Present Day
Agreeing was one thing. Actually facing Rhys and receiving their marching orders was another. Jules had agreed and ignored the ticking hours as they crawled closer and closer to her dinner reservation when she and Abigail would step out of the bungalow and face the music.
Jules fidgeted with the flowy skirt of the backless maxi dress. “Do I look okay?”
“Of course you do,” Abigail said from their bedroom.
“You haven’t even looked at me.”
Abigail glided from the bedroom and slung a bag over her shoulder. “I didn’t have to. You always look great.” She put her hands on her hips and scrutinized Jules from head to toe. “Yup. Beautiful.”
She took a shaky breath. “You are too.”
“Yeah, well.” With a casual shrug, Abigail threaded her fingers into her hair, tying it into a bun on top of her head. “I’m not the one nervous about meeting up with my fake man. So I don’t need to hear it.” Her expression softened. “It’s just Rhys. You’re fine.”
“Of course. I know that. I’m not worried.”I’m talking too much.She twisted her fingertips into the buttery-soft fabric and wished she could strangle her dancing nerves into submission.
“Well?” Abigail gestured toward the door.
Rhys waited outside, and Jules couldn’t open the door. “I guess we’re ready.”
Abigail arched her eyebrows. “Then what are you waiting for? I thought we were starved.”
“Yeah. Starved.” Half an hour ago, absolutely. Now, Jules couldn’t imagine stomaching a single bite. She couldn’t shake the fluttering in her stomach and flipping in her chest and tried for an internal pep talk.
This was acting.
Hello. They were acting.
Acting doesn’t make you nervous.
But her nervous system had apparently relegated its control to the bundle of anxiety ricocheting in her chest like she was stepping onto her first red carpet. And Rhys was the reason.
She’d asked something of him without even discussing it with him first.
He’d agreed without even questioning her.
“Come on. He’s not going to bite unless you ask him to.”
Jules was going to kill her sister.
Abigail threw open the front door with a flourish that made her floral-print skirt billow. If Jules concentrated on their wardrobe, she wouldn’t have to look at Rhys waiting for them outside their bungalow like a sentry on duty. But she did anyway.
Damn.Sentry duty looked good on him. Jules had noticed that before. She’d just never let herself stand still long enough to notice that she’d noticed.
That flutter in her chest intensified into a drumroll against her sternum. She couldn’t meet his gaze and instead analyzed his wardrobe—pants tailored by a god, a sexy button-down linen shirt with the collar loose, and a fitted jacket that probably hid a weapon. Standing in front of the sandy white beach with the pink-and-orange sky, he looked like a model ready for a photoshoot.
She didn’t mean to meet his gaze, but sizing him up meant she couldn’t avoid that face. His five o’clock shadow sat over his cut jawline. And those midnight eyes squeezed the breath from her lungs. Then he smiled.
God.
That barely there twitch of his lips made her squeeze her thighs together. She was in far more trouble than she had prepared for.
Pull it together, woman.
Rhys was the same man he’d always been. That he’d agreed to play pretend with her for the paparazzi made no difference.
Except it did.
