After a long day of waiting to assist us, Phillipe was thrilled to make a reservation for us at the Eden Rock’s Sand Restaurant. The place had a relaxed, luxurious vibe and a decadent menu, but Ford and I were so tired that we agreed to make it a quick meal and go to bed early.
Being the resident foodie, I expected to get more pleasure out of the local mahi-mahi and coconut sorbet I ordered, but between the physical exhaustion of the day and the emotional strain of holding myself back around my new husband, I barely tasted anything.
After a quick shower back at the villa, I crawled into bed beside Ford, expecting to pass out the second my head hit the pillow. But he surprised me by rolling over and taking me in his arms.
His kiss was sweet, but it felt more obligatory than romantic—it couldn’t hold a candle to the kiss at the wedding. Still, my body began to respond almost instantly, and when he rolled the condom on, I was ready for him. He kissed me as he fucked me, and we both came without too much effort…but once we were finished, I couldn’t help feeling like the first post-wedding sex I’d had with my husband had been decent but perfunctory. Like we’d both been on autopilot.
It was disappointing, even though I knew a lot of that was on me.
The moment I’d decided to take the Malones’ bribe and lie to Ford about my feelings, everything between us had shifted. Even still, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from hoping that Ford would make some sort of gesture. Shout his love from the rooftops, so I could shout mine back. Maybe then we could join forces and find a way out of this mess together.
But as I drifted off, I realized that even a fairy tale gesture could never fix the web of mistakes and dishonesty we’d gotten ourselves tangled up in.
Ford
Chapter 3
I’d made my decision. It was time to handle this.
For some unknowable reason, the dynamic between me and Emzee had undergone a complete one-eighty over the last few days, and I hated it. Our honeymoon—our relationship—couldn’t go on like this. Even the sex, which had always been scorching hot, had changed.
Emzee was still sleeping, but I had woken up early, brain in turmoil.
Now, as I paced the living room of our luxurious villa, all I could think about was finding a solution for our problem.
I tried to convince myself that this new awkwardness had nothing to do with her saying she didn’t love me. Which was fine. Hell, I’d never expected to marry for love. I was pretty sure I didn’t even believe in the concept. After all, what was love anyway, other than basic affection combined with dopamine and oxytocin (which declined over time, according to science)?
And look at the example I’d grown up with. My parents clearly didn’t love each other, and they’d made it work. For over two decades and still going strong, or whatever adjective you’d use to describe their marriage. It didn’t seem to be a union of convenience, per se, but it was certainly symbiotic. Maybe their bond had more to do with their compatible social and economic status, but they both seemed fine with that. I could be fine with that.
But…something was missing between me and Em. Something that used to be there. And I wanted it back.
I wanted the Emzee who seemed to be falling for me, who delighted in sharing in my adventures as well as savoring quiet cups of coffee and comfortable silences while Munchkin snoozed between us on the couch. The snarky, witty, down-for-whatever Emzee.
I wanted the Emzee whose big, sparkling laugh surprised me every time it came out of her usually serious little body. It was a reminder that no matter how much of an overthinker she tended to be, she could also roll with the punches. In fact, now that I thought about it, I realized shethrivedin unexpected situations and moments of crisis.
It occurred to me that this strength might actually be the silver lining to her family life being so off-kilter. Not just recently, either. It had always been that way.
Growing up, she’d had to constantly adjust to her father’s ever-expanding list of demands and expectations; I’d heard plenty of stories about how she’d been sent to etiquette lessons as a child, trained to speak and act a certain way, all kinds of pressure heaped on her small shoulders and made even more overwhelming thanks to the fact that her mom had died when she was a baby and her father was chronically absent—running his criminal empire, no doubt, though of course she hadn’t known that at the time.
But just look at how beautifully she performed under pressure now. Case in point, when I had sprung this fake relationship—and then a surprise engagement—on her. Every time, she’d played along in front of friends and family without batting an eye. To the point that she almost hadmefooled into thinking she loved me right before our fake wedding.
Almost.
It was obvious that her confidence blossomed whenever she took on new roles. Sure, she might be hesitant at first, but more often than not, I would bet she even surprisedherselfto find how capable she was. It was like the stress brought out a completely different side of her. She just needed a challenge to rise to.
Huh.
Maybe I’d just found the answer to my problem.
Sinking onto the cloud-like cushions of the couch, I grabbed the complimentary island guidebook off the coffee table and started flipping through it, hoping for inspiration.
I found it under the “Hotel Activities” section.
Windsurfing.
Phillipe was more than happy to make arrangements for us, and I also had him place an order for a hot breakfast to be brought to our villa right away.
Then I woke Emzee up. Her innocent eyes blinked at me drowsily as I told her the plan.
