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Or maybe he’d been blind to what had been under his nose for the past two years, too caught up in his own self-destructive patterns to see what was right in front of him.
Carly let out a soft laugh, her attention on the movie, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was too busy trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.
* * *
Carly stepped off of the charter bus that had picked them up at the airport, inhaling a lungful of tropical air. Dean had told her that the rest of the guests were already here; she and Dean were the last ones to arrive. Because of his schedule at the bar, he’d had to fly out a day after everyone else. The wedding would be small, only about a dozen guests, and they were supposed to meet up with everyone later at a welcome dinner.
“I’ll go get us checked in,” Dean said from behind her. She nodded, and his hand brushed against the small of her back as he moved past her. A warm shiver worked its way up her spine, and she rolled her eyes at herself.
She stepped into the open-air lobby of the Royal Sunrise Resort as porters unloaded the luggage from the belly of the bus, unable to stop the wide smile from spreading across her face. Limestone walls climbed toward the clear, blue sky, topped with an intricately thatched straw roof. The marble floors gleamed in the late afternoon sunshine. As she moved farther into the lobby, tropical music floated on the humid, salty air, and a soft breeze rustled the fronds of the palm trees just outside the lobby. A massive black marble fountain contrasted elegantly with the white of the floors and walls, gurgling happily in the center of the lobby. Gigantic pots laden with tropical flowers dotted the space, adding bright pops of color to the otherwise sophisticated but neutral lobby. From her vantage point, she could see a limestone path leading away from the lobby, with villa-type buildings nestled into the lush greenery on either side. If she squinted, she could see the piercing blue of the pool through the trees. The beach was farther down the path, the view obstructed by the resort’s trees and buildings.
Her tropical home away from home for the next few days.
“Welcome cocktail, señorita?” A server all in white approached her, a silver tray full of what looked like mimosas perched on one gloved hand. Carly wondered how he wasn’t melting in his uniform; she was in jeans and a T-shirt and could feel the sweat starting to trickle down her back and between her boobs.
“Yes, gracias,” she said, plucking one off the tray. Not only did she want it because it was something cool to drink, but she’d more than earned it by surviving that plane ride. She took a sip and glanced over to where Dean stood by the check-in counter, a couple of people still ahead of him. His black T-shirt clung to his back, and she suddenly realized that she’d likely get to see him shirtless a whole bunch.
Yes, please.
Her mind flashed back to the plane and the feeling of his hand in hers, how sweet he’d been with her, how he hadn’t made fun of her fear of flying. And she was having sex dreams about him and wanting to see him shirtless. She took a long sip of her mimosa, trying to cool herself off.
She reminded herself that the only reason he’d invited her on the trip was because of his reputation, and because his family had asked him to bring a date. Clearly, he’d chosen her because there was zero chance of anything happening between them. Maybe the key to surviving this trip would be to stuff herself silly with Mexican food, so that she felt bloated and unsexy. The burrito method of abstinence.
“Carly?” A familiar male voice came from somewhere behind her, and she turned, taking another sip of her mimosa. She almost choked when she saw who’d called her name.
Dr. Mike Travis, her ex-boyfriend, stood only a few feet away, wearing a linen shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. His short, reddish blond waves were artfully mussed. “Uh, Mike? What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. She was relieved to find, though, that her inability to say anything more intelligent than that was only because she was genuinely surprised to see him. Looking at him, the only thing she felt was the dull ache of her bruised pride. No flare of attraction, no pang of longing.
“I’m here for a wedding,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. Over the past week, Dean had filled her in on the details of the wedding, and it only took her about half a second to put two and two together.
“You work with Christie,” she said, not a question, but a statement, because she already knew she was right.
He cocked his head and smiled condescendingly at her, as though she were a little kid who’d just put together a puzzle. “That’s right. I do. I didn’t realize you knew her. So, then I take it you’re here for the wedding, too?”
She nodded. “Yeah, with the Grayson side.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Mike cleared his throat. “Listen, Carly, I’ve been meaning to get in touch.”
She frowned, unsure where this was going. “You have?”
“Yeah. I just . . . I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”
She fought the urge to snort and roll her eyes. “I’m fine.” And really, she was. Sure, her ego was bruised, but bruises healed.
He looked at her pityingly, as though he didn’t believe her. “I know how tough breakups can be, and I hope you’re all right.” He glanced down at the floor, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he genuinely felt bad, or if he was putting on the “oh, poor Carly act” for his own egotistical purposes. Hunting her ego with his own.
Before she could respond, Ashley sashayed up to Mike, a fruity cocktail in one hand and a large, floppy sunhat in the other. She actually sashayed, like some old-timey movie star, as though walking normally wasn’t fancy enough for her. Her thick, blond hair fell down her back in waves, and her pristine white sundress fluttered around her slender calves in the breeze. She turned her big brown eyes on Carly.
“Oh, Carly, my goodness. I didn’t realize you’d be here, too. How are you? You’re doing okay?” she asked in the same condescending tone Mike had used. She studied Carly, frowning sympathetically. Carly had no idea if her misplaced sympathy was genuine or not, but frankly, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t wanted, or needed.
Carly didn’t blame Ashley for “stealing” Mike; she didn’t buy into the myth of the man-stealer. Mike had found someone who suited him better, and that someone happened to be Ashley. If Mike had been happy with Carly, if he’d had deep feelings, he wouldn’t have found someone else, plain and simple.
“I’m fine,” she said again, this time through clenched teeth. Anger flooded her, at Mike for the way he’d made her feel, at Ashley for her condescending bullshit, at the fact that she’d have to deal with these two for the whole trip.
“You’re so brave to come to a wedding alone,” said Ashley, smiling at her as though Carly were some sort of hero, as though she couldn’t possibly be here with someone, pathetic creature that she was. “I think I’d die of embarrassment.”
Carly’s nostrils flared, and she forced herself to stay calm. “I’m not here alone. I’m here with Dean.” She tipped her head in the direction of the check-in desk, where Dean was currently signing something.
Ashley’s mouth dropped open and Mike frowned. “You’re here with Dean Grayson?” he asked, the pretentious condescension gone from his tone. Something about the way Mike looked mildly perturbed, while Ashley looked equal parts surprised and impressed, made her feel good. As though she’d somehow flipped the conversation around and now had the upper hand.
