Julian stands. Crosses to me. Crouches down so we’re eye level. “Poppy. I’ve negotiated with venture capitalists who eat companies for breakfast. I’ve sat across from CEOs who’ve built empires on other people’s failures. Your mother is formidable, but she’s not the scariest thing I’ve faced.”
“What is?”
He pauses. Then goes to say something and pauses again. “You know, we should probably get ready. I bet there will be plenty of photo opportunities at the beach.”
He’s deflecting. I know deflection—I’m fluent in it. But I let it go because we have a performance to prepare for.
We’re down on the beach by 9:50. Vi hates it when people are late to things, even though she’s the one who is always late.
The beach is perfect. White sand. Turquoise water. Palm trees swaying in the breeze.
My family has claimed a section near the water. Violet and Chris are there with my mother—and my ex and the homewrecker. Preston is wearing board shorts that cost more than my rent. Serenity is in a white bikini that makes her look like a yoga instructor descended from the clouds.
She’s filming. Of course she is.
I watch her position Preston against the waves, angling his jaw toward the light. “Okay, babe, now look contemplative. Like you’re thinking about your morning meditation.”
Preston arranges his face into what I assume is meant to be contemplative. It looks more like he’s trying to remember if he left the stove on.
“Perfect,” Serenity says. “Now let’s do one together. Couples content!”
She hands the phone to a passing resort employee, positions herself against Preston’s chest. They smile. The smiles look rehearsed—which bugs me since I could never get him to do that for me.
What really annoys me is how she is laying her head on his chest. That’s how I laid my head in our photos together. She’s not only stealing my man, she’s stealing my moves!
Which I really shouldn’t care about anymore. I have Julian now—and he’s looking mighty sexy in those black swim trunks. Black swim trunks and nothing else.
Nothing. Else.
Oh, my. It’s getting hot out here, and it isn’t the tropical sun.
Wow, I’m starting to believe my own lies!
And why wouldn’t I? I’ve been trying not to stare at Julian for the past twenty minutes. Failing. So failing.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs as we walk across the sand.
“I’m, um, observing. You know, for research purposes.”
“Research.”
“I need to describe you to my followers, and that requires me to observe.”
“So tell me, what have you observed?”
That his body looks carved. That he moves like water. That I’ve forgotten how to form coherent thoughts. That despite the sun, his skin doesn’t gleam with sweat like everyone else’s.
“You’re very... symmetrical,” I say.
He laughs. The sound does something to my chest.
“Symmetrical. Of course, I may not know as much about marketing as an influencer like yourself. But I’m not sure that is the best word to go with.”
“I’m being professional.”
“You’re being adorable.”
“I’m never adorable. I’m curated and strategic and—”
