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Chapter Two
Josephine
Something isn’t right. My husband is lying right next to me in bed after having thoroughly fucked me, tenderly playing with my hair as I rest my head against his broad chest. He may be right next to me, but his mind is a million miles away.
Maceo and I have been on our honeymoon for ten days, and he’s been spending a considerable amount of time on the phone with his men back home. His job is demanding, and while I’ve always admired his work ethic, this is over the top. What’s more bizarre is that Maceo made it very clear to his crew before we left for Spain to only contact him if they must.
Mercenary work is unconventional compared to your typical nine-to-five job. Assignments are sporadic and intense. Things are tame when the crew only has security gigs or recon, but when an assignment comes in, it’s all hands on deck.
Owning a business makes you responsible for making things run smooth—I get it since I own an architectural design company. I’ve had my fair share of late nights and deadlines. My husband is no different with his company. This is the only reason I’ve tolerated his lack of attention while on our honeymoon.
There’s only so much I can do at the villa to stay occupied while he works. I’ve checked in with Jared, my best friend and general contractor, to see how our projects are progressing. The beach the villa sits on is lovely and serene, but it doesn’t hold the same appeal as it would if Maceo was with me. I could ask one of the security guards Maceo hired to escort me into town to window shop, but no one wants to walk around with another dude while honeymooning. I read a few romances on my Kindle, making me horny as hell and don’t help when I’m already missing my husband.
All things have a limit, and I’ve reached mine. Resentment has replaced tolerance. Why wouldn’t it? We’re on our honeymoon, for Christ’s sake, literally the one time when you shouldn’t deal with shit back home. It makes me angry, Bridezilla fucking angry.
It grates on my nerves when I hear his cell buzz. Maceo excuses himself and takes the call. When it ends, he comes and finds me, distracting me with kisses, cuddles, or wild sex, acting like nothing happened and all is well.
When I have Maceo’s attention, I have all of it. He’s thoughtful and romantic—in his rough, domineering way. We still get to explore the island, go for our daily runs, enjoy meals together, play in the surf, and all the other precious, intimate things you should do as newlyweds. Still, constant interruptions are increasing by the day and demanding more of Maceo’s time.
When I tell him how much it bothers me, he apologizes profusely, promising to only take the call if necessary. But he answers every single time, which means one of two things: One, he’s shit for keeping promises, which I don’t believe. Or two, there’s something serious happening back home, and he’s trying to keep me in the dark—probably his warped idea of protecting me.
Maceo isn’t able to talk about his work because of client confidentiality. Asking him to explain what’s going on gets me nowhere. But this doesn’t feel like work. This feels more…personal. Maceo is hotheaded, but for his job, he’s as cool as a cucumber. He’s walking around tense and alert like he’s ready for an ambush. He’s trying to mask his anger and fear, but I see it; I know my husband. He doesn’t act this way with clients. He only acts this way when it affects our family.
Concerned, I confronted him. Maceo thinks he has no tells, but he does. When he’s caught between a rock and a hard place, his eyes narrow ever so slightly before returning to normal. It’s not much, and if you blink, you’ll miss it entirely. I watched him intently as I asked if everything was alright at headquarters. His eyes tightened a fraction, and I knew—I fucking knew—something significant happened.
The question is, why is he withholding it from me?
A cell buzzes on the nightstand, and I know it’s not mine.
Wordlessly, Maceo shifts me gently from his chest to rest against the pillow he has vacated. “Need to take this, Pixie. Get some shuteye. I’ll try to make this short and join you soon.”
My gut twists and I catch his wrist before he can retreat. “Is everything okay?”
He leans over and kisses me. It’s sweet, but I feel the tension on his lips. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
The phone stops buzzing, but I know it will start again.
“You can talk to me, you know,” I say, trying to crack through his thick shell.
His eyes flicker between his phone and me, his jaw ticking. It seems like he’s warring with himself, and for a second, it looks like he may give in.
The cell buzzes and the moment is lost.
With another kiss, he slips outside the room to take the call.
I lay there in the dark, struggling to keep my temper in check. If Maceo doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll find someone who will.
Girl-code is alive and strong, and there’s no stronger bond between women than sisters. My sister, Simone, answers on the first ring. “Jo? Why are you calling me on your honeymoon?”
“So it’s not normal to call home while honeymooning,” I declare with validation. My feelings are even more justified now.
“Um, no. It’s the one time you shouldn’t be on the phone,” Simone answers.
“Thank you! I needed to hear I wasn’t unreasonable.”
She sighs. “What’s going on?”
I go on a rant for about ten minutes, summing up what’s going on between Maceo and me.
