom taught me: Love your body—it works hard for you every day of your life.
“Huh,” she says, and I can’t decide if she’s impressed by me oralready dreading the team of men she’s going to have to stand up to on my behalf when they try to airbrush me within an inch of my life. “I love that, Nora. You have a deal.”
“Thank you.” I nod and then whip off my cover-up and lay it on the beach chair. I set my hat on top of it and then remove my hairband and set my hair loose. I run my fingers through it a few times in hopes that it looks like effortless beach crinkles and not a raccoon who just climbed out of a dumpster. And then I turn around.
Derek is staring at me.
Likestaringstaring. His eyes unashamedly run over every inch of my pink-bikini-clad body. Which listen, I like my body. She’s a good body and it’s taken me years to come to terms with the fact that I can love her even if the media tells me she’s not up to the standards they expect. I simply don’t care anymore because I’m happy in my skin and I refuse to spend my days hating it because some person back in the day decided I should have a tiny waist, a big booty, and huge breasts. My body is soft and squishy in places and flat in others, and it’s perfect for me.
But the way Derek is looking at me right now makes me feel as if my body is the standard all other bodies should be judged against. Like mine is his ticket to eternal happiness. Like I am a freaking goddess—and I realize no one has ever appreciated my body quite like Derek.
I’m sure every inch of me is turning as pink as my bikini under his gaze. He’s not supposed to be looking at me like that. We’re supposed to be married, for god’s sake! He needs to appear at least a little immune to me by now. Instead, he looks like if I step any closer, he’s going to take a bite out of me.
He drags his eyes back up to my face, and it takes him a second to snap back to reality before he reaches his hands behind his head andtugs his shirt off his so,sofine body. And now it’s my turn to drown in a pool of desire. I rake my eyes over his strong physique and admire not only the shape but the hard work and determination it’s taken him to get to this place. His tan skin is already glistening with a nice sheen of sweat, highlighting his massive shoulders and defined pecs. He’s all hefty brawn and ropy muscle. A warm breeze rolls off the ocean and tousles his hair. The man not only has glorious abs but a stack of fully visible oblique muscles down the sides of his torso, and…
Wait.
He runs his hand through his hair, exposing his inner bicep. My eyes snag on that little black tattoo I’ve never been granted a good look at. And for the first time I’m able to identify that one blot of ink tucked secretly inside his arm. It’s a single letter.
N.
It might as well be tattooed in neon glowing letters for how my attention zeroes in on it.
