Fuck me. And here I thought she couldn't possibly get any more gorgeous. Clearly, she could, and my cock knows it. Even the bougainvillea climbing the far wall knows it.
I need to fucking behave like a civilized grown man and not a hormonal teenager.
"Is this too much?" Nadine asks.
"It's fine."
"Fine isn't an answer."
"Okay, then it's superfine."
"Ugh, you really need some kind of husband training."
"Are husbands often required to lie?"
"If the occasion calls for it, like when you need to boost your wife's self-esteem and confidence."
Wife. Fuck if that doesn't make something tighten in my chest. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Wait," she says, and I turn to find her holding out her left hand. "Do these look real to you?"
The wedding band and engagement ring—simple gold band paired with a modest diamond. Nothing flashy. Exactly what Nadine would pick if she were picking for herself.
"Let's just stick to the script." I look at the ring longer than necessary. "We should go."
The welcome dinner is set on an open-air terrace overlooking the ocean. String lights hang overhead, casting warm pools of light across white tablecloths. Candles flicker at the center of long communal tables. The sound of waves rises from the beach below, a constant rhythm beneath conversation.
I scan the placement cards before we reach our seats. Derek and Alice are two tables over, positioned with a direct sightline to where we'll be sitting. Convenient.
Derek's eyes find Nadine first, then track to me, and his face has the same expression as clients who expected an estimate and got the actual bill. It's equally satisfying in both contexts. He didn't expect to see me, clearly misjudging Nadine.
"Nadine, I had no idea you were married," says a woman who introduced herself as Tara from accounting. "How did you two meet?"
"We met in college," Nadine explains smoothly. "Through my best friend, actually—his twin sister."
"And the wedding?" Tara leans forward, genuinely curious or maybe excited to get the latest scoop. Either way, I know whatever we tell her will reach every ear by the end of the night, which will serve our purpose. "I had no idea you were even seeing someone seriously."
"Vegas, a month ago." Nadine smiles at me and grazes my jaw with her nail. My body, clearly reading this as foreplay, instantly hums with anticipation. My pulse pounds furiously as I do my best to calm my cock down. "We kept it quiet?—"
"She wanted a real ceremony," I say without missing a beat, desperately needing the distraction. "I said we could do that and the Vegas one. She said that was redundant and impractical. We compromised."
"He thinks we compromised," Nadine says, smiling up at me, making my heart do somersaults. "I made a unilateral decision."
"She did. Trust me, I know because I was there."
Tara laughs, and Nadine smiles at her wine glass. Under the table, her knee presses briefly against mine—not an accident, a thank-you. Between the physical touches and pretending we're an actual couple, my brain just short-circuits.
A filthy thought floats unbidden to the surface of my consciousness.
Nadine in bed, her hair fanning around her, moaning, begging. Nails scratching my back. Body bowing off the bed.
If I was just semi-hard before, my cock is now as hard as a crowbar. I'm so weak with wanting, it's not even remotely funny.
The candle between us flickers as Nadine reaches for her water glass. Her wrist passes too close to the candle, which is how my hand ends up over hers—a redirect, a half-second thing, the most reasonable response to an open flame. I let go before she has to think about it. Under my fingers, her wrist was warm, pulse visible beneath thin skin.
But fuck, every single touch burns me.
"He keeps looking over," Nadine says, mouth barely moving.
