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He looks at me at every pause between kisses, raking his eyes over me. He’s a besotted new husband studying every pore that belongs to his bride’s face.
The thought of it, the thought of how very convincing he is, makes me wish that it was real.
What if we forgot the entire agreement and just went for it?
“Hi,” he says with a proud grin.
I smile. “Hi.”
He stares at me for a long moment, so intently that I feel self-conscious.
“Sh-should we have breakfast?”
He arcs an eyebrow. “Whatever you want to call what happens next.”
My feet land softly upon the sand, but Etienne’s arms remain clutched around my waist.
If anyone is watching—and I doubt there is—I’d say we’ve put on more than enough of a show.
“Etienne, I know you’re doing full method acting with this scheme of ours. But nobody’s watching. You don’t have to talk dirty for my sake.”
“Oh, my sweet summer princess,” he says, letting go of my waist and tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “You have no idea what dirty talk is, do you?”
And I’m wet. Thoroughly wet and trembling with aching nipples and a powerful need to shed this godawful sweat-soaked sports bra.
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
His jaw tics in a barely noticeable hint of disappointment. Etienne sighs, then his face relaxes in a friendly, boyish grin. “That’s about enough from me. Come on, then, friend,” he says, turning me around then hooking one arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go back to the room and see what’s what.”
“Actually,” I say, pointing to the team of hotel workers setting up a cabana on the far end of the beach, “Steffen is having his people deliver our breakfast over there.”
“How do you know that’s our cabana and not someone else’s?”
I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t had the chance to.
“I gather that the king and queen didn’t tell you either,” I say as we plod across the sand, the cool water licking our toes.
“Tell me what?”
“We’re literally the only guests in the entire resort. The king booked out the entire place.”
I don’t know what I expected, but laughter is not it.
Etienne grabs his stomach and throws his head back in a guffaw. “Are you serious?”
I’m surprised by his reaction. “I think it’s a rather irresponsible expenditure as a wedding gift, don’t you think?”
He laughs even harder, hooting, his shoulders trembling.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s not the gift that it appears to be. It’s strategic.”
“What do you mean?”
Etienne explains, “On the surface, it seems generous. But the other side of the coin speaks far more about what the king thinks of me.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, dreading the answer.
