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10
SKY
Bali.The island I once sighed over and bypassed in holiday brochures because I’d never afford to visit. Friends from school travelled to the tropical island and sent me a postcard of the impossibly beautiful beaches; the place a world away from mine.
Until yesterday, Bali remained outside my reality, even though Dylan and me, and Tara, spent weeks planning our trip. Trip.Wedding. Overwhelmed by choice and frightened by public intrusion if I chose the wrong location, I passed the accommodation research to Tara. She narrowed down to three exclusive resorts. I voiced my concerns to Dylan over other guests finding out who we were. He looked at me with the odd amusement he does sometimes and explained only four people are guests: Dylan, me, Tara, and Tom.
Seven villas. Thirty-five bedrooms. Five acres. Four people. Extreme, but if this is what it takes for secrecy, this is what we need to do. We’ll only use two villas since Tara and Tom are our only wedding guests. The prestigious resort is “go to” for a lot of celebrities, and I get a secret thrill from being here.
The resort manages to look exactly as it does in the brochures, from the perfect gardens surrounding the single-storey villas, to the no-expense-spared interiors. I’m scared to touch anything and spoil the clean and tidy perfection.
Staff fuss and wait on our every need. Each time I walk out of a room somebody is there offering to help me, cook for me, bring me drinks. There is more staff here than guests and moving from Dylan’s—our—place to this much attention takes some getting used to. Tara wanders around with either a dazed look or huge smile, her and Tom relaxed and keeping to themselves.
From our villa, a large outdoor-decked area beneath a Balinese gazebo faces the ocean, where an infinity pool between us and the nearby cliff adds extra seclusion. Nobody could approach this resort without driving along the one winding road leading up here through the mountains; neither could they see much from the beaches below.
I lounge in the gazebo’s shade, reading, as Dylan swims in the pool nearby. The humidity is stifling, but an overhead fan and cool drinks help.
I’m losing count of the number of luxury hideaways I’ve visited with Dylan this year. I don’t like sounding ungrateful when I say they blur, but I’m spoiled. This shouldn’t be my norm but is beginning to be.
This trip won’t blur into others. The next couple of days will be with my forever. I’ll return to England as Dylan’s wife. We arrived a couple of days ago and settled into the resort.
Water soaks my book and drops onto my bare arms as Dylan shakes water at me. I scowl at him as he grins down at me. “You made my book wet. You know I’m very protective of them.”
“Come for a swim.”
“Maybe later.” I smooth the page.
Dylan crosses his arms and pouts. The water glistens against his naked chest, running along the ridges of his abs. His board shorts are pulled lower on his hips by the weight of the water, revealing the tantalising trail of hair disappearing downwards. I shift my gaze to his face, and the amused look on his face shows he knows the effect his photo-shoot-worthy look is having on me.
“You sure? You look like you need to cool down.” He licks a drop of water from his lips.
I lift up my large orange cocktail. “These help.”
He drags my hair away from where it sticks to my face and places his cool lips on mine. “Boring, Sky.”
I kiss him back. “Yep.”
“Do I have to pick you up and carry you in?”
“You know that would be a bad idea, Dylan,” I warn.
His blue eyes glint, and he bites away a smile. Since we arrived in Bali, Dylan’s smiled more than he has in weeks. When we left England, we also left behind the event we increasingly don’t speak about, and I’ve locked away my pain. Tomorrow is a step forward together. This is the first day of our future that holds bright things.
I’m also aware of the tension dropping away as the sun and sea reminded us of our happier times. Uptight Sky returned recently; she needs to leave again.
“You’re dressed for the pool.” He indicates the white bikini and the sarong I’m wearing over it.
“I’m dressed for Bali.”
“Sky Davis, I hope when you’re Sky Morgan you’re going to be a dutiful wife and do what I say.”
I scoff at him. “In your dreams, Dylan Morgan.”
He slides damp arms beneath me and effortlessly lifts me off the lounger. I could struggle, tell him to stop, but instead I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my forehead on his.
“Never?”
“Maybe sometimes,” I whisper.
