She wasn’t unique.
Her sadness didn’t make her special.
Her determination to find joy—that might make her special. And if it didn’t, then it would perhaps make her a good mother. That was something that she cared about. The truth was, tragedy was common. This wasn’t a tragedy. She was comfortable. She would have everything she needed to raise her child.
She was on a private island.
She refused to be despairing.
She made it to the bottom of the staircase, and looked up, feeling tiny, dwarfed by these massive stone walls. The pathway was made of rocks, the masonry beautiful and ancient. She wondered what the history of the island was. It must’ve been populated at one time, or why would this exist?
She followed the stone path, where it wound around the corner, the sound of a waterfall growing louder and louder. And then when she rounded the next corner, she stopped. The waterfall crashed down from the very top of the stone wall in front of her, into a pool below that seemed to flow around the path that she was standing on. Behind the walls, into a place she couldn’t see.
It was like a temple.
Suddenly, she saw movement behind the waterfall, and she jumped back. It was Onyx. Wearing a pair of tight swim shorts, his glorious, sculpted body on display, his dark hair wet, pushed back off his head.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“I decided to have a look around.”
“Do you have information on the island that I don’t? Because you seem to have taken to the water easily enough. What if there are piranhas?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How do you know?”
“Here I am. Unconsumed. By aquatic predators, at least.”
She frowned. “What is this?”
“You are correct, I do have some information on the island. I looked it up. During one of the wars there was a military base here. This was a way to move easily between bunkers. There was one where the house stands now. And there were others on the other side of the island. I believe that some of them are still there.”
“Oh. I was hoping that it was a temple. Something holy. But it’s just something that men made to kill each other all the easier. Honestly, as metaphors go it’s a bit on the nose.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice grave.
She stared at him meaningfully. “Oh, I don’t know. I imagine if we think deeply about it we might find that there is some link between wars in paradise and honeymoons as damage control.”
He stared at her, those cool, dark eyes boring into her soul. She was unable to hold her thoughts inside now. But now the stakes were so high. When it had only been her dealing with the unfairness of life that had been one thing. But now she was pregnant, and she was determined to carve out better for her child. Determined that she wouldn’t take the path of least resistance at their expense.
The trouble was, Onyx was beautiful. And no amount of him being awful to her changed that. He was beautiful, even when he was cruel. That seemed like a terrible trick. There were plenty of hideous-looking royals in the world, byproducts of centuries of inbreeding, that snobbery leading them down a path of distorted features and reduced intelligence.
Not so with Onyx. He was clever. Sharp. And physically perfect. His chiseled jaw, golden skin and sculpted chest were straight out of a romance novel. His body was physical perfection in every way, and it was difficult for Birdie to believe—still—even with the evidence of their passion growing inside of her, that she had ever touched him.
That she had ever been able to get close enough to him to be allowed to do so.
And by all rights, with his behavior, he should’ve transformed into something hideously ugly in her sight. And yet. And yet.
“There is no one here now,” he said. “As you pointed out, the trip itself is about optics. But there are no optics here.”
“That must be very interesting for you,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Really,” she said. And she had a full appreciation of the fact that this put the two of them on equal footing in a way that she hadn’t fully considered.
